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Buy a Book, Help a Loser by Lucy Woodhull
Hello there, Contemporary Romance Café readers. I’m Lucy, and I’m a loser.
(This is the part when you say, “Hello, Lucy.”)
Well, see, I don’t know if I’m a 100% loser today, as my eyeliner is ah-maze-ing, and I just ate tacos, but I’ve been there. Damn, have I been there. Entire failed careers haunt me like yesterday’s raw chicken in the garbage can. I’ve spent hours wondering to myself how other people do it — they just shimmy up the ol’ life ladder and succeed without bashing their knees or enduring break-through bleeding on their periods. There are times when you work so damn hard, and are talented, but it still will not add up to “success,” whatever the frick that is.
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My name is Lucy Woodhull, and I’m a goofball. I don’t say that lightly — my husband calls me that (lovingly…I think), as well as “weirdo.” I write funny romances, because if there’s anything better than sex, it might be laughter. I love bringing the funny, eating Cheez-Its, and vegging with said husband and our fat cat who hates everyone but us.
Flip That Script, Be a Better Writer
I’m romantic comedy author Lucy Woodhull, and I’m back on the CRC blog to talk about the ladiez.
One of the most amazing things to me about writing romance is that I’m doing it within a community of women. Romance is the genre that is overwhelmingly written by women, edited by women, and bought by women (another is YA). It’s a lady circle-jerk (ahem, so to speak), and it’s marvelous! Those of us in the industry often wonder why the rest of the world poops on us — “romance novel” is practically a slur — but one must only look to the fact that romance = women to realize why. “Pussy” is a slur, too. “Run like a girl” isn’t that much different than “write like a girl,” although it’ll usually make you sweatier.
You are a big daydreamer so does this ever contribute to your writing?
Yes! I conceive of a lot of my favourite snippets of dialogue and scenes when my mind is wandering. I'll get a dreamy, faraway look and put my head on my hand to ponder this new, wonderful idea of mine. Then my husband will grumble, "Are you listening to me?" and I'll snap to attention and try to bluff my way out of it. Doesn't usually work. Never marry a smart dude, kids — they'll learn all your tricks.
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