All of my previous selling-outs were nothing compared to this selling-out. Of course, this selling-out has been far less painful than previous selling-outs, as well, so I'm not so ashamed of myself that I'm not willing to share it with my faithful readers.
Lindsay-with-an-A is now officially writing a romance novel.
I know, I know. You're probably thinking to yourself, "But Lindsay-with-an-A is the biggest cynic I know! She laughed at the end of The Notebook! She mocks Jared diamond commercials! How could she possibly write a romance novel?"
Here's the thing: I do enjoy reading romance novels, despite the inevitably cheese-tastic endings. They're like cotton candy for the brain, only they're less guilt-inducing than romantic comedies because reading requires more effort and brain cells than watching movies ever will. In addition, most heroines in romance novels today are spunky and don't take nothing from nobody, so of course I would enjoy that aspect.
But I digress. My somewhat-shamefaced reading of romance novels has never before made me actually want to write one. The incredibly depressing state of my bank account is the main motivating factor here, and as we've discussed before, romance novels are one of the few fields in publishing in which sales are not negatively affected by the economy. It's probably one of the most stable supply-and-demands out there.
Anyway, we'll see how far I actually get in my historical romantic suspense. The last time I tried to write a romance novel, I got bored about 40 pages in. I'm pretty sure if I check my bank account at least once a day, it'll keep my enthusiasm going pretty steadily.