I Don't Write YA Novels

Lately, I have gotten a few new reviews on my books that say things like:

• “This book is probably written for teens” (Aria)

• “Even though the protagonists are men, I think the book might appearl to teens.” [sic] (As if YA books don’t have male characters ha) (Sundered Sky)

• “I am sure YA readers will love it” (Sundered Sky)

• “an action packed young adult science fiction creature feature” (Tentacles and Teeth)

And I just want to say: I don’t write YA.

None of my books are YA.

The Young Adult (YA) genre of fiction has one of the most broad and vague definitions in the whole of literature. Essentially, YA books are stories written about teens for teens. It is a category designed to bridge the gap between children’s books and adult books.

But despite that vague definition, here’s the thing: my books aren’t about teenagers. Nor are they written for teenagers.

I don’t write YA.

To be clear, I have no issue with teenagers. I also have no issue with YA. I’ve read an obscene amount of it, myself. But I don’t write in the genre.

My youngest character is 19. My oldest character is 65. Most of my characters are between 25 - 40. I do have a series of children’s books for elementary aged children that is not part of my brand, but again, not YA.

There is violence in my stories. In one book, the main character cuts off the head of another human. My characters fight monsters, both of the monstrous and the human varieties. There is murder. Swearing. Rage.

I don’t write YA.

Yet, I am often introduced as a YA author, libraries have put my books in the YA section, and I keep getting reviews that say my books are YA—from people who have presumably actually read the books!

I’m not sure why people think my work is YA.

I’ve thought about it a lot, because it bugs me. I think there are a few possible reasons:

1. No one actually knows the definition of a YA book. I don’t feel like it should be that complicated, but if a book is about an adult, it’s not YA.

2. I am a woman. I’ve read a number of articles and spoken with quite a few women writers who all claim that their books are shoved into the YA section or presumed to be YA, despite graphic content and very not-YA-appropriate themes, because of the author’s perceived gender.

3. I don’t write graphic sex scenes. Although, even books with graphic sex scenes are sometimes classified as YA, like Sarah Maas’s work which is definitely not YA.

4. I don’t write super dark stuff.

5. I’m grasping at straws here, but maybe it’s because I write about themes of people figuring out who they are? Which is absolutely not an activity that is restricted to teenagers.

I don’t write YA.

The reason this is important to me is because how our books are labeled matters. For example, they say there is a dearth of women scifi and fantasy writers, but what are we supposed to do about it if our books are always being shoved into the YA section?

Not to mention, since I don’t write for teens, I can put all kinds of scenes in if I want to. Sex scenes, violence, murder, swearing. My work is not guaranteed to be “safe,” and I wouldn’t want a teen picking up and reading something that isn’t teen-appropriate. I don’t even know what teen-appropriate is! I’m not a parent and I haven’t spent that much time with teens as an adult.

I don’t write YA.

But sometimes, I want to write about the cozy, gentler side of life, too. I don’t want to have to make my books super dark and horror-filled, or sexy and steam-filled, just to be put back into the adult section (not that it would even necessarily work if I tried that strategy).

And I know writing this blog post is probably not going to fix anything, lol.

But I just want to make it clear in case you didn’t know: I don’t write YA.

For your reference:

• Askari (Land of Szornyek): 21 years old

• Aria (Aria’s Song): 25 years old

• El (Rove City): 21 years old (I think lol)

• Jack (Rove City): 26 years old

• Maybelle (Rove City): 24 years old

• Penny (Rove City): 65 years old

• Sophia (Rove City): 40 years old

• Eloita (from unpublished fantasy series): 27 years old though I’m considering aging her more just because I can

• John & Quin (Zirian Chronicles): several hundred years old because their species lives longer than humans, but their human equivalent would be in their late 20s/early 30s

• Mabel (my favorite character from Ariele’s Fairy Tales): 45 years old

I don’t write YA. And I certainly won’t hold it against anyone who makes the mistake of thinking I do. But the least I can do is make sure I’ve posted it somewhere publicly for all to see.

If I haven’t said it enough times already, let me say it once again: I don’t write YA.

Even if your teenager likes my books. Even if you think they are safe and appropriate for your teenager to read. Even if you think a teenager you know might enjoy them.

