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Happy Halloween, everyone!
Busy busy today, so just a few short notes:
1. Is it me or does Harlequin Presents UnCut sound like some sort of chippendale show starring, um, men who aren’t circumcised? I’m just sayin’.
2. Miss Snark fields the old “synopsis suck” saw, and again with the whiners. Hurray for commenter Cyn Mobley, who tells them to suck it up, it’s part of the business. My favorite comment is from an erstwhile writer who claims he “cannot write anything intelligent that is more than a couple of paragraphs.” My advice? Get out of the novel writing business, bub.
3. For those of you participating in NaNoWriMo or just looking to do some quick plot creation, here’s an excellent article by Holly Lisle. Thanks to Elly for pointing it out.
4. Trish Millburn has an excellent post on making the reader care about your characters. Every time i think i’m doing well on my craft, I read something that makes me see things in a whole new light.
5. Once again, Justine Larbalestier cracks me up. I’m so with her, though. I’m already sick of winter and it’s not even here yet.
6. Seriously considering unsubscribing to all email lists. I feel like every time I offer advice, I’m adding to the problem rather than resolving it. The rumor mill and urban legend situation is completely out of control, and I’m beginning to believe that a large percentage of writers conduct their affairs according tot eh mandates of a Yahoo Group rather than what their agent or publishing house has worked out with them. Someone tell me, are there email lists out there where dental hygenists ask other dental hygenists how they should behave with their individual bosses? Where building superintendents stress out over contacting their plumber, and rather than discussing with the plumber how best to fix the clog, asking other superintendents? Or do writers have the monopoly on this brand of neuroses?
Stay cool, folks.
Tomorrow I’m going to spend the day watching Sailor Boy run his first marathon. So today was spent working. Hard. On non-blogging things. None of which were cleaning my apartment. Unfortunately.
Last night I was discussing with Sailor Boy possible drawbacks to my participation in NaNoWriMo next month. His main argument is that I have not had adequate preparation time for the book I intend to write. As I have shared before, I am a devoted planner, and though I have worked out the beginning of the plot arc and even have some scenes all played out in my head (like the “movie” that Marley and PBW talk about), I still have some major plot hole issues to work through, and I’m not yet sure what the climax and denouement are going to be.
SB, frankly, thinks the whole endeavor is a Bad Idea, because, as he astutely notes: 1) I don’t ususally write very fast and 2) this book would be a lot better if it wasn’t rushed.
He has a point. Back in the dark days of 2004, before my agent was my agent, my agent and I were having a conversation at a cocktail party at a writing conference and she said that one of the main problems she sees in submissions is writers rushing. I gotta back her up on this one. I have some friends who adhere to the concept of the “$h!tty first draft,” but never actually do the work that turns said draft from $h!tty to $pect@cul@r. (Alternately, I have a friend who has developed such a death grip on her manuscript that lines have been conceived, been launched, and been canceled in the time it takes for her to proofread.) So the “don’t get it right, get it written” approach actually only works if you later spend the time getting it right. Right?
Sailor Boy went on to argue that he fears that if my very promising premise gets bogged down in pages of prose that haven’t been appropriate forethought according to my usual method, I’ll find it tough to backtrack and start over fresh when I finally do have it all worked out in my head. In other words, doing it wrong will sink the possibility of my later doing it right. I never have done that thing yet where you sit down with a blank piece of paper and rewrite the book from scratch (like my friend Susan Kearney did with THE CHALLENGE, her first Tor release that was a complete rewrite of the first book she ever wrote). My process has , for the last five books that I’ve written (yeah, baby! Five books!), developed into the following steps:
1. Think up a story idea. For me, this usually starts with a premise. The characters, which are going to end up being paramount to the plot, come later. ::shrug:: That’s just me.
2. Think about the story idea. A lot. This takes the form of: showers, staring off into space, not paying attention to conversations, and napping. (Ask Sailor Boy about the napping one.) After a while, I start getting a good idea about the characters that would exploit the premise to its fullest dramatic potential (e.g., what kind of girl would really shake things up at a heretofore all-male Ivy League Secret Society?). This is when the “movie” scenes start happening in my head, though they never happen to the extent (i.e., the whole story) that they seem to for Marley.
3. Write a chapter or two to make the characters start talking to me.
4. Write an outline/rough synopsis in which I figure out the plot arc and try to project where the trouble spots might come up, or where the plot holes are going to smack me around like a bitch.
