Maybe it’s because it takes place under big open skies, but I find them irresistible to write (check out my own Western romance, Homebound!). Even more so when they’re set in Texas. Here are my top four tips for writing Western romance.  

Make the romance (and the setting) swoon-worthy  

Readers not only want to feel like they’re invested in the romance, but they also want to feel like they’re in the middle of a fresh, vibrant small-town where they can smell crisp open skies, see the oak trees, and taste the fresh strawberries picked from the farm. If the romance is the cake, the setting is the icing.  

An immersive setting will pull the reader in, make them feel like they’re a part of the story, and not just reading from the outside looking in. Having an attention-grabbing setting that also feels familiar for small-town romance lovers is key to writing in this genre.  

Lean into the tropes, but make them earned  

Cowboy romances thrive on tropes: friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, grumpy/Sunshine. Readers want tropes, but the key is to make them feel earned.  

For example, don’t simply throw in a one-bed scene because it’s what readers want, set it up so that the trope makes sense. Think about the emotional stakes you want to nestle into the trope, so that it leads to maximum romantic tension. In order to make the scene feel earned, the reader needs to believe there’s no other way they could have ended up in the same bed together.  

Including tropes is key to writing any good romance, but always make sure those scenes advance the plot.  

Do your research, but don’t get bogged down in the details  

There is so much research out there about cowboys. From cattle ranch acreage, to rodeo statistics, to how to feed a baby goat, all you have to do is Google a question and a thousand articles will pop up.  

It’s important to do your research to incorporate authentic aspects into the story, but don’t get bogged down in writing too many details. For instance, you don’t need to go into a detailed 10-page exposition about live-stock care.  

It’s important that you know as the author, but readers don’t necessarily need that much detail, they care more about the budding romance. The details, the setting, the research, it all needs to be there, but the romance should always be the core of the story.  

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Focus on the emotional tension, not just the cowboys  

We all love a whiskey drinking, smirking, swaggering cowboy, but the most important part of writing a Western romance is ensuring the romance has believable emotional stakes. Give the cowboy a reason for being grumpy–a compelling backstory. He can’t simply be swaggering around the barn with a scowl for no reason.  

There needs to be emotional depth to his character to make him feel real. Otherwise, the character will risk coming off like a caricature of other tropes. You want your characters to feel familiar to readers, but with their own unique backstories to make them stand out.   

I hope this helps anyone who is looking to write a swoon-worthy Western romance! At the end of the day, the best stories are going to be the ones you are most passionate about, so if you have a love for cowboys, Wranglers, or ranches, open up your laptop, brew a cup of coffee, and start writing!

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Those are the words one of my students said to me during my early years as a school counselor, and that moment stuck with me. The student was having an issue with a teacher, and we were discussing how he might resolve it. I suggested speaking to the teacher one-on-one after class, and the student informed me that adults never listened to him. 

“I’m listening to you,” I said to him. 

“Yeah, but you’re different, Ms. Harris.” 

Though I wanted to help this student improve his relationship with his teacher and, thus, his experience in that class, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride in that instant. He recognized that I was one of the few trusted adults in his life that recognized the complexity of being a teen—the push and pull of wanting to be independent but also needing to be heard. I think about this moment often when writing my YA novels.  

Before I was a published author, I worked as a middle school counselor in a small, rural county in Virginia. My tiny office used to be a storage closet, yet I made it a safe space for students to grieve a loss, question their sexual identity, or even to just be without being misunderstood. Those sessions with students gave me access to the emotional worlds of teens—I was able to see them without their masks. I tap into that former access when crafting my characters.  

Let me be the first to tell you—the teens that I write are not perfect. Sometimes they’re impulsive, other times they’re guarded. Sometimes they strut around full of confidence, when there’s a swarm of insecurities buzzing beneath the surface. And guess what? The same goes for real teens, too. As a school counselor, I learned that there was always something lurking behind the behavior of my students. The shy student might be battling anxiety. The “mouthy” student might have to take on a parent role at home. The student always requesting to go see the nurse might be dealing with unresolved trauma that manifests through physical pain. I learned as a school counselor to always ask myself, “What is this behavior trying to meet.” I ask the same question when creating my characters. 