That’s great! But they aren’t YA.

Because I don’t write books about teens for teens.

I don’t write YA.

These are the MidJourney illustrations of the characters from my most recent book of original fairy tales: The Swamp Hag of Blackrock Fields.

Writing Tips (Sometimes): Shoving Your Reader Over A Cliff (Metaphorically Speaking!)

Let’s talk about cliffhangers! I already wrote about this on my blog a while back, if you want to check that out, but I wanted to take a few minutes to add to my thoughts on the topic. And if you want to get these delivered straight to your inbox, click here!

Cliffhangers are a hot topic in the writing and reading world, and what’s interesting, is that people tend to have extremely intense feelings about them. And usually, their feelings are “I hate this!”

But I recently encountered a book (Ledge, by Stacey McEwan) and all of her readers kept referring to this “crazy” cliffhanger at the end, but they loved it. They loved it so much they all rushed out to preorder the next book in the series. So being the curious type, I bought the book to find out what made this book so damn special, that it could have a cliffhanger that no one hated.

Imagine my surprise, when I found—it wasn’t a cliffhanger! At least, not in the way I personally understand cliffhangers.

This got me to thinking: people use the word “cliffhanger” in several different ways. And there’s not much nuance or consistency behind it. I personally don’t like certain types of cliffhangers, but the one at the end of Ledge is great, and does what the author intended—which is make you want to dive right into the second book of the series.

So I sat down and contemplated the various types of cliffhangers. What types of story elements might be called a “cliffhanger” and what is one supposed to do?

The dictionary was unhelpful in this matter, because all it suggested was that a cliffhanger is a suspenseful ending. And all things considered, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, especially when you’re writing a series.

But the nuance here for me, is that suspenseful is different than disappointing. I like to keep my readers in suspense if possible! But I don’t want to disappoint them.

So how? How do I create that end-of-story suspense without disappointing my reader? 

For me, the answer is in understanding the different types of “cliffhanger” endings, and how many readers feel about them.

Type 1: The Truncate

The first type of cliffhanger is what I think most people hate. This is when a story ends before the climax of the book, or before the main conflict of the book is resolved. The book that pops in mind for me was Cinder by Marissa Meyers. Now, plenty of people loved this book. It has a great premise, an interesting character, strong world building, and is a unique approach to a fairytale retelling.

But it ended very abruptly, in what felt like it was mid "dark night of the soul moment," without answering the main question of the book. Some readers dove right into Book 2 as a result; I opted not to, because I didn’t want to subject myself to the same disappointment multiple times in a row.

This is where true cliffhangers get tricky. Does it create the suspense you’re going for? Or is your reader going to get mad and put the series down, never to return?

Type 2: The Embankment

The second type of cliffhanger is an embankment. In this type of narrative, some kind of resolution is reached, but there is little to no falling action. We may find out what happened at the end of the book—the character arc may have been resolved, or the climactic moment solved—but the book ends immediately thereafter.

I’m going to use one of my own books as an example of this: City of Dod in the Land of Szornyek series. In this book, the characters get to the end of the story. They fight the big battle. They survive, more or less, at great cost to themselves. But then the book ends with the characters facing a journey. There is little to no falling action, no resolution of some of the subplot arcs—it’s just GIANT BATTLE… The End.

This type of cliffhanger can still be frustrating to some readers, especially those who like resolution to the subplot threads as well as the main plot in a single book. However, it can also be a good way to pull the reader into the next story.

Type 3: The Flabbergast

A flabbergast is exactly what it sounds like—“Well, I didn’t see that coming!”

The cliffhanger at the end of Ledge by Stacey McEwan, I think qualifies as a flabbergast. The book takes you through the climactic moment, and then even has some falling action as some of the other questions are resolved, and then something crazy happens right on the last page, during the resolution.

When this type of ending is combined with an embankment, it can create a double whammy for the reader, making it feel even more like a cliffhanger ending.

Hopefully, in most cases, these types of endings are both satisfying, and also create that kind of suspense that makes the reader want to run out and buy the next book in the series.

Type 4: Threads

Truthfully, I don’t think threads are really cliffhangers at all, but they are a way to create suspense that pulls the reader into the next book, so I’m including them.