5. Read the opening and the outline again. Write a synopsis.
6. Dive in. Write the first draft very slowly, going back to compare the tone to the “pure” tone in the first chapters on a regular basis.
7. Hit the wall about 2/3 through. Push through.
8. Finish the book at breakneck pace.
9. Put it aside for a while.
10. Rewrite.
Judging by that schedule, I’m only on step 2, whereas I should be a bit farther along (step six maybe?) to be fully prepared for the rigors of NaNoWriMo. Of course, NaNo is not a fan of my “write a few chapters first.”
But more importantly, Sailor Boy’s words keep haunting me, taking on the tones of my agent’s warning: Don’t rush. Don’t rush. Don’t rush. If you rush, it won’t be as good.
And that would be bad. In my more smug moments, I think to myself that I can’t be a one-book-wonder, because, well, my contract is for two. But then I get scared that maybe two will be it, and then I start freaking out a little (“So what else is new, Di?” I hear you all thinking).
So why try a whole new process when the one I’ve got doesn’t seem to be broken? The point of NaNo, is, after all, not necessarily to write a book that is saleable, but to actually write a novel. It’s for people who wouldn’t do it to just… do it. Prove they can.
Well, I’ve proven that I can. Five times. So is a speedwriting excercise really the best option for me at the moment? Especially if it inadvertantly sinks this book? Hmmmm…
Also (and this might be the dealbreaker here, folks), PRETTIES is out on November 1st. UGLIES is the book that turned me on to Scott Westerfeld in the first place, and though I thought maybe I overdosed on him in the Great Scott Westerfeld Lost Weekend of September 2005 (at least, that’s what SB called it, as I plowed through SO YESTERDAY, MIDNIGHTERS #2, and PEEPS) , I apparently haven’t gotten my fill, because I am so excited about this book!
But if I do NaNo, I won’t be able to read it until December. And I don’t know if I want to live in a world like that. 
Addendum: Ricocheting off the subject of SW, fantasy writer Justine Larbalestier mentioned my work-overload-Star-Wars blog on her blog. I think the whole subject of writerly “whingeing” as she so Aussiely puts it might devolve into a large case of “cry me a river.” However, to be fair to poor Justine (I don’t know her either, but thus it is with reading blogs, and besides, Ms. Larbalestier-Westerfeld takes an AWFUL long time to type) one peep at that phenomenal pomegranate rice concoction she was fed daily while on her writing sojourn in Mexico makes me feel bad that she’s back in New York as well. Maybe not to the extent of “Why oh why did I let Sailor Boy convince me to move to this godforsaken frozen swampland of D.C.” bad, but in more of, “Yes things do look better in your red-sunseted, hummingbird-flecked Mexican writing bower” way.
“For what?” I hear you ask.
1. To sign up for my author loop, receive my fun, interactive newsletter this weekend, and get a chance to win a fabulous wearable, in-honor-of-Halloween (every society member’s favorite holiday) prize! I’m doing the drawing on Friday, so sign up soon:
Click to join SecretSocietyGirl
2. For me to make my manuscript perfect perfect perfect before it goes to galleys. I had my final revision conversation with my editor last night, and I must admit that I freaked out a little bit afterwards. I didn’t freak out when I turned in the draft, because I knew a) that the book was pretty damn good and b) that if there was anything wrong, it would get fixed in revisions. I didn’t freak out when I turned in the second draft, because I knew a) that the book was pretty damn better now and b) that if there was anything wrong, it would get fixed in second-round revisions.
But now I’m freaking out. Even though I think that the book is pretty damn even better now, the fact remains that I will never, ever be able to bring this book to the level of perfection which I have imagined for it, and the chances to fix it are up. The book’s good. I think that. My boyfriend thinks that. My critique partner, my agent, my editor, the people my editor got to read it (including her boss’s boss’s assistant, who is apparently a very tough sell) all think it’s very good. But is that good enough? And why, oh why, can I not make this book the platonic “ideal” of the book that’s in my head? So yeah, freaking out just a little. Yay, writerly neuroses! Yay. Boo. (And not the fun, Halloween kind of Boo, either. Nor the hip-hop kind. Ha ha, Secret Society Girl in-jokes.)
