Writing Advice Odds & Ends: Audience and Writing Faster
Here are some thoughts I have been having as of late. When I think of certain topics, I tend to write long essays in my head, so I’m putting them in writing. Hopefully, they can offer some insight. Here, I will discuss how to get a better grasp of your target audience and possible ways to write faster.
How do I know who my audience is?
This is a struggle I see writers have and a struggle I have had as well.
In the beginning, your audience is you. I would argue that, in the end, you should always be a part of your audience, but it’s important to keep in mind your readership and their expectations. Ideally, you can find a balance.
It’s true that some books are hard to market. It is good advice to write to market and earn the trust of your readers, but if you aim to write books solely for money, I think writing in a niche or genre that you hate can lead to burnout. So, if you don’t like enemies-to-lovers, don’t write enemies-to-lovers. If you don’t like romantasy, don’t write romantasy. As many say, a good way to get better at writing a genre is to study it, but if reading a certain kind of book sounds unappealing, don’t do it; choose something that you enjoy, or explore and see what books make you passionate to create, but writing what you love doesn’t need to be exclusive with writing something with an audience. For example, if you love enemies-to-lovers and/or romantasy, then you’re in luck!
Wanting to make money off your writing isn’t bad, of course, but it’s a marathon, not a sprint, and to be completely honest, it’s a very slow and unreliable way to try to make a consistent income when you first start out. The answer to this is a backlist, meaning you have several books out, so readers who like your book will buy more rather than going to your page, only seeing one book, and saying, “Aw. :( No more books.”
One of the roughest and discouraging stages can be when you only have one or two books out. When you’re starting out, it can be hard to build “proof” that you’re an author readers can trust and reliably purchase from. Every purchase is a risk, especially when income varies and times are tough. So, depending on your goals, you should preferably pick a genre that you wouldn’t mind writing a minimum of ten books in. I say ten based on purely anecdotal research I have done where authors seem to gain momentum with their careers when their books reach the double digits.
I’ll give a personal example of how I learned the audience for my books. For the New Age Gothic series, I had the idea for years since I played a three-vampire, one-witch polycule family in The Sims 4. However, I had a problem: How do I introduce four characters at once? And after all, aren’t vampires dead? No one cares about vampires anymore! And if I write both a polyamorous and queer story, haven’t I been told that these factors further limit who will be interested in the books?
Then, on Halloween 2022, I binged most of AMC’s Interview with the Vampire, and I realized that a very indulgent vampire piece could work. This wasn’t the only factor. I also read Katee Robert’s bisexual FMMM book Court of the Vampire Queen, so I have her to thank as well. It encouraged me to give the vampires their own story. And in Robert’s book, I was pleasantly surprised that all the men are bisexual, so I learned not to limit myself because I feared polyamory and queerness may be a hard sell like I was told. But also, when I think about A Flame of the Night, I think, “This is a book for people who like IWTV. It’s for people who like vampires and want something indulgent, lush, and occasionally camp.” There it is!
How can I write fast? Or faster?
I have written works from 30–60K in five weeks (A Flame in the Night, Witch Soul, King of Hell, and The Saint of Heartbreak), and I wrote a very long (140K) M/M/M vampire dark romance (weird and bloody bisexual vampire sex epic) in a little over five months. Not all my books are written swiftly. Hell, I have a Dracula story that’s been percolating since 2014. I think, as it marinates, I need to put some more garlic in the crockpot.
I have ADHD, and there’s usually a period after I finish a project where I cycle through different ideas, which can be frustrating. However, I acknowledge that though I do work hard on all my stories, I am lucky to write quickly at times. When it comes to novellas and novels, I published four times in 2023, with Providence Girls being the only one complete before December 2022, and even then, it had been going through a rough revision period.
There’s often a case of “I was supposed to be working on this, but then (Judas book/gay vampire sex epic) happened, and it was like I was possessed.” Not easily replicable. However, some books, like Providence Girls and Unholy with Eyes like Wolves, were years in the making for a host of reasons, though a major one was that I started both these stories to be indulgent and then fretted about the palatability of them—if Azzie eats a man’s throat, is she still likeable? Maybe we can have murder without cannibalism? Noémie can’t really have weird, bloody heart-eating sex in a cathedral while Carmilla is dressed like Mother Mary, that’s too much! Noémie can’t be too mean or too sexual because then there will be complaints—and removing some of the big, transgressive reasons why I wanted to write the stories often made me lose motivation. To be blunt, fear got to me. I like stories that take risks and have messy, complex even nasty characters, but that was at odds with what I thought people would like.
