A question and news

 How do you feel about the current fad for authors to crank out multiple novels per year? I notice it most in the romance community but maybe it’s penetrated other genres as well.

Some of my favorite authors are doing this, and I think it’s a pity. To write fast, the books must be shorter and less complex. They’re dessert rather than the entrée. Personally, if I’m hungry for a book, I like a main course rather than a bon-bon.

In the case of historical romances, research sometimes becomes a casualty. I recently read a Regency romance in which someone wears a bowler hat, headgear not invented until 1849. The author must know this as she has written many, many Regency novels and bowler hats have not appeared in them previously. This is the kind of error that occurs when writing quickly.

Please let me know what you think: do you prefer more books per year or one every year or so that’s longer and meatier?     

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written a post. Old news: my ninth novel, By Sword and Fan (as in, “Sometimes the fan is more useful than the sword”) came out last November.

In December I submitted my tenth, Hidden Treasures. Its release date is September 16, 2024.

Also in December, the audiobook version of A Peculiar Enchantment came out on Amazon and Audible and more recently “went wide” so it’s available on a number of other sites as well.

A brief excerpt:

Lying on his side, he breathed in the rosemary scent of his bride’s hair. It was almost in his nose as she was lying with her back to him. They need not rise quite yet, but if he woke her now…No. She was deeply asleep. He would like to take the credit, but most likely yesterday’s travel and perhaps nervous exhaustion accounted for it. He could look forward to tonight and the following night and a string of others. He would indulge himself by putting his arm around her. 

He reached over her side in search of her warm, soft …fur?

 His eyes popped open to meet round green eyes in a black-furred face. He and Tabby regarded each other across Adelaide’s slumbering form. The cat uttered an irritable word.

 “I beg your pardon.” Am I apologizing to a cat for taking a liberty with her? Ducane supposed he was.

 She exhaled irritably and, after staring at him a moment longer, turned her back and jumped off the bed.

PS: The above is as steamy as it gets, and there is no fantasy or paranormal element. Love is the most peculiar enchantment.