Anyway, I love the book; I think it’s funny and heartwarming and a quick read. My editor said that it’s exactly the book we (meaning my agent and I) told her it would be when we sold it to her. Which is I guess the highest praise I can get, short of, “OMG, this book sounded awesome when you sold it to me, but now that I’ve read the whole thing, my very brain cells are weeping for joy with how much better even than your original estimation that this book is.” And really, what kind of nutball would I be to be wanting that?
So what I need to do is finish these revisions, accept that this book is as good/great as I can possibly make it, and that that’s okay. Maybe even more than okay. Robert Redford apparently can’t watch himself act. To be a sundance novelist isn’t a bad fate, I suppose.
3. Speaking of Halloween, this is the last chance someone has to invite me to a super-cool Halloween function, preferably one that’s entirely costumed. If not, this will be the fourth year in almost-a-row that I have not celebrated my favorite holiday.  (New York, 2001: scared of terrorists–and really, that should have been my first clue about the PTS, Australia, 2003: they don’t celebrate, Ft. Pierce, 2004: FEMA) Sailor Boy has some huge project due the next day, so I can’t be the Halloween-party instigator, but man, I miss my Halloweens! 2002 was even a bummer because I went to great lengths to set up this fun Trick or Treat thing at my house and apparently kids don’t Trick or Treat anymore (We had a few teenagers pull up outside in minivans driven by their parents, get escorted by their parents to the front door, and stand there, NOT saying “Trick or Treat” and wearing oh-so-witty t-shirts emblazoned with “This IS my costume” or halter tops and miniskirts which they claimed made them “pop stars.” Note: These are not Trick or Treaters.) So, someone save me, please!
So I’ve tried a few aborted blog entries today. I’m just not in a very good mood, I guess, since everything winds up sounding like a bitchy rant. Certain observations are perhaps not the best way to Win Friends and Influence People. Man, am I glad that my contest judge entries are anonymous!
(Um, just kidding about that last part. Though really, I’m going to write an essay about the most common mistakes I see in contest entries, I swear.)
Anyway, so I thought I’d post one of the pictures from Australia. This shot always makes me laugh because people back home were so shocked that I got so close to the kangaroo. The truth is, the real trick is to get them to scram. They’re like giant park squirrels or raccoons, constantly begging. This one would have jumped in our tent given half a chance.
So anyway, just so you know I’m not an evil bitch. I’m loved by small animals.
By the way, expect a lot of annotated photos in the next month, as my blogging time is reduced by NaNoWriMo.
I just joined NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), the fun, internet-based contest in which you write 50,000 words of a novel between November 1 and November 30.
The most I have EVER written in a month was 24k, and I am still recovering.
What am I doing?
Gena Showlater’s recent post really struck a chord for me, though I dont’ have anywhere near her level of work. Poor girl is finishing one manuscript and revising three others, and let’s not forget her publicity and, gosh, family.
I don’t have family, just Sailor Boy, but between the job and the revisions, I still feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day.
So a month ago, I got an ELEVEN PAGE REVISION LETTER from my grumblegrumble lovely editor (nah, really, love ya, Ker). It kicked my ass for a while, and then I fought back and made (most of) the changes and kicked its ass right back and added 5000 words to my manuscript and sent it back. Last weekend, I got it back and have since set about fixing the things that weren’t fixed in the first round. After that, it’s all about the copyediting. And then the proofing. And then the publicity.
Kerri says she’s read the book 10 times already. And we’re still catching stuff. For instance, last night I noticed I accidentally gave two minor characters the same last name. Oops. (Okay, I had a moment where I wondered if they were secretly brother and sister. Like, maybe it could be a thing. An apocryphal fanfic-inspiring thing.
Totally off-topic, but that whole same-last-name thing last night inspired a whole train of thought wherein I wondered how good a job Obi-Wan Kenobi et al. was doing with “hiding” Luke when they went ahead and called him LUKE SKYWALKER. Dude, is Skywalker the “Smith” of long ago in a galaxy far, far away? Is it so common that nobody would have noticed that there was some snot-nosed kid running around Tatooine with the same last name as the Crown Prince of the frickin’ galaxy? At least with Leia, they pretended she was that Organa guy’s kid. Which of course, merely forwards my theory that Leia is really the powerful one of those two. And anyway, yeah, Luke was totally right with the whole “Ben should have told me,” thing. Because, dude, knowledge is power, and at least he should know why the big scary guy in black is stalking him all over the galaxy. And how is it that not everyone knows where this individual came from? How is it that Han Solo isn’t all, “Skywalker, huh? Huh, isn’t that the birth name of that freaky Darth Vader dude? I think I learned that in early Imperial History class in GRADE SCHOOL.” At the very least, little Miss leader-of-the-rebellion Leia should have known it. Right after he says, “I’m Luke Skywalker and I’m here to save you,” she should have said, “Wait, that’s Darth Vader’s name. He just tortured me and blew up my planet. You think I’m going anywhere with you?” Ahem. Sorry, geek tangent. So many ways the later movies ruined the earlier ones.