Small-town dynamic adds another level of nuance. As a former city girl who also grew up on military bases, driving behind pig trucks on the way to work was a novel experience. I quickly learned that everyone in the community knew each other—or at least thought they did. I learned that certain last names carried weight, or even stigma. I learned if an older sibling was a success, there was an undeniable amount of pressure on the younger one—even more so if that older sibling made mistakes. Secrets and gossip traveled faster than actual facts. The teens in this community towed the line of wanting to be seen for who they were but not being able to escape where they came from. 

My second YA novel, This Town is on Fire, takes place in a small, rural town, not unlike the one in which I worked almost a decade as a school counselor. It follows a Black teen named Naomi, whose white best friend goes viral after calling the cops on two Black guys. The story idea occurred to me during the pandemic, when so-called “Karen” videos were at its peak. I couldn’t help but wonder, “What if something like this happened at my old school? What would it do to that tightknit community?” 

To realistically and respectfully portray how my teen characters came of age in their small community, here are a few guiding principles I applied that might be helpful to other writers. 

Engage in Active Listening.  

If you want to write about teens, you have to spend some time in their world. My time working as a school counselor was a gold mine in listening and observing. Now, I read their interviews, watch their TikToks, or simply observe how they engage in safe spaces. I try not to copy their slang, but to take note of their emotional rhythms.  

Dodge the Tropes.  

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good trope, especially when reading horror and romance. However, when writing about and for teens, I think it’s essential to acknowledge that we’ve moved beyond the silos of nerds, jocks, and burnouts from the classic teen movies of the 1980s. Teens are filled with contradictions. The captain of the football team can also be a theater geek. The “burnout” can also be the smartest kid in the school. Naomi in This Town is on Fire is not the strongest student, but she’s a heck of a dancer and still plans on going to college. Consider these paradoxes to build a well-rounded character (and have fun with it!). 

Show Power Imbalances.  

I write a lot about power and privilege in This Town is on Fire. Not only is Naomi figuring out her own racial identity after her best friend’s viral scandal, but the discrepancies between their socioeconomic statuses begin to take the forefront of their friendship (after all, they met because Naomi’s mother worked as her best friend’s nanny). However, power imbalances exist everywhere when writing about teens, from the social dynamics between their peers to the complex relationships they have with the adults in their lives. These imbalances can add a lot of conflict to the page when handled with care. 

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Give Them Agency.  

Take a moment to think about when you were a teenager. Did you do everything just perfectly? Made all the “right” choices? Even if you were a self-appointed “goody two shoes,” there had to have been at least one rule you broke (personally, I’ve been known to skip lunch in favor of gummies and a candy bar). We shouldn’t expect anything more from our teen characters. They are supposed to make mistakes. In fact, their mistakes are what make their stories more interesting. Naomi made a couple of missteps when dealing with the aftermath of her best friend’s viral video, and those missteps had severe consequences. If your character’s choices make sense to who they are as a person, let them stumble. 

Though I’m no longer a school counselor, I currently teach and train aspiring school counselors. I always tell my trainees that a major part of being a school counselor is to advocate for their students to be seen and heard. I do the same as a writer. Writing YA fiction is more than just capturing the adolescent voice; it’s also about honoring it. It’s about taking that metaphorical storage closet and turning it into a tiny, safe space where teens can be messy, courageous, and contradictory.  

Teens don’t need to read about perfect characters. They need to read about characters who are seen and heard. And they need the authors who write about them to be different enough to showcase that. 

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Of all of us, Mom understood best what such a change would mean. She was a farmer’s daughter and graduated high school with a very small number of classmates she’d known all her life. Not so for Dad, a city boy who ran free from one neighborhood to another with his buddies as long as he made it back in time for dinner. Dad was headed into new territory with this move, but he did have one thing going for him: The man didn’t know a stranger. Dad could make small talk with just about anyone—farmers, bankers, grocers, doctors, and the gas station attendant—and it served him well. 

