Bumps in the Road

I've had a busy week and I used this on another blog a few weeks ago; if you've already read it, sorry! It's about writing, and about me, and about the road both the writing and I have taken. It's parade day today. I hope you enjoy it and that Circus Week has been a resounding success!

I started out writing sweet romance. 

Of course, I did. I was nine years old, typing a princess story on my aunt's portable Royal typewriter at a table on my grandparents' enclosed front porch. From there, I moved to stories about 13-year-olds who crushed on their brothers' friends. (Think Trixie Belden without the mysteries.)  They were much like me, only my heroines had good hair and were allowed to wear lipstick. 

As I went through junior high, writing stories in longhand on looseleaf note paper I kept in double-pocketed folders, the stories stayed sweet. Several first kisses were exchanged, some noticing of how guys looked in letter jackets because they all had broad shoulders and hair just a little longer than was actually acceptable. Everyone drove really cool cars and the girls never sat at home on Friday nights; if they didn't have dates they were perfectly happy to go out with girlfriends in yet another cool car.

And yes, they all had good hair.

Sometimes they swore a little. Not a lot, but likely more than I could have gotten by with. 

Time out for marrying, having children, working full time, raising said children, and being a terrible housekeeper, and then I got serious again. I had a ton of Chapter Ones in folders, several main characters whirling around in the back of my mind (behind the insanity of teenagers in the house) I joined RWA. I was a charter member of a chapter. I loved ... no, I loved being part of the whole romantic fiction industry long before I was published.

Which took several books and many, many submissions of expensive photocopies of paper manuscripts in Courier font--remember those? And then I sold a Precious Gems novel, Always Annie. In addition to the lukewarm love scene I'd already written, editor Hilary Sares required another one. A not especially lukewarm one. And a little more sizzle here and there, thank you very much. 

For that book and several others, I sizzled. Not a lot, not especially happily, but I wrote a couple of love scenes I was actually proud of. Even now, I think they were pretty good. 

I still swore a little, sometimes a little more ... what  ... earthily? Not coarsely (in my estimation), not the Bad Words that I never said anyway. But sometimes it was like a United Methodist bishop once said, paraphrasing, if he hit his thumb with a hammer, the first word he said wouldn't be darn. 

I wasn't writing sweet anymore. While I may insist I don't know how it happened, I do. Yes, I do. 

But personally, when I read, I either skipped or skimmed love scenes. I thought euphemisms were often dumb but I didn't enjoy the clinical terms, either. They felt forced. Sometimes it felt as if the love scenes were held together by mere threads of story.

As I went along, with different publishers, trying different things, I gave up writing love scenes that included eithe body parts or consummation. Just as I gave up always writing women who had good hair. Yes, that was me you may have heard cheering as I slammed the bedroom door shut. Not because I have any kind of problem with other people writing or reading anything up to and including erotica. 

But, as Bob Dylan wrote so eloquently so long ago, It ain't me, babe. 

Frankly, it's not always easy to say what I want in a story without swearing, so sometimes I do. Not often, but I refer back to what the bishop said. 

So, here are the bumps. I think you can write too sweet, but what that means is that it's too sweet for me, not for your readers. I think you can be too crude , but doing it just because you can isn't reason enough. For me. 

As usual, I don't have a solution to what is sometimes a problem, and I am the first to admit and complain about the constant obstacles in the publishing road. I do have thoughts, though.

Should we have ratings like movies do? I think it would be a good idea, since what one person considers merely spicy yet another person finds to be unmitigated filth. What one person considers sweet or clean is insipid and colorless by someone else. 

Regardless, we will all continue to do what we've done all along. We will tell--and hopefully sell--our stories. We will wend the way to happily-ever-after over whatever bumps get in our way. Aren't we the lucky ones?

P. S. If you're looking for a sweet and clean marriage resurrected story, Early and Nash's is way up there in my list of my own favorites. It's a story of family, faith, and quilting. I hope you'll give it a look.