That said, it’s difficult to give advice about writing quickly—I know, not very helpful! The truth for me is that I have been writing for a very long time. It is very hard for me to turn off the faucet, and it’s a little maddening when I’m doing something besides writing. I do take breaks, since I don’t commit to a strict writing schedule, but it’s usually a few days rather than a week or a month. In the end, I think it’s okay that people have different paces, and if it’s not working for you, it’s usually good to experiment with process.
I could give advice about a writing routine or word count goal and all that, but to be completely honest, I don’t follow this advice. I don’t set a word count minimum or only write at a certain time of day. I don’t block out my writing time. It’s not bad; if it works for you, it works, and it helps with treating your writing career as a career. A lot of authors have hours where they write, and they write 3,000 or 4,000 words a day, and that works very well for them, and it could work out for you.
After all, the reason I write a lot is because I’m used to it; frankly, I am not sure what I would do if I were to stop writing for a long time. The only times this has happened was during periods of severe depression, and it was miserable. I also struggle to write after finishing a project. I recently finished a 143K vampire dark romance, a gothic sex epic if you will, and I find that I have a block in my mind when I think about writing, and it’s frustrating. However, this has happened before, and it will pass. It’s hard for me to take a break because if I’m not writing I’m thinking about my characters and imagining them like they’re in 2007 YouTube AMVs set to Breaking Benjamin and Within Temptation.
But of course, writing regularly and training your mind to expect to write during a certain stretch of time makes it a habit and therefore easier to continue doing. I have also, in the past, had luck with pomodoros. The site I’ve linked provides a timer and a to-do list. Essentially, pomodoros are 25-minute blocks of writing separated by breaks of either 5 minutes or 15 minutes. As someone with ADHD, I think it helps to have these shorted, segmented periods of writing where you can get up to drink water, have a snack, or take a brief walk outside.
I think a frustrating aspect of writing that should be acknowledged is that a lot of the process tends to be figuring out what works for you, which results in trial and error. I don’t have daily goals; sometimes I write 500 words. Sometimes I write 3,000. Others times, I struggle with brain fog and chronic pain, so I rest and work on recharging. My goals tend to be very specific to the project and my progress. For example, “finish chapter two” or “get these character from Location A to Location B” or “finishing writing this kiss scene.”
If a chapter has three scenes and I’ve only written two, then my daily goal is to work on the third scene. If a scene involves a character going somewhere and having a conversation, on a good day, I will try to finish it all. On harder days, I will go into the document thinking, “Get this character from this location to that location.” Then, later, I will go, “Right now, I will work on the conversation.” My focus is on getting the two characters in a room together. I find going scene-by-scene and really breaking it down helps me from feeling overwhelmed. If I’m struggling, it can be a bit much to think, “I have 60,000 more words to write before this is a full novel” or “I have twenty more chapters to go.” And in the end, my focus tends to be less on fulfilling the quantity and more on whether I’m actively hitting the necessary notes for the story.
I think that something that can help with moving a draft along is having an idea about where your characters are going, as well as why you are writing the story in the first place. What compels you? What made you want to write the story in the first place? I talked previously in another post about how characters go from Point A to Point B, and I feel like this can be helpful when crafting scenes. If a scene is going nowhere, what would lead your character closer to Point B? Point B isn’t a literal destination but rather Point B in their character arc, the character you want them to become versus the character they already are. It might be better to make it Point C—A is the start, B is halfway, and C is them after their complete arc. However, I find it easier to think of the start and the end because of the starkness of who a character is at the beginning versus who they will be become.
For romance, I recently read Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes, and I’m currently re-reading Story Genius by Lisa Cron. Something I really like about Gwen Hayes’ approach and how she talks about story progression. Story is the internal aspects (character) and the external events (plot) that drive the protagonist to act or change. I love Hayes’ idea of the characters’ “wound”—something from the character’s past that hurts them and informs every scene.
Every interaction somehow deals with or challenges the protection of this wound. Sort of like how an animal that has been injured can be skittish or agitated and doesn’t like when you try to treat the area. Or, hell, if the wound bothers them, they may pick and gnaw at it. People are similar. Early on, if someone points out the characters’ problems, they grow defensive and, maybe unknowingly, protect the wound—they’re justified to act like they do, “this is how the world is,” etc. The writer should at least know what the wound is and how it influences the character.
For example, in Story Genius, we have a character presented who experienced grief in her childhood that shook her to the point that she closes herself off and doesn’t see love as worth it because there’s always the chance of grief if that person leaves or dies. I am still reading through, but if I recall correctly, she is emotionally distant toward the man she’s engaged to, and she discovers that he’s terminally ill. She also steals a dog, and she hates dogs, but these circumstances make her confront her fear of giving love a chance because the pain of loss isn’t worth it. Even though this book isn’t a romance, to use Hayes’ language, everything in this character’s past and present is meant to explain the wound or agitate the wound, thus leading the character to act.