Threads are when the author deliberately leaves questions unanswered at the end of a book. The characters will go through the climactic moment, have the classic falling action, denouement, and but still have some questions when all is said and done.

I think most readers can tell the difference between threads and cliffhangers, but there are some threads that are pretty big questions—especially series arc threads which leave huge questions hanging over the character’s heads.

There are different types of threads, but the thing they all have in common is that they start in one book, and end in a later one. The longer the series, the more threads there are likely to be.

Threads can be found in every genre, but are especially common in science fiction and fantasy. For examples of threads, check out a series like Millenium’s Rule by Trudy Canavan, or Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan.

Type 5: Fizzlers

Fizzlers are simply endings that suck. Endings that leave us disappointed and bitter and frustrated with the author at how the story played out.

The whole story was there—the beginning, middle, end; the conflict, falling action, resolution—but it just… fell flat.

Whether or not an ending sucks is a very personal and subjective question. But I think there is a subset of readers who will refer to shitty endings as “cliffhangers” even if they are nothing of the sort.

Fizzlers can look like a lot of things. They can have the resolution happening offstage, so you don’t see it. They can have unbalanced, disappointing rising action and climaxes—like when you’re playing a video game, do all the work to get to the final boss, only to kill the final boss in like five seconds. Sometimes, instead of making forward progress on solving their series arc problem, the characters go backwards. Sometimes a favorite character is killed off.

But the thing that remains constant is that the reader was disappointed.

Sometimes a story is just not what the reader hoped for. And that’s okay. Not every book is for every person.

Choosing To Use A Cliffhanger

There are lots of reasons why a writer might choose to use a cliffhanger at the end of their book (or at the end of a chapter or scene!). Perhaps it was just right for the story. Maybe they like cliffhangers. Maybe it’s to get the reader to pick up the next book. Maybe it’s common in the genre they’re writing in.

Despite the general rage toward cliffhangers, if you want to use one, feel free! They can be a useful tactic for creating suspense in your story.

But, I recommend knowing what type of cliffhanger you’re using, and understanding what impact it has on the narrative and the reader.

That way, when you shove your reader off the cliff, you can do so with confidence.

Writing Tips (Sometimes): Let's Talk About ChatGPT (and other text generative AI)

(This is part of my series on AI. Click here to read about AI in general and Google AI Audiobook Narration. Or, sign up here to get these delivered directly to your inbox!)

ChatGPT is the talk of the century! Well, maybe not the century, but it’s definitely the talk of the year. ChatGPT has been available to regular people in some form since June 2020, and was built by a company called OpenAI. Their language model is one of the most sophisticated in existence, and they have continued to improve it since their launch. Currently, ChatGPT4 can pass the bar exam.

Mostly, ChatGPT can answer questions, draft emails and blog posts, or summarize large concepts. And depending upon the parameters, it can do so in a wide variety of voices and styles.

Take this meme, for example, in which ChatGPT has been instructed to respond to the user’s requests… as a pirate.

ChatGPT is not the only text-based AI. For example, NovelAI and Sudowrite are designed to aid in drafting longer form fiction. You may have also heard of Claude, which is in beta, but is more like a combination of ChatGPT and these longer form tools. GoogleBard is an alternative to ChatGPT but built on a different model, and so has a very different vibe. Microsoft also has Bing Chat (which provides citations!), and there are other lesser known tools like Jasper.ai, ChatSonic, and YouChat.

These tools are simple to use. All you do is type in your prompt and they respond. If you don’t like the response, you change your prompt.

The key to successful text generative AI is in the prompt. You have to be able to communicate with the tool exactly what you’re looking for in a way that will produce the desired outcome. This requires some practice, but it is a skill you can develop.

The biggest objection among authors is that these text-based tools are “doing the work for them.” Many writers use this reasoning to suggest that the tools should never be used in any way.

But let me offer a comparison: ghostwriters.

Many writers (James Patterson, for example) use ghostwriters to help them produce work faster. In his MasterClass, James Patterson goes over his process in depth, which basically involves writing an outline, passing it off to a ghostwriter who writes it in sections, and then revising the written manuscript one section at a time.

