NaNo Waffling, or Hating on Fluff
I have such a freakin' complex about what I "should" be writing. I've been writing my little smutty stories for a while now, mostly because I like writing the sexy parts. But to call myself a "romance writer", like, bugs. And I don't know why (well, I do know why), because I like a good witty Regency romance. But I like them in the same way that I like a snickerdoodle -- they're delicious, but they're fluffy and unhealthy and not something I gorge on in public.
Much as I argue with myself to the contrary I can't get over this bias of romance novels as un-literature, as the Britney Spears of books. It's a huge genre that sells more books than almost any other, and that has a passionate and dedicated readership. But it can't convince myself to call it real literature. Even though I like reading it. And writing it.
The self-hatred is real.
When I call my sexy stories smut, it's a tongue-in-cheek nod to those bodice-rippers, because, I mean, that's basically what they are, right? Just cheap, fun, smut that we're totally free to enjoy but that we all recognize is nothing but fluffy and light and tawdry. It's how I make them fit into my bigger goals for my writing and keep from feeling like I'm wasting my time. Even as I recognize that thinking that way is silly and insulting to other writers and readers of romance.
So here it is, one week into NaNo, and I've restarted my novel once already, and now I'm sitting here doubting this one as well. Because there's not enough to it besides just the relationship story, even though I'm super excited to write about the relationship story. But a wee little voice keeps poking me with the idea that this is a crap, fluffy story and what I really want to be writing is a story with more substance. And yes, I want to have written a story with more substance, but I'm also motivated by writing the interpersonal dynamics, and all the deep stuff seems boring sometimes.
Ugh.
Either way, I need to nail down a plot like, today, because we're getting too far into this thing to still be waffling.
Much as I argue with myself to the contrary I can't get over this bias of romance novels as un-literature, as the Britney Spears of books. It's a huge genre that sells more books than almost any other, and that has a passionate and dedicated readership. But it can't convince myself to call it real literature. Even though I like reading it. And writing it.
The self-hatred is real.
When I call my sexy stories smut, it's a tongue-in-cheek nod to those bodice-rippers, because, I mean, that's basically what they are, right? Just cheap, fun, smut that we're totally free to enjoy but that we all recognize is nothing but fluffy and light and tawdry. It's how I make them fit into my bigger goals for my writing and keep from feeling like I'm wasting my time. Even as I recognize that thinking that way is silly and insulting to other writers and readers of romance.
So here it is, one week into NaNo, and I've restarted my novel once already, and now I'm sitting here doubting this one as well. Because there's not enough to it besides just the relationship story, even though I'm super excited to write about the relationship story. But a wee little voice keeps poking me with the idea that this is a crap, fluffy story and what I really want to be writing is a story with more substance. And yes, I want to have written a story with more substance, but I'm also motivated by writing the interpersonal dynamics, and all the deep stuff seems boring sometimes.
Ugh.
Either way, I need to nail down a plot like, today, because we're getting too far into this thing to still be waffling.
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