The town absorbed us. All these years later, we still refer to the place as home. Since leaving the nest, I’ve made homes in other places, some big, some small. Still, it’s the small places that fascinate me the most. 

When people find themselves taking root in the same space, no matter how or when they’ve arrived, they share, at the very least, geography. You don’t slip into a small town unnoticed. People know who you are. They hold vague notions on how you got there. They certainly know where you belong in the pecking order. It’s an order that’s been in place long before you showed up and will be intact long after you’ve gone. 

If you’re new to such a place, buckle up. Whether you’re the new kid in class or the new face at the PTO meeting, you’re going to mess up. Don’t worry, somebody or everybody will know about it, and someone will take you aside to let you know. You might sit in the wrong pew at church or come up with an idea that’s already been tried before. People might get ideas about you. You’re rich, or poor, or somewhere in the middle. Your kids are well-behaved, or wild animals. You’ve got a shifty look about you that needs to be sussed out by a coffee klatch or committee until someone more interesting comes along. These truths swirled around me as a child but didn’t come into clear focus until I could look at them through the rearview mirror.  

It wasn’t until I was an adult seeking entry into new, small places with my own young family that I came to a renewed understanding and appreciation for just how simple, yet complex things can be when people find themselves occupying the same space in a day-to-day, year-after-year way. There are clearly defined rules, but even those come with mysterious, fickle caveats.  

Differences of opinion and hurts last long enough to become full-fledged grudges, and pack mentalities seem acceptable enough unless it’s your turn to be outside the pack. Small towns take on their own personas, complete with eyes and ears and mouths that open and close. A small town punishes its own, celebrates what it wants to, and rallies when you least expect it.  

Much like Violet Sellers, one of the main characters in my second novel Violet is Blue, I spent most of my childhood sheltered. Our family was neither rich nor poor, but we did not do without. I did not know hardship up close and personal. That’s what privilege will do for you. Privilege was my 10-foot pole. It kept me from getting too close to what I could see with my eyes and even detect with the same nose that knew cotton candy at the county fair and my father’s aftershave. Even to the untrained nose, unfairness that is doled out so capriciously and tolerated so openly has a stench.  

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The same things that troubled me as a child still trouble me as an adult, but now I know that small towns don’t have the market cornered on cruelty or kindness, generosity or greed, pride or shame. These and all the other complicated truths of the human condition are merely more concentrated in small communities. How else to make sense of the haunting contrasts we see from time to time, but choose to look away?  

I remember quite vividly faces, specific uncomfortable moments when my unearned privilege made me red in the face, ashamed that I held such good fortune when others in my sphere held so little. Recollections of these unsettling contrasts are not easily shed. They linger, and have made their way into Violet is Blue, where dark is relieved temporarily with light, and joy coexists with heartache. 

Like all the other characters in the series, Violet and her friend Jules Marks call the town of Poulson home, but they have their assigned seats. Violet’s protected existence, made possible by her parents, is a far cry from what Jules knows. He lives just miles, but worlds away with five little sisters in Shakey’s Half. They get their best meals at school with yellow free lunch tickets and are sent home from school often so someone can tend to their itching, crawling scalps. But Jules and Vi find common ground in the hurts they have sustained. As their story unfolds, readers discover just how closely wants dance next to needs and how worn the footpaths between those who have and those who have not.

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We all suffer too.

(Fracturing Fairy Tales to Jumpstart Your Writing.)

Pain, trauma, tragedy are all parts of life. Mine included. My childhood was not an easy one. I faced poverty, domestic violence, racism, homophobia, abandonment, and home instability. So when I started writing, all I wanted to do was craft other worlds full of magic mages and rowdy robots and awesome action-adventure apocalypses. I wanted to escape the real world. But after my first 14 novels were rejected (and we’re talking hundreds of rejections from agents, editors, and lit magazines), I decided to try something new. I decided to embrace the hard stuff. It was time to stop running from my childhood. Instead, I chose to pull it in close and give it an uncomfortable hug. 