When it comes to Romancing the Beat and the wound, I really like the visceral image Hayes evokes here. Maybe it’s because I’m a horror person first and foremost. Like the rose metaphor I’ve used before, there is a distinct change and transition—the character going from wounded to either healed or beginning to work toward healing. I like the wound metaphor very much because many wounds don’t heal by themselves; they must be tended to, so they don’t get infected. The characters have wounds that, by the end, need to at least start to heal, but the characters don’t know or understand how, and the process is the story.
In a romance, usually the idea is that emotional vulnerability and love heal. The character may be closed off or cynical—or hate the love interest—and they are unable to communicate their true feelings or their secrets out of fear, but then their walls break down.
In romance, usually, the characters are unfulfilled but are healed by love. The walls are broken down. In erotica, a character may be sexually unfulfilled or perhaps repressed, and then they become fulfilled.
Cron and many other professional writers often talk about a “misbelief,” and this is another term for what I believe is the same thing. Misbeliefs, masks, walls, wounds—characters are resistant to change, not unlike real people. Past experiences have informed who they are and who they think they should be. The plot should challenge them and push them to confront their issues, and that’s the story.
I also think that these pretenses, in a romance, can also be about the other character(s); for example, enemies-to-lovers where the characters hate each other because of true and untrue reasons and, therefore, they need to work past this for a romance to happen. But in the end, it’s mostly an internal process. Romance can seem deceptively easy because, of course, it ends with the characters in love and together, right? But it can be a tricky and thorny balance to deal with both the characters.
Not a very fast explanation! Essentially, everything above, I think, should be taken into consideration if you find that you struggle going from idea conception to completing a draft. Break it down if it feels overwhelming.
What all my books I wrote quickly have in common is that going in, I knew what the characters wanted and where they ended up. I also knew what their problems were. I don’t think I wrote extensive outlines for any of them, but I knew who my characters would be once the story began and where they should end up.
In A Flame in the Night, Léon and Claire do have external issues helped very much by becoming vampires, but besides that, they are both restless and limited in what they are able to do because of their circumstances. Matthias has lived a long time and also once lost himself to the point that he almost never returned from a haze of grief and bloodlust; he hasn’t had companionship in a long time and is often very reserved and stoic, whereas the blondies are more carefree and bold. Together, they are a powerful throuple, but Matthias also is able to have warmth and companionship in his life again and lower his defenses.
In King of Hell, Laurențiu is ambitious and convinces himself that all he needs are power and revenge, and while he does get those, the true heart of the story is him allowing himself to admit his love for Paimon, as well as seeing Adrian as a part of their strange family.
In “Secret” Vampire Dark Romance, Character A wants security for others and himself but cannot acknowledge the latter because his self-worth has been ground down from being a working class man in nineteenth-century Paris. He is willing to sacrifice his agency to become a vampire familiar, very much like a worse version of a ghoul in Vampire: The Masquerade, for security and coaches it in helping his sisters because if they end up on the streets when he’s the big brother and sole caretaker, he’ll never forgive himself; this, however, causes pain for those who do see his worth. He must always justify things he does for himself in doing it for others.
Character B is a vampire lord whose ancient vampiric masters—yes, two—still exist and torment him. He’s not a good person, but after ~400 years of abuse, much of his cruelty is to please his masters and an extension of what he thinks he “deserves”—and he definitely doesn’t have any pesky emotions! He just knows that the world is callous and loveless, and that’s always how it’s supposed to be, right? And Character C tends to be secretive about his own needs—low self-worth!—but also is hot-headed and gets under the vampire’s skin.
As I talked about in my post about the two-act structure, I tend to view characters through the lens of Point A to Point B where, at Point A, they are “closed” like a rose that hasn’t bloomed yet, and at the halfway point, something transformative happens that begins the change and also offers a big signal of “things can never be the same as they were before, and the characters must confront their issues or fail.” The characters begin to open up and grow. The key here, to me, is thinking of my stories as about transformation; a character is becoming who they are meant to be.
While I think character agency and decisions are important when it comes to character development, because I often write horror or horror romance, note that sometimes the transformation is thrust upon the character. However, there is always a choice and internal development the characters must make.
