Newsflash: I’m not trendy. I never have been.
As a kid in the 90s, I refused to wear jeans until middle school and lived in dresses. I was teased. I didn’t care. I liked wearing dresses. (I still do, for the record. The number one stressor in winter is being too cold for skirts and wearing all my jeans…ugh I still hate denim.)
My Mom complained that my Grandma was always off on trends and was so embarrassing to her kids as they were growing up.
I think, at least she tried! Because when it comes to fashion: I don’t care. The whole baggy shirt-tight pants look was stupid on me (and makes me look like I’m pregnant again, no thanks!). I wear what I like.
Similarly, I don’t write to trend.
I’ve missed Billionaires, Sports, and Alphas. And I’m perfectly fine.
My books are work. I’m not some lucky author who sits down and pours out the story her muse has inspired. I am a percolator. Ideas appear, I slowly tease out the story in an outline, I furiously write the first draft (but it’s not easy. I look at my outline, follow my notes, and sit my butt in the chair to write a scene–or more–a day until I reach the end), make extensive notes and write the synopsis, take a week break from the story to work on something else, come back and get back into fleshing out the story, take another week break, read and edit again. If I reach a point where I think, this is good. I’m proud of this story, I send it on submission. If it gets picked up by a publisher, I jump back into editing again.
It’s hard work. It’s a process. And I have to love the story.
So much work is involved from random thought to published novel, I have to really believe in my book. If one day, I accidentally luck into the next trend, I’ll be thrilled by the happy accident.
(Anyone interested in writing big city sweet romance with me?)
But it’s not my target. I’m aiming to craft stories that touch the reader’s heart. And I hope I deliver.