That’s when I wrote Free Lunch, a memoir of my first sixth grade semester confronting violence at home, my parents’ difficulties finding work, and being put on the free lunch program. As my 11-year-old self would have said: “Life sucked.” Though I tried to find some humor, for the most part, the book was not a fun read. But it felt necessary, and unlike anything I’d written before, it felt important. So when I went out with it (fingers crossed), I hoped for a book deal. Instead? Rejections across the board, though three came with caveats…

The first said, “Why are you writing this for children? Make it for adults and I’ll take it.” 

The second said, “Graphic novels are hot. Let’s make it a graphic novel. Of course we’ll have to take out all the violence. We can’t show that in a middle grade book.” 

And the third said, “Wow. Great story. An important story. But let’s scrub all the heavy stuff out and make it fun!”

As difficult as it was, I said, “No.”  

Holding the Line for a Difficult Story

Why? This was a chance to get published! To finally have a book deal! And I’m not a diva. Compromise and collaboration are an important part of the publishing process. (After all, a good editor will make you look a lot smarter than you are. And I know because I was an editor for 15 years, and now I have some of the most amazing editors and am grateful for them every day.) But changing my memoir would alter it from a true story to a fictional story. And more importantly, it would be just like so many other books already out there that are “made for kids,” which is just code for “nice and easy.”

I pushed back with the third editor, saying, “Clean it up? It’s not a dirty story. It’s a true story.” 

The editor’s reply? “Kids don’t want sad stories. They want happy stories. They want stories that they can laugh at. They can’t resonate with a heavy, dark, painful book like this.” 

In my head, I thought, “But I lived through it… does that mean my story—and my childhood—are not valid?” Why did this story deserve to be ignored? Because it needed more jokes? Maybe a fart? Which, by the way, there is a fart in there, with disastrous and hilarious results. But it was the truth, and sometimes the truth is grossly hysterical. And sometimes the truth is just painful to witness.  

So I read that editor the statistics: Today, in the United States, there are 3.5 million who face domestic violence on a weekly basis. There are 4.2 million living with homelessness or home instability. And there are 11 million children living below the poverty live.

The editor ghosted me after that. 

Click to continue.

The Best Stories Are a Spectrum

As a kid, I wanted to be with the Hardy Boys on their ridiculous adventures. I wanted to skip along the yellow-brick road with Dorothy, the Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tinman as they faced flying monkeys. I wanted to fall alongside Alice down the rabbit hole and into another world. I wanted to join Calvin and Hobbes on their imaginary escapades. I wanted to escape. But that’s because I felt so utterly alone. There weren’t any stories out there that I could see myself in. So I opted for fantasy. 

But as an adult, I was writing stories for the younger version of me. And yes, I wanted adventure and I wanted laughs. But on occasion, I wanted tears too. Because tears are part of life. Life is, at times, hard. But it’s also fun and sad and angry and afraid. Life is a spectrum of emotions. And I believe that the best stories are a spectrum too. They encompass all of it: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And of course, the farts. 

In children’s literature—especially among educators, librarians, and booksellers, there is a common metaphor about readers either seeing themselves or seeing others in literature. This concept was originally coined by Emily Style in 1988 and then applied specifically to children’s books by Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop in her 1990 article “Mirrors, Windows, and Sliding Glass Doors.” Kids love fart jokes, but they love seeing themselves in books just as much. Maybe more. Because if they see themselves in stories, they feel seen too. 

That’s why creating strong narratives with universal emotional arcs is so important. It’s no easy feat, but it is possible, especially if you draw from your own life experience. In baring your soul and your pain, you become vulnerable—which, trust me, is an uncomfortable feeling—but you also become a hero to these kids who so desperately want to know they aren’t alone. 

So whether I’m writing superhero comics, fantasies, reimagining classic novels as modern-day teen graphic novels (full of foolish drama and trying to decide what outfit to wear), or memoirs about trying to pop a zit on my back… whatever I write, I try to build well-rounded characters living in a real world. Being honest, being raw, being truly open with the hardest parts of living, matters now more than ever. Especially in literature for young readers.