And if the revisions work isn’t enough, I have to visit the random house page at least five times a dat to type in my name. I also have to spend an hour staring at my cover and envisioning what it will look like wrapped around a book. (Oh, yeah. Got my cover. Will be posting it soon. Tease tease tease.) And then there the whole work, commute, sleep, eat, watch LOST thing. That takes up some time.
So it’s little wonder that I haven’t been able to work on any new proposals. And I have three that I’m just DYING to get into. Three. Yeah, I think my muse has a sadistic streak. Plus there’s that whole sequel thing due next summer. And let’s not forget my promotional plan.
Sigh. Not enough hours in the day. Especially when I spend some of it thinking about plot holes in Star Wars.
Now, it will come as no surprise to those of you who know of my Geology and Geophysical curriculum at Yale to learn that I get a bit hot under the collar any time I hear the following two words, though guiless on their own, used in combination: Intelligent and Design.
Which is why I couldn’t stop laughing when Scalzi turned me on to this news report from a Pennsylvania trial in which some parents are suing a local school board for making their biology teachers read a “disclaimer” before teaching the theory of evolution. It’s about how the local whackjob bio professor from Lehigh was forced to admit on the stand that ID is in no way, shape, or form what science calls “a theory.”
Here’s the money shot:
Under cross examination, ID proponent Michael Behe, a biochemist at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, admitted his definition of “theory” was so broad it would also include astrology…
Behe was called to the stand on Monday by the defence, and testified that ID was a scientific theory, and was not “committed” to religion. His cross examination by the plaintiffs’ attorney, Eric Rothschild of the Philadelphia law firm Pepper Hamilton, began on Tuesday afternoon.
Rothschild told the court that the US National Academy of Sciences supplies a definition for what constitutes a scientific theory: “Theory: In science, a well-substantiated explanation of some aspect of the natural world that can incorporate facts, laws, inferences, and tested hypotheses.”
Because ID has been rejected by virtually every scientist and science organisation, and has never once passed the muster of a peer-reviewed journal paper, Behe admitted that the controversial theory would not be included in the NAS definition. “I can’t point to an external community that would agree that this was well substantiated,” he said.
Behe said he had come up with his own “broader” definition of a theory, [emphasis Diana's] claiming that this more accurately describes the way theories are actually used by scientists. “The word is used a lot more loosely than the NAS defined it,” he says.
Hypothesis or theory?
Rothschild suggested that Behe’s definition was so loose that astrology would come under this definition as well. He also pointed out that Behe’s definition of theory was almost identical to the NAS’s definition of a hypothesis. Behe agreed with both assertions.
The exchange prompted laughter from the court, which was packed with local members of the public and the school board.
Behe maintains that ID is science: “Under my definition, scientific theory is a proposed explanation which points to physical data and logical inferences.”
“You’ve got to admire the guy. It’s Daniel in the lion’s den,” says Robert Slade, a local retiree who has been attending the trial because he is interested in science. “But I can’t believe he teaches a college biology class.”
I’ll marry you, too, Slade. But, in an interesting aside, the college that lets him teach a biology class has a huge, honkin’ disclaimer on their website saying that they all think he’s, um, wrong. Respectfully of course. (Read: Nutjob). I’m just shkaing my head. My brother almost went here, you know. And if I had a brother who was in danger of getting taught freshman bio by this quack, I’d yank him out of school so fast his keg would leave skidmarks.
Anyway, I can’t stop laughing at this fellow. He’s made up his own definition of “scientific theory.” Must be nice to live in his world. Right now, I’m in the process of making up my own definition of “work week.”
What I’m not laughing about is how many people, lacking the scientific training to understand Darwin and/or scientific jargon, actually buy into this ID crap. And are forcing our children to learn it. Our schools are having enough trouble as it is, folks. Please let’s not work to make our kids stupid.
