Tuesday, August 16
On this day I was helping my dad push these cows and calves through the gate to fresh pasture. All of them went but one onery old cow. A maverick. She didn't want to go to that side of the fence and ran back to where she'd left her calf. Trouble was, he had the good sense to follow the herd through the gate, and was waiting for his mother to come to her senses and join the rest of the bunch on their new, fresh grass.
I feel like that cow sometimes.
I don't always want to do what the bunch does.
For instance, I write geared toward Intrigue a lot. But I break some of their rules. I don't always have the hero/heroine meet in the first chapter. I like to use the words ass, cock and sometimes fuck. My stories are often violent. All supposed no-nos.
In my single titles I really like to color outside the lines. In one story I have a married heroine, and a racially charged storyline in another manuscript.
Do these things keep me from selling, or getting on the new, fresh pasture?
But I'm like that stubborn cow. I know what I want to do. I don't want to be like the rest of the herd, placidly following along through the gate. If it makes me run in cirlcles, so be it.
I know what I want to do, I know that it may not be like a lot of other people. But that's okay.
Some day I'll find that gate.