It seems like every time I turn around, someone, somewhere, is asking something like...."But will readers buy that?" or "Will readers get pissed off if I...." (fill in the blank) "will readers hate my characters if they....." (again, pick a vice)
And I always just want to take those writers, shake them and ask them "what the hell is wrong with you?"
Because you know what? They aren't writers. Asking them to answer such questions is like a long shore fisherman asking a dairy farmer where the good fishing holes are. It doesn't make the farmer any less smart because he can't answer that question, but I have to seriously wonder about the fisherman.
Asking another writer is only slightly less impossible. Now the longshoreman is asking an Alaskan Crabber where the Atlantic cod are. He might have an answer, but it probably won't be relevant or accurate enough to matter.
The thing is, the answer to all those questions is at once yes, no and who the hell knows?!?!? Who cares? Watch me piss off all my readers, but...I don't write for them. I write for the story, end of.
Now I also probably pissed off all the writers who've ever asked if making their main character a 'cheater' or an addict who falls off the wagon, or if they can write a romance in which the two main character share less than half a novel's worth of page time. Some days, I'm not very diplomatic. Rest assured, my friends (if I can still call you that!) every one of those questions has flitted through my mind, and I have asked. And you know what my brilliant writer friends say?
Who the hell knows? Who cares? Is that what the character is doing? Then why are you still talking about? Why are you bugging me? Why aren't you just writing that shit down?
And they were right, and I did. In this book.
If there is a vice for Laurie to exploit, he does, and you know what? Not everyone is going to dig that. That's ok. I'm not writing for them. I'm writing for Laurie. His story has been told and his voice has been quieted. That's all that matters.
Blurb: The violent implosion of Lawrence McKenna’s last relationship left him floundering at the bottom of a bottle. Recently unemployed and struggling with his newly discovered submissive tendencies, Laurie needs his best friend, Jeff, more than ever. One sleepless night of detox and a desperate kiss convince him that the attraction they’ve battled all their lives has become too hard to ignore, but Jeff has other responsibilities that take him far away from Laurie and his self-destructive behavior.
When Jeff leaves, all Laurie wants is to be left alone to wallow. Instead, he finds himself riding herd on his friends who have quit their jobs to achieve their dream of starting their own manga publisher. Those same friends return the favor by riding him: about the booze, talking about what happened, seeing a doctor—and about Jeff, whose abandonment left Laurie bitter and resentful. Laurie knows they can’t have a relationship without forgiveness, but when Jeff returns, can he be what Laurie needs?