Eric, darling, I’m waiting. Nothing gets me hotter than a Lawyer Against Intelligent Deisgn. Just ask Sailor Boy.
Sometimes I forget exactly how saturated I am in the publishing industry, at how familiar all the jargon and the genres and the buzz is to me, while the people outside this world, the ones buying the books, are lucky if they can name ten books publshed this year that don’t have the words “Harry Potter” in the title. Even the readers one comes across on the internet are better educated about the industry than most — the internet readers are the ones likely to visit an author’s webpage and know something about the style of books published by different publishing houses. (My mother, for instance, probably reads a dozen books a month, and would be hard pressed to name a single publisher).
But the average reader, the reader on the street, now there’s a person whose mindset I’ve had a tough time accessing since i entered this business. I just can’t think like them anymore, and I have a difficult time trying.
These are the people who toss about the phrase “Harlequin romance” as a generic, like Q-Tip or Kleenex. (That sound you hear is Harlequin cheering).
These people are the ones at parties who tell you they “would never read a romance,” only to later admit that Nora Roberts is their favorite author. Turns out that they thought all romances have a cover featuring Fabio clutching to his chest a half-naked bimbo in a bodice.
These people are the ones who would probably really like Silhouette Bombshell, if they ever bothered looking for action adventure novels on the category romance racks (which they wouldn’t, cf. bitch in bodice).
These are the people who think Paris Hilton really wrote that book.
These are the people who think all authors are as rich as JK Rowling, who think all books get made into movies, and would start looking through you and blinking if you attempted to explain the difference between various subgenres.
These are the people (and I swear I’ve actually had this experience) who think “fiction” means fantastical elements — talking dogs, time travel, aliens, fairies, monsters — and “non-fiction” means Maeve Binchy and Richard Russo. And don’t try explaining novels to them, either, they’ll just insist that their precious “non fiction novels” really did happen to all the people who wrote them. In which case, I really gotta meet Carl Hiassen.
These are the people who haven’t a clue about motif, or POV, or head-hopping (one reader asked me the other day if “third person point of view is one of those books where three different people use ‘I’ — because I hate that”) or dialogue tags, or any of the other craft issues I obsess over daily.
These are the people who will be deciding whether or not I get paid next summer. Makes me look at marketing in a whole different light. Everything I know about the industry, everything I learned to get in and market my book to publishers isn’t going to matter at all to them. They won’t care if it’s a mixture of romance and suspense and collegiate fiction and chick lit and whatever genre-bending buzzword they want to stick on after that. I’ll be lucky if I can nail down what I mean by “fiction”.
Of course, it’s not like it’s easy to understand this industry even if you’ve been in it for a while. Take my publisher, Bantam Dell. Bantam Dell is a division of Random House that publishers adult fiction and non-fiction (as Shauna Summers said in Reno, everything from Stephen Hawking to Danielle Steele). It’s made up of Bantam Books and Dell Publishing. Under this umbrella is also the Dial Press, which I think publishines more literary works, and Spectra, which does the sf and fantasy stuff. If you are published by this company, then the little publisher insignia on the side of your books can say all sorts of stuff, depending on imprint and publishing format, including: Bantam, Dell, Delta, Delacorte, etc. etc. I think I’ve figured out a code, but I could be totally wrong. Bantam books say Bantam in hardcover, trade and mass market. Dell books say Dell in mass market, Delta in trade (sometimes!!!) and Delacorte in hardcover. Diana Gabaldon’s hardcovers say “Delacorte.” So will mine. Luanne Rice’s say Bantam. Okay, so far so good.
However, once upon a time in the Kingdom of Bertelsmann (whether before or after Dell joined with Bantam or became part of RH has since been lost to the annals of history, or at least to this author’s Googleability), the Baronet Dell sold/transferred/gave/ransomed/indentured/whatever to King Random House a children’s imprint called “Delacorte Press Books for Young Readers,” which is now a lovely lordling of Random House Children’s. So thus it is that there are two Delacorte Presses at Random House: Bantam Dell Delacorte hardcovers for adults, and Random House Children’s Delacorte Press for Young Readers.
But does the average person on the street know this? Would they care even if they did? Heck, I can hardly understand it, and I’m writing for these folks! So I’m thinking not so much. I just write a really good story and people pay for it and enjoy it and Random House makes money and gives some of it to me and everyone’s happy.
