February 19, 2006
Instincts
Written by Shirley Karr in Our BooksI’ve been discussing the genesis of Kiss From A Rogue, how I developed the ideas, how they evolved. It came as a surprise to me how much the story deviated between the proposal my editor accepted and the manuscript I turned in. I was a bit worried, but it turns out a lot of writers deviate from the plan, and editors are used to our idiosyncracies.
The first change was the heroine’s name. It seemed fine in the synopsis, but when I sat down to write the story, I realized it was the same first name as a famous author – someone I’ve met several times, who does not bear any resemblance to the character, and this was quite distracting. So she became Sylvia instead.
Another change concerned the villain. The bad guy in the synopsis insisted on being the comic relief in the manuscript, and the real villain didn’t exist until he walked onstage and introduced himself. (A similar development just happened in the manuscript I’m working on now, but I didn’t freak out this time.)
As I was working up the idea of my smuggling story, my agent had pointed out that someone had to be the voice of reason – we can’t have our beloved hero and heroine engaged in illegal activities indefinitely. Inspired by the quality of the optics in their spyglasses, I decided they’d set up a glass factory, thereby giving legal employment to the entire village. I put together the proposal quite quickly, so I only did the most rudimentary research before sending off this brilliant solution to my editor. By three months into the project, I’d done tons more research on Dorset – its geography, geology, industry, natural resources, etc. — and realized a glass factory was out of the question. It was two months from my deadline, and I was writing as fast as I could, toward a complete abyss. What could they possibly do instead of smuggling, that would support the villagers, was legal, and actually believable to anyone who knew anything at all about Dorset?
I wrote right up to the edge of the abyss, the very line where a character opens their mouth to announce the solution, and still that solution eluded me. My critique partners joined me for an emergency plotting party that night. We tossed out all sorts of ideas, the sublime as well as the absurd, until we were ready to howl in frustration. Nothing seemed right. All the usual writer neuroses were screaming for my attention. I’d written myself into a corner, and couldn’t find a door. The manuscript was due in six weeks.
As a sanity-saver, we started going off on tangents, discussing all sorts of things, writing related or not. Someone pointed out something that had been annoying her about the story, but she hadn’t mentioned it prior to this. It was a throwaway line that appeared in several places. That throwaway line turned out to be the solution, the legal alternative to smuggling that could support an entire village. The door had been there all along, and I simply hadn’t recognized it.
With some very minor revisions, its importance became more evident, and it’s a “well, of course that’s what they do,” in retrospect but is still a bit of a surprise when they come up with the plan. (I’d tell you what is, but then you wouldn’t need to read the book to find the answer.)
The moral of this story is, trust your instincts. You know more than you think you do. Sometimes you just need help in recognizing your own brilliance. ![]()









