I like people, but they make my brain go poof.

I'm good with letting them play with my brain; it just means that I have to keep heart and soul under stricter controls.

You're a nicer person than if you make it happen outside your head.

Yupyupyup.

But it's better to write about the evil things than to do the evil things. Just remember not to do the evil things after you write about the evil things, otherwise it'll come up in your trial.

Makes notes.

In invisible ink.

I think I've just discovered my most "avoidy" writing behavior. Whenever a scene stalls, or I can't figure out a character, or just at that "slogging through" stage you sometimes have to, well, slog through before you can go back and refine, I wind up convinced that I should be writing not another story, but in another genre entirely. I'm writing a kind of chick-lit-ish romance with a mystery right now, and yet I picked up the new Julia Quinn this afternoon while I was trying to get the baby to sleep and had myself believing after four pages that I should really be writing historicals.

Which is all very well to say when you're reading someone with a light, humorous touch who makes it look easy. That's just it -- it's tempting to read something else and say, But if I were writing this kind of book, it would come so much easier. But it wouldn't. If I were writing a historical, I'd be sitting around convinced I could write contemporary romance/mystery with both hands tied behind my back.

Le, as they say, sigh.

Amy, this is probably one benefit of being a chaos writer (as in, just sit down and do it): half the time, I don't know where the book's going when I start.

Live, without a net.

When I was in college I used to move Rush Limbaugh's books into the fiction section. Ok, so I think I'm funny. I am a big fan of Margaret Atwood. I would read almost anything she wrote.

The thing is, Deb, I used ot be like that. Everything I wrote was simply the story as it came out of my twisted little head. But working in publishing, and knowing too much about genre and categories, I think, ruined me.

(nattery) How's Alice, by the way? Did you hear anything?

Nothing. I have a call in and will call again.

Re being ruined by the genre thing, you've just nailed why I get so damned prickly about the subject of genre categorisation.

The funny thing is, there really are a lot of books that defy categorization and succeed. I think P-C mentioned Wicked, and there are just dozens of others...the titles of which I can't think of at the moment, damn it. But they're out there. I know it! Shakes fist.

Still vibing for Alice. How scary. And your brother-in-law's question about the carpet just about broke me.

there really are a lot of books that defy categorization and succeed.

The Name of the Rose. The Lovely Bones. For that matter, years ago, The Bone People by Kerri Hulme. It won a Booker.

Oh, and a little thing called The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay.

"Infinite Jest" although the success that impresses me is that no other book has made me go "Wtf?" so often without my, you know, flinging it with great force. Decisions, decisions...I could have an assignment if I could write my least favorite topic evah...the right to die. I'm not even sure what I *think* exactly, but it could make me quite unpopular. 12 million stories in the disability nation but it always comes down to that...cringe, cringe. I hate the Schiavo family so much, right now..ugh.