There are some writers who are using AI tools in the same way: they come up with the idea and the structure for the story, then use the tools to spit out the rough copy, which they then revise and edit to craft it into something that matches their vision for the story.

But, there are other writers who are using it for research, idea generation, or to help them move through tough sections, but still do all the drafting themselves—just like how most of us don’t use ghostwriters, but we do use Google Search, libraries, and friends. These writers treat the AI tools more like a personal assistant or a writing buddy.

Are some writers simply copy-paste-publishing? Sure. But some writers are also writing 50k words during NaNoWriMo and publishing that without editing and revising. There will always be people who try to game the system, but that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world as we know it.

Back when indie publishing first became a thing, there was a surge of writers publishing without sufficient editing. I can honestly say, I was one of those writers. The process of publishing a book in this method was new, I lacked funds to hire professionals to improve my book, and so I just went for it. I have since gone back, cleaned up the copy, done professional covers, and improved my process for future books.

Since that era in publishing, the indie author community has changed direction. There are courses on how to publish books that are professional and high quality. Due to the Big 6—Big 5—Big 4? buying each other up, there is a glut of quality designers, editors, and experts in publishing available for hire by indie authors. We have developed processes and procedures, and the surge of low-quality books that were originally being published has decreased significantly.

The same will happen with AI-generated books. The good ones, the ones that feel like art, will rise to the top, and the rest will sputter and die. Processes and procedures will be developed. Authors will figure out the best ways to use these tools to enhance their own process and create quality stories that readers love.

We just have to be patient.

My personal use of these tools tends to focus around reducing distractions and cutting down on research. Instead of spending two hours digging through baby name sites, I instead ask ChatGPT for a list of names in a specific category or with a specific meaning, and just pick one. Instead of reading a dozen articles on knot tying, I ask ChatGPT “What kind of knot would you use for this purpose in this context?” Instead of getting lost following rabbit trails on Wikipedia, I ask ChatGPT, “What are the top philosophical thought experiments to help understand existentialism?” so I can focus my efforts on the most relevant concepts.

So far today, I have asked ChatGPT how old it is, how it would define “text generative AI” and what I should do to celebrate my birthday when it rolls around.

I have yet to copy and paste even a single phrase into a book, but my writing time has gotten about 30% more productive.

It’s important to remember that these language models aren’t thinking.

The idea that they can “think” is entirely science fiction—combined with a human tendency to anthropomorphize anything that feels human-like. Rather, they are doing math. After all, that’s what computers are good at. Calculating.

Because it’s text-based, meaning we read it inside our own heads; and because the AI is so sophisticated in its calculations and algorithms; and because of the immense quantity of data it was trained on, the tool’s output can often make it feel to us like it’s thinking.

But it isn’t.

It is simply running a predictive calculation based on the prompt you inputted, guessing at what response you are most likely to want from it.

Ultimately, one thing remains true: the human controlling the process has to make a choice. Just like in every other form of art.

And that choice is yours.

You choose what tools to use. You choose what prompts to input. You choose what outputs most reflect what you’re looking for. And you choose how you want to use those outputs in the final product—if at all.

Whether we are talking about text-generative AI, image-generative AI, audio-generative AI, or anything else—the fact remains that you must still make the choice.

Despite the incredible advancements of these technologies, they still require a human element. And that human element is what gives art soul.

Absurdism & the Feud of the Robins

Here where we are in PA, spring is basically over and summer has arrived. The cherry blooms are past, the lilacs are gone, and most of the trees are fully leafed out. Josh (spouse) has started mowing the lawn multiple times a week, and with this new activity has come the annual feud of the robins.

Have you ever noticed that robins look a bit angry? It's something about the white feathers around their eyes, I think. Anyway, while Josh is mowing, they watch with that angry glare—his ever present, ever wary nemesis. 

And when he's not mowing, they'll come close to the house, looking for worms and bugs, and because I look out the windows all day while I'm working, I take up-close photos and text them to Josh. To show him how they're encroaching on his territory.

It's all quite amusing. 

We have a lot of birds around our house—blue jays, woodpeckers, cardinals, chickadees, mourning doves, hummingbirds, tree swallows, grackles, wrens, thrashers, sparrows, orioles, crows, the occasional raven, and a big hawk that lives in the woods at the bottom of the hill. But none are quite as audacious and snarky as the robin.