But there should be laughter too. There should be hope. And—if you’re so inclined—there should be smelly, stinky farts, especially the ones in public when everyone smells it. Cause farts are funny. 

Check out Rex Ogle’s (as Rey Terciero) Dan in Green Gables here:

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(Unforgettable Settings in 5 Simple Steps.)

Thoughtfully crafted small town settings do more than simply frame the narrative. They can become part of it, weaving the emotional and romantic threads that connect each character’s journey.

Think of your setting as the soil from which your characters grow. It forms the backdrop that defines their histories, influences their motivations, and guides their actions. In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, the small-town setting of Alabama in the 1930s profoundly affects the characters, shaping their worldviews and development. Similarly, in Robyn Carr’s Virgin River, the town itself becomes a place of healing, reflecting the internal journeys of the characters.

Your small town should feel like a home to both your characters and readers. Delve into the town’s history, its nooks and crannies, and the places where your characters spend their time. These details should subtly influence their journeys. A cozy local diner, a bustling community event, or a long-forgotten street can all reflect and challenge your characters’ growth.

More Than a Location

Setting is also much more than location. For each scene, think carefully about weather, climate, even time of day, then utilize those factors to reflect your characters’ emotions. Use your setting to magnify those emotions. It isn’t simply about where they are, but how the environment resonates with their inner struggles or triumphs.

A tempestuous thunderstorm can mirror turbulent feelings, while a bright day might contrast with hidden struggles. A winter storm could symbolize inner conflict, while a spring festival might represent rebirth. Ground your setting in specifics, allowing it to enhance each characters’ emotional arc. This taps into your readers’ senses, making the story not just something they read, but something they feel.

To capture the essence of a small town, start by asking yourself key questions: What history does this place hold? Where do characters naturally gather? How do these spaces influence the unfolding story? Include the landscapes, the unique culture, and the sensory details that anchor readers in your world.

For truly memorable small towns, it’s important that writers treat the setting with authenticity and be wary of falling into stereotypes. Move beyond the familiar nosy neighbor trope and create unique, compelling characters to fill your town and help move the story forward.

Click to continue.

5 Tips for Enhancing Setting

1. Visit locations: Spend time in small towns similar to your setting for inspiration. Observe the people, sights, sounds, and rhythms unique to the town.
2. Know how your characters might see their surroundings: As an exercise, describe your small town through each character’s point of view. How do your characters’ individual life experiences shape how they see their community and how does that perspective influence their motivations and behaviors?
3. Map it out: Sketch a map of your town, detailing important locations and how they relate to characters’ lives, focusing in particular on spots of key emotional turning points.
4. Immerse the senses: Describe settings using all five senses, integrating details gradually to create a rich, evocative experience without overwhelming readers.
5. Reflect growth and change: Allow your town to evolve alongside your characters, reflecting changes in economy, population, or social norms, which can fuel character development.

These techniques will help you visualize and deepen your narrative landscape.

Setting is far more than simply a static stage upon which your characters perform. It can be the dynamic heart of your story, inviting readers into a vibrant, living world. Craft your settings with care, and they will deepen your characters’ connections and enthrall your readers.

Check out RaeAnne Thayne’s The Lost Book of First Loves here:

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1. Increased Stakes

There are certain key questions I always ask myself as a writer, and one is, how can I raise the stakes? The ticking time bomb, for instance, is a common one in screenwriting. For a mystery or thriller, an isolated town can be a natural way to raise the stakes. The town may not be equipped to handle a murder and help may be a long way off. Cell phone reception might not be the best. With less eyes and ears, it may be easier for a killer, a body, or murder weapon to remain hidden. Knowing that a killer lives amongst the small town can heighten the urgency to find him or her.

2. Tone Building

I often describe the town as a character. There’s something about a small town that can add mystique. My town is full of secret underground tunnels—which added to its eeriness and claustrophobia. Combine that with the feeling of being stuck in a building while weather rages outside and the possibility of the building being haunted, and there’s no question that my setting did much to create the tone.

