if, indeed, my last post was yang. I’m thinking back week or ten days ago to the one about the break-out novel (Someone already wittily suggested fictive acne.) Mostly I complained about being prodded to write what would essentially be a best seller. And the whine wasn’t because I didn’t want to be rich, popular and adored but because my editor couldn’t be more specific than, “Something different. Not what you usually write.” I’m sure my attitude was, “I’ll show you. I’ll write two sequels!”
What if I was wrong? What if all of us who have been urged to do something very, very different and have dug in our heels have been wrong? Everyone knows that doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome is madness. I always expect my next book to knock everyone’s socks off, yet the socks stubbornly stay on even though I promised that the barefoot photos would be tasteful and available only to discriminating clients in the UK.
Hmmm. Well, I’ll keep everyone posted, as I ponder these things. Happy Thanksgiving to all.