The whole feud is a bit absurd, and I don't mean absurd in the sense of "ridiculous" (though it is that), but in the philosophical sense of The Absurd (in the Albert Camus sense). 

Absurdism is one of my favorite philosophical constructs. If you're unfamiliar, absurdism has two primary presuppositions: 

1. Humans innately crave ultimate, universal meaning.

2. Ultimate, universal meaning does not exist. 

Albert Camus, who originally wrote about this in the book The Myth of Sisyphus, suggested that the conflict between these two ideas is inherently ridiculous or absurd (hence why it's called absurdism). His solution to this conflict essentially boils down to acceptance: acknowledging ultimate meaninglessness in everything we do, despite the longing for meaning, and choosing to live our lives to whatever "the fullest" means for us. He used the example of Sisyphus, whose punishment for being a generally terrible person and cheating death twice, was to roll a boulder up a hill in Hades over and over for all eternity.

From The Myth of Sisyphus by Camus: "Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe now without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of this mountain full of night, alone forms a world. The struggle itself to the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

What does this all have to do with robins? Well, the robins come around every spring. Without fail. They glare from a distance, watching as Josh cuts the grass and pulls the weeds and trims the bushes. Year after year after year. 

And every year, Josh glares back. "Damn robins," he says to me, and we both laugh. 

We laugh because we know it's meaningless. Despite the fact that it feels meaningful. 

We laugh because we made up this story, and this story brings us joy, and the joy makes our lives feel meaningful, even if it's not.

We laugh because it's absurd, in all the best ways.

In the same way, I write book after book after book, and draft newsletter after newsletter. I wake up every morning and feed the cats; I move the laundry along; I make dinner. And even in the repetition, in the sameness, in the rolling of the same old rock up the hill, there is contentment.

Writing Tips (Sometimes): Selling Books In Person

This is part of my series of essays for writers. Get them delivered to your inbox by signing up here!

Me and my 7th anniversary gift from Josh: a 280 million year old (!!!) piece of petrified pine from AZ!

I went to a comic con a few months back and over the course of the three-day weekend, I sold 18 books. So yeah, not my best sales day ever.

I’ve done a lot of events over the years, particularly in my earlier author days. I’ve done everything from large and small book signings to comic cons to craft fairs to outdoor festivals, and holiday markets. I’ve sold 0 books at some, and once even made around $1200 at a 4-hour craft fair. I’m not sure where it came from, but for a long time, I had it in my head that if I wanted to be successful as an author, then I had to do in-person events.

But there’s a problem with this logic. And the problem is the math.

The key to a successful business is profit. And with books, we’re talking profits of roughly $0.35 - $10 per sale. This means that to make profits of $50,000 per year, you’d have to sell in the range 10,000 books or more.

Even if you did an event every single week of the year, you’d have to average 190 sales per event to even come close to making that amount of money, and that doesn’t account for event fees, which range from $20 - $500 per event, gas, hotel fees, transaction fees, and table set-up supplies. In addition, you have to purchase enough upfront inventory to have to sell, which if you use print on demand and can order books at $3 per book, will still require tens of thousands of dollars in upfront cash.

In addition, every single sale has to be handled by you. If you only have one book, then each sale is simply that: a sale. You need a new customer for every single purchase, which means not only do you need 10,000 sales every year, you need 10,000 new customers.

And if you want to scale, then you have to look at other models—hiring people to sell for you (which costs money), selling through bookstores or malls (where you have to share profits), or partnering up with other authors to have more inventory available for potential customers (which means they may be poaching sales from you).

Every efficiency you add in will cost more money or take away from your profits.

If you’re bored by all the math, I don’t blame you. But the conclusion you should draw is that in-person events aren’t a great way to make a living wage from selling books because they’re extremely difficult to scale.

I definitely think they have a place in a larger context. Being visible in your local community is great, and developing relationships with readers always has value. Getting newsletter sign-ups or developing relationships with other authors can also have immense value.

Just make sure you understand the numbers before you go all in on traveling from event to event in an attempt to make money.

Did you know cats can get acne? Yep. Our beloved Wilfredo Potato gets blackheads all over his chin. We lovingly call it “catcne” lol.