The Painful Death of Arti$tic Integrity
So you were probably asking yourself "What's the other idea Daif shared in his last post... and where did my pants go?" I'm about to answer the first question, but the second is between you and your pants.
The lovely and talented 'Jen' (of whom I will share more at some point) knows a guy who works as an editor for Harlequin... yeah, the romance novels. Anyone with even mediocre writing skills can submit a novel for middle-aged housewives who aren't content enough with their love lives, but are too intelligent for soaps. Hey, I'm a mediocre writer... and someday I could be a middle-aged house... uh... wife... uh... yeah.
Seriously. I'm going to track down some details about how to submit a novel and what their writing guidelines are. Some may say that I'd be selling out my artistic ideals, but I think I'd just be broadening my writing horizon$ and challlenging my writing $kill$. The thought of money... sweet, sweet money... never even crossed my money. Mind. My mind.
Completely by coincidence, do you have any idea how much coin these writers make? It's ridiculous. More ridiculous is how huge and profitable the market is for this drivel... and since I've been writing drivel for years, it's time for my comeuppance. Now all I need is a pen name. "Gerard LaChance"? Drop me some ideas in the comments section.
I hope housewives dig plots about sensual men who drive big cars WAY too fast, and have rocket launchers. Yeah... that's hot, baby.