I considered not putting this out there – do I really want people to know just how ignorant I am? But in hindsight, it’s really quite humorous, so why not?
When I first started writing two years ago, I was afraid I’d read a book and inadvertently get an idea (steal a plot) to use in my own manuscript. So for the next two years I avoided reading any fiction, especially romance. Or almost as bad, worry I’d see ideas from my own manuscript already in print in someone else’s book, which would likely piss me off and compel me to go back and rewrite the story differently.
Then I learned that not only is it normal to do those things (read a LOT, steal a plot) but almost encouraged. Who knew?
So now that I feel free to read romance books again, I wonder what effect that will have on my time spent writing. Will it be just one more excuse to not be writing? Will I get even more ideas of plots for future manuscripts? Because I already have a notebook full of other ideas just waiting to become a story. I wish I could clone myself and have multiple manuscripts going at once. Too bad I can’t just sell ideas for a living!
A kidnapping. Gunfire. Two murders. Arson. Graffiti. Hate crimes. And oh yeah, sex. Where am I??
Actually, this is all going on in just the first half of the romance novel I’m currently reading. That plus the protagonist finds out she was adopted. Who knew so many things could happen in the space of just a few days?
I think in Chicago they call that “Tuesday.”
My journey writing romance started two years ago. With two toddlers under my wings, it’s been difficult, to say the least, to find time to actually work on my first manuscript.
My writing day goes something like this:
Sit down with my cup of coffee and my notebook (yes, I’ve discovered I prefer handwriting to typing on my laptop). Read the last paragraph I wrote yesterday. Get up to get the kids a drink. Sit back down, reread that paragraph again. Get up to change a diaper. Sit back down to read that paragraph again. Get up to help the kids brush their teeth. Make yet another attempt at that paragraph from yesterday. Get the kids a snack. Forget the paragraph, just think of something to write. Write two sentences and get interrupted in the middle of the third. Read a book to my son. Get back to writing only to find I’ve forgotten what I was going to write. Rinse, repeat.
So … my manuscript sits at a mere 15,000 word count. This, after two years of writing. At this rate, I might finish when the kids graduate in 2024!