The kinds of novels I’ve written include linked stories, a very bad literary novel, a loosely autobiographical family saga, a mystery novella, a regency romance, a historical romance, a contemporary romance, and my most recent attempt at figuring out my niche, a women’s fiction manuscript.
“Write what you love to read,” is advice I’ve heard more than once. I think this might be a problem, because I love to read all kinds of things. In addition to the above categories of fiction, I also adore books of essays, memoirs, poetry, biographies, philosophies, and, sometimes, science, particularly theoretical physics, about which I understand almost nothing, but nevertheless find fascinating.
Then there’s my magazine addiction.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve had a hard time finding my niche. Also, after I decided to write a short story “just for me” I almost immediately I started to think, hmmm, maybe this idea could be better illustrated in an essay. Or a memoir. Or a novel. Now I’m full circle, back to the short story. Except instead of “just for me” I’m combing Poets & Writers for possible markets. It’s a reflex: write/submit.
I’m also trying to figure out how to make infidelity and body image issues funny, because the kind of writing, er, ONE of the kinds of writing, I enjoy most has humor embedded somewhere in the sentences. If Augusten Burroughs can put a comic slant on his horrific childhood, then a little adultery and added fat should be a snap. Of course, Burroughs is a literary genius, and I’m not. So there is that.