Providence Girls: Azzie’s transformation ramps up—her fin erupts out of her spine. Vin and Azzie now have a limited time they can grow and confront their fears and secrets. Azzie is more dependent and vulnerable when she’s usually neither, and Vin must be more independent and care for her while also acknowledging when it’s time to let her go until they reunite. Azzie is someone who starts off distrusting and closed off and allows herself to be vulnerable with Vin, and Vin is someone who starts off struggling to have a sense of her own identity outside of what her father, town, and trauma have said that she is, but as the story goes on, she gains more autonomy and a sense of self.
King of Hell: Laurențiu and Paimon meet Adrian, another vampire, and their quest becomes about more than revenge. Laurențiu avoids emotional commitment by narrowing his focus on revenge and ambition, but meeting Adrian, someone he empathizes with and becomes a mentor to, leads him to be willing to let down his walls.
Unholy with Eyes like Wolves: Noémie dies and becomes a vampire. She’s finally able to have more agency and sexual freedom.
“Secret” Vampire Dark Romance: A bloody and horrible vampire party happens, and well, the characters are forced to confront the nature of their so-called “relationship” after the painful fallout.
If you struggle with getting a draft down, ask yourself:
Who are these characters? What are their “wounds”? Who are they at the beginning and what influences them to act this way?
Often, even if you don’t extensively reveal their backstory (definitely don’t do this early on), this should be made clear on the page through their actions—the presence of something holding them back and preventing them from growing. Something that makes them who they are. Quite literally write down where they are at the start (A) and who they are at the end (B). Then consider what it’ll take to get them to that final place. As for the misbelief, wound, etc., this should be something specific, a specific event that can be tied to making them who they are. If it’s too vague, writing the character can be harder.
Why do I want to write this story in the first place?
“Oh, but to write this book, I have to write parts that bore me and that I hate—” Do you? Do you really? Writing is indeed a profession for many and isn’t always fun, and stories often change from when they are first thought of. Many aspects of being an author—attempting to form a routine, networking, marketing—are outside what we consider enjoyable. But if a story feels like it has something missing or that it’s a constant slog, ask yourself what compels you to write it. When did you first get the idea, and why were you so interested in writing it? Think about what makes you passionate—I’m very quiet in real life, when I’m passionate about something, I could talk for hours. Writing isn’t too different.
If you feel like you’ve been compromising on the aspects you enjoy because of fear, try to write the version “of your heart” and worry about what to remove later. This is what I did with A Flame in the Night. I spent quite a few years tired and dissatisfied with many stories I wrote. An old professor told me, “What are you doing? Self-publishing is cute and all, but don’t you want to be a real author and get serious with a literary agent? What’s with all this silly horror stuff?”
My professors and peers generally didn’t appreciate my stories that were too bloody, sexual, or queer. I became fixated on writing books that tried to appease the critical audience in my head; I could be gothic, but not too dark and indulgent. Never too sentimental. No overtures of emotion! I also was afraid of being too sincere or not self-aware enough with my writing for fear of being too vulnerable and mocked—or deemed “cringy.” Even with stories “for myself,” I compromised them to be more “acceptable.” Instead of CinemaSins, I constantly pulled a BookSins on myself, imagining the acerbic takedowns of everything I did wrong, how unlikable the characters were, how imperfect everything was. I still wrote quite a lot—“Morgan, what do you mean you don’t enjoy writing? You do so much of it!”—but I felt like my passion for it was extinguished. It was a habit.
A Flame in the Night was my book where I wrote a story I would want to read, something—vampire erotic romance—that no doubt would be easily dismissable by my old mentors and peers. At the time I finished it, it was the only book I’d written where someone told me they could tell I had fun writing it. I’m serious when I say writing it rewired my brain because, at the time, I was afraid to share something so brazenly unguarded and sexual, a story where Léon is intentionally dense and makes silly mistakes because he thinks with his heart and doesn’t hold his own safety in the same regard as the ones he loves. I made him that way because I grew tired of trying to write characters who are understandable, poised, and logical all the time, where I felt the need to have them defend and justify their own actions for fear of being misconstrued as approving of their Bad Actions. So, I made a character who barrels into making bad decisions, whose logic boils down to “I’ll go into this vampire’s wine cellar because he’s hot; I’ll just be sure to bring a knife,” and it was very freeing.
Ultimately, I think going back to the source of why certain characters came to you and why certain themes and premises resonate will help with finding the heart of the story and your characters’ wounds. Again, I also think breaking things down in chunks helps immensely.
Hope this all helps a little!
I’m Morgan, and I write romance, horror, and fantasy. I enjoy gothic lit and vampires. My newest book as of typing, The Saint of Heartbreak, a queer romance in Hell about Judas and the Devil, is available for pre-order. More about my books can be found at morgandante.com. My Patreon can be found here.