The Mediocre Dream
Sometimes I just want to crank out genre novels. I want to resist the urge to try literary fiction because, you know what? Literary fiction is tough. Those are the novels that take ten years to write. I want to throw darts at a wall full of index cards: “Dog protagonist,” “In love with a ghost,” “1990’s New Orleans,” and just pump out detective stories one every four months. Walk into a Borders and you’ll see the veneer of Hot New Fiction blanketing a continent of mysteries and romances with quirky titles. Series of books whose titles play the alphabet game, with room for Halloween editions. That’s what I want to write sometimes. The rest. The schwag. I guess in the end I don’t care about the book. I just like the writing.