Right?
I’m back with another insidious entry into the series I call
WHEN GOOD ADVICE GOES BAD
This week, we’ll be tackling the tricky Start With Category myth.
There are many “good” reasons that this particular argument abounds in RWA and in the writing community in general.
1. Harlequin and Silhouette publish a lot of books. A LOT. According to their website, the company releases 110 titles per month. Most publishers are lucky to hit that per year. Now, granted, some of these are in the single title lines, like RDI, Signature, MIRA, HQN, and whatever special release backlist program they’ve got Nora Roberts on, but the vast majority are from the category lines. In other words, category novels are a big market.
2. Harlequin’s category program is one of the few publishing houses that welcomes submissions by unpublished, unagented writers. They take great pride in “grooming” new writers and their in-house philosophy is occasionally willing to devote a lot of time to working with new writers to bring their books to a publishable stage. I’ve heard Hq editors romanticizing the image of “the housewife scribbling away in her basement” and editors at other houses marveling on how much time Hq editors are willing to devote to editing books they haven’t contracted (and might never).
3. It’s a road frequently traveled. A lot of people recommend you start with category, because some of the biggest names in women’s fiction have done just that. Nora Roberts, Suzanne Brockmann, Lisa Gardner, Jenny Crusie… the list goes on and on. Who wouldn’t want to emulate these ladies’ careers? They’ve obviously done *something* right.
4. There’s a built-in audience. When you sell single title, you are out there competing against the above-mentioned big names. No one has heard of you, and it’s harder to get into bookstores and into the hands of readers as a new author. However, category authors have an easier time because they are published as part of a line. Many readers go out and blanket-buy whatever Silhouette Desire, or Silhouette Intimate Moments, or Harlequin Presents that happens to be on the shelves that month. Other readers subscribe to a particular line’s book club and have the books delivered to their door. My friends who write both single title romance and category romance tell me that they often make more on the shorter category titles than they do on the long books. If you are part of a category promotion, like a continuity series or a series connected to a big name author, you’re even better off. With a cateogry book, your publisher isn’t promoting the author so much as it is promoting the line — if you write a Harlequin Presents, you’ve got a built in audience that knows it’s been reading your type of book for the last half-century. Can you say Waldenbooks bestseller?
Okay, so those are the good reasons. Now for the bad one:
Start with category because it’s easier.
Um, no. Wow, no. No no no no no no no no. Where do they come up with this shit?
The books are shorter. That means you have to tell a compelling love story in less space. There are more of them, which means trying to find your niche in the category line, trying to find something that hasn’t been “done to death” or to give a new twist to an old tale is not an easy prospect. That known-quantity thing can fight back. Harlequin editors know they have a certain expectation to meet from their readers. If a reader is going to pick up a Desire because she’s been reading Desire for years, then the editor can’t publish anything under the Desire name. She has to publish something that will fulfill the Harlequin promise.
Nothing is easier if you aren’t very good at it, and I know too many writers who have been banging their heads against the category wall, trying to shoehorn their writing into the category requirements and in other ways tortured themselves due to some fool idea that “it’s easier” to write category romance. Newsflash: it’s not easier to write anything. A writer might find it easier to write science fiction or category romance or tragic love stories or police procedurals or cozy mysteries or children’s stories narrated by animals or erotica. A writer might be stretching themselves and expanding their natural talents into any of the above fields. And a writer might never be able to get the hang of erotica, or science fiction, or non-human narration, or the needs of the category romance. To those people, writing a good category romance might be completely beyond their means. They might write excellent hisotrical mysteries or thrilling, hard-boiled action adventures, or lyrical, depressing slice-of-life tales, but cateogry romances? Forget it. Their writing is just not wired that way.
You can be an excellent watercolorist but crap with a lump of clay. You can be a master of blank verse but abysmal at sonnets. You can win marathons but suck at sprints. There’s no “easier” if it’s not what you’re good at doing. If you’re good at category, then it’s a good place to try (for the first reasons mentioned above). But not ever because “it’s easier.” It’s not. It’s really, really not. (I have written several category romances, and I found them all heaps harder to do than my one chick lit. Some might argue it’s because I knew I had a contract, and I’m not saying there’s no truth to that.) If you aren’t good at writing categories, and you know you aren’t, then find something else you’re good at.
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