Just received a lovely personalized rejection from a NYC editor, who wrote: “I was impressed by the variety of these stories. You handle different settings and styles with flair . . .” She closed with an invitation to send in other work.
Except, I’m not all that certain I WANT to.
Years ago, after my proposals went out to several of their readers, Harlequin sent me three books in the mail and told me if I wanted to publish with them, I would need to write like “these authors”.
I didn’t even try.
I write like me, not like anyone else. I don’t WANT to write like anyone else. My voice is idiosyncratic to me, as are my plots and characters. Dark historicals have fallen out of favor with NYC, and I continue to write them; I continue to write contemporaries that go beyond a high sexual concept; I continue writing paranormals that tell basic and fundamental normal human truths.
I think I know what the NYC editor wants, but I’m not really sure I WANT to change my style of storytelling or the subjects about which I choose to write. I’m not really sure I WANT to push out more proposals to the exclusion of everything else.
I have a sinking feeling I’m just way too contented with my life.
It’s the whole ambition angle. Don’t get me wrong–there is a fire burning in my belly, but it’s always been about and for the writing, not about and for the writing deal.
There is a difference.