3. Uniqueness

There’s a bit of escapism in reading fiction, so I always find that an interesting or unique setting helps to transport you. You can make your story memorable with the special quirks of the town that can’t be found in Every Town, USA. The small town in Alaska that inspired City Under One Roof, for instance, is so unique that it became a viral sensation on both TikTok and X (Twitter). People wanted to know how residents could live in a single building and what their daily life was like.

Check out Iris Yamashita’s Village in the Dark here:

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4. Character Opportunities

Small and isolated towns are a perfect place to do some character studies. What kind of people would populate your isolated town? For instance, in my fictional town of Point Mettier, it takes a certain kind of person to live in the isolated city, cut off from the rest of the world by a single-lane tunnel and where the weather is so harsh that your eyelashes could actually freeze. One of my characters noted that “the only real reason people moved out there was because they were running from somebody or something.” It was a perfect opportunity to come up with characters who all have their secrets.

5. Community Development

Aside from individuals, the community, as a whole, can add color to your piece. Perhaps there are rules, either governmental or self-imposed that are unique to the town? This is your sandbox, so even if it’s a real place, you can fill your world with details that are real or fictional. In my city, not only does the community have its own condo regulations, but there are implied rules and codes that the residents abide by. The isolated nature of the town necessitates that the inhabitants rely on each other for survival, so it makes sense that they cooperate with each other in unwritten ways.

Whether you’re looking for a way to raise tension and stakes, set the tone, or make your world and characters stand out, setting your mystery or thriller in an isolated town can do much of the legwork for you.

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The happy mother of two snarky and well-adjusted adults, Kristan enjoys gardening, mixology, the National Parks, and complimenting strangers on their children. She lives in Connecticut with her heroic firefighter husband, cuddly dog and indifferent cat. Find her online at KristanHiggins.com, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok.

Name: Kristan Higgins
Literary agent: Christina Hogrebe, Jane Rotrosen Agency
Book title: A Little Ray of Sunshine
Publisher: Berkley
Release date: June 6, 2023
Genre/category: women’s fiction/romance
Previous titles: Out of the Clear Blue Sky, Pack Up the Moon

Elevator pitch for the book: A kid walks into the bookstore you own with your slightly dotty grandfather. Surprise! It’s the kid you put up for adoption 18 years ago…the one you never told anyone about. Now the whole family—the whole town—realizes there’s a lot more to you than they ever suspected.  

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What prompted you to write this book?

I grew up as the “good kid” in my family…the boring one you could count on to always help, do her chores, get good grades. On the one hand, I’m glad I didn’t give my parents any gray hair. On the other, I was kind of invisible. My siblings got a lot more attention because they were more…um…dramatic, let’s say.

Once, my mom said, “Kristan, I never have to give you a thought.” I know she meant it as a compliment, but it also told me just that…Mom didn’t think about me too much, because my brother and sister were keeping her busy (sorry, Hilly, but you invented “sulky teenager” way back when).

I wanted to write about that kind of experience…and then blow it up. Harlow is the oldest of the five Smith kids, and everyone but Harlow seems to have some drama going on. When the son she placed for adoption almost 18 years ago turns up in her town, her family has to deal with the idea that Harlow’s had this massive, life-changing experience they knew nothing about.

And not just her family…the whole town has to reconsider her, because that’s how small towns are. Matthew’s appearance also throws her back to when she was a scared 17-year-old, unsure and alone, trying to make the best decision for her unborn child. (Grab the tissues…you’ll need them!)

I also loved exploring the layered, complex, and hugely emotional experience of adoption from the points of view of the people involved—birth mother, adoptive parent, adoptee. Harlow loves kids, but she got pregnant before she herself was a true adult. How can she make an impossible decision? How did she feel after relinquishing her baby? What ripples (or tidal waves) does this have on the rest of her life?

If you’re an adoptee, people tend to think of you as “lucky” or “chosen,” and hey, maybe you are. Or maybe your adoptive parents are horrid. We shouldn’t make assumptions about how great life is supposed to be for an adoptee. I think there’s an inherent need to know your genetic history and culture, even when you have the best adoptive parents in the world. And if you don’t have great parents, the need is even stronger.

There are two adoptees in this story—Matthew, age 18, and Cynthia, 61. Cynthia’s experience was completely different than Matthew’s. She was never told she was adopted and has a lot of strong feelings and beliefs about her birth mother…until she gets an email saying that someone is looking for her and has been for some time. Matthew, meanwhile, wonders why Harlow didn’t keep him when she had this large, loving family.

If you’re an adoptive mom, I think it’s natural to wonder how your child thinks of you, judges you, loves you. Do they miss their birth mother on some primal level? Do they feel like they truly belong with you? Are they honest in talking to you about their feelings? Monica tries to be a perfect mother to Matthew, but no parent is perfect…and our kids let us know that all the time. I think writing Monica’s point of view was especially poignant for me, because once upon a time, my husband and I were thinking of adoption. It didn’t work out, but I spent a lot of time imagining what life would be like if it had. Strange to say I missed the child we didn’t get to adopt, but I did.

How long did it take to go from idea to publication? And did the idea change during the process?

About a year. And yes, the idea absolutely changed. At first, I didn’t want to include the point of view of the adoptive mom, until it was clear her story needed to be heard. I also had a very rosy idea of what adopting an infant was like. All those clichés—the brave, noble birth mother, those excellent, compassionate adoptive parents, the lucky, grateful child. Nah. No one’s story is the same.

Doing the research, reading books, listening to podcasts, and talking to dozens of adoptees really opened my eyes to the complexities of adoption. It seems like something that never has full closure. There’s always going to be a part of you that wonders what life would be like if you’d made another choice.

Were there any surprises or learning moments in the publishing process for this title?

Learning moments? Yes! Listen to your team. My agent (Christina Hogrebe) and editor (Claire Zion) both have great instincts for places where I should lean in or step back. Sometimes, I think, “No, no, I can’t possibly…” but when I think about it for a day or two, I always change my mind.

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

Absolutely! Certain characters change unexpectedly in each book I write. In this book, Cynthia, Grandpop, and Robbie all changed so much from where they’d been in my mind. I love that part of writing…it’s like my subconscious knows something that just pops up on my screen, and I think, “Yes! That’s why this has to happen. Got it.”

Robert Frost said, “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” He knew a thing or two, that guy.

What do you hope readers will get out of your book?

I hope they’ll ugly cry and laugh out loud. That’s the hallmark of my books, I think—laughter and tears and everything in between. But I write happy books, no matter what takes place in them, and my characters are always better off because of what they’ve gone through. That’s what we all hope for in life.

On the very last page, I hope my readers close the book and say, “Damn. I didn’t want it to end.”

If you could share one piece of advice with other writers, what would it be?

There will always be someone more successful, more talented, more adored than you. Be happy for them, learn from them, and then get back to work.

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The post Kristan Higgins: On Writing About the Complexity of Adoption in Fiction appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(Lexi Blake: On Real-Life Inspiring Romantic Conflict)

So, it’s a shock to the system to shrink that world down and stay in one place. That was the assignment when my long-term editor asked if I wouldn’t consider writing a small-town contemporary romance series.

I’ve come to rely on being able to blow things up for dramatic purposes. Need some tension? Someone gets shot. Feel like things are slowing down? Let’s speed ’em up with an attack from the bad guys.

I wasn’t sure I could handle this.

Now the truth of the matter is I’ve written small-town books before. It’s where I started, but after so many years of international thriller romance, did I really want to go back to small-town love stories?

The answer was a resounding yes, and as I started writing the Butterfly Bayou series, I realized why it’s so different—and very challenging. When I write suspense I stay in the real world—meaning I use real places. Real cities. Real sites. I do as much research as possible to bring the reader into Paris or London or a beach in India.

When you write a small-town romance, the first thing you have to do is create that small town. In a suspense novel, setting is important. In a small-town romance, the town becomes a character—in many ways the central character.

I’ve always thought that world-building is relatively similar across genres. I know—I’ve had many a sci-fi or fantasy writer tell me I’m crazy, but I really believe that all writers should take the same care in crafting the world their characters move through. Even in a contemporary novel, you’re building a world.

You might not create an alien language the way you would when writing science fiction or need a map to remember where your kingdoms are when in fantasy, but small towns have their own unique languages. They have their own minor kingdoms, complete with all characters from royalty to the scrappy worker determined to change society for the better. And villains.

Small towns have unique villains who might not plan on world domination, but who can wreck the world with their carefully thought-out cruelty. Putting time and effort into creating a town that is both unique and yet reflective of the society around it is important.

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I set the Butterfly Bayou series in Southern Louisiana because it’s a place I know well and a society many readers find interesting. There’s a rich history that translates to a diverse palette with which to paint. There’s a rhythm to the language. Dialogue is important, and having the characters truly sound like they come from this part of the south enhances the reader experience. From the food served at mealtimes, to the historical reasons for the use of the color haint blue on porches, the real world can inform and inspire the fictional world.

The characters in my suspense series typically have their choice of where to go and what to do. The options for where to eat in a city like Dallas are endless. Papillon has three restaurants. Where I likely wouldn’t take too much time describing an elegant eatery that will be used as a dead drop between spies, Papillon’s cafes and diners have their own unique place in the series. They appear often and serve as the setting for all kinds of family drama. The spaces themselves become precious to me, and I can close my eyes and smell the gumbo cooking at Guidry’s or the chicken fried steak they serve at the Fillin’ Station.

So, I found myself sinking into this small town I’d created and not getting at all bored exchanging intrigue for family drama. At the heart of all romance is the connection between the characters, whether they’re fighting an evil corporation out to take over the world or trying to figure out if two lawyers can make a go of it despite the fact that their families are wildly different. I thought I would struggle to find that drama, but it’s always there, bubbling under the surface, waiting to be uncovered.

I still managed to create a supervillain though. His name is Brian. He’s a raccoon who steals cell phones. Turns out I couldn’t leave it all behind.

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The post From Super Spies to Small-Town Lies: How One Writer Got Her Small-Town Groove Back appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(7 Inside-the-Box Publishing Rules That Writers Can Break (Or, at the Very Least, Bend))

When I started the novel, I knew I wanted the characters, the small Southern town, and the storyline to feel as realistic as possible while also enriching the narrative with a feeling of wonder and magic. With these intentions in mind, here are a few things I discovered while writing my novel.

1. Baking successes and fails are true to life.

Portraying a baker in a genuine way meant I needed to understand baking. So I set out to bake everything Anna, the heroine and small-town Southern baker, created (with the exception of the Dough Boy, of course!). If Anna baked Oreo brownies that infused a patron with so much happiness that he danced, I made them too. If the daily muffins at Bea’s Bakery were Morning Glory Muffins, I baked a batch.

Over the course of writing the novel, I tested hundreds of recipes and then politely begged friends, family, and coworkers to be taste testers. Did every recipe turn out? No way! There was a dark chocolate tart that failed not once, but three times. My chocolate bombe was a complete disaster, and a cheesecake covered in mirror glaze never set up and instead leaked all over the refrigerator like a waterfall of bright crimson goo. I may or may not have cried a few times in discouragement, but dozens and dozens of recipes turned out brilliantly!

These trial-and-error moments helped elevate my novel. They offered me ways to authentically describe smells and sounds that Anna experienced. For example, she might compare feeling deflated as being like a rainy day meringue, because that’s what happens to meringue when there’s too much moisture in the air; it deflates or collapses. Baking through the novel allowed me to craft dialogue that is accurate in a baking world, and best of all, it gave me the knowledge to add my own magical spin to life inside Mystic Water’s beloved bakery.

2. The small Southern town asserts itself as a character.

I grew up in a small Southern town in Georgia, so I took all my favorite aspects of my hometown and gathered them together with memories of other towns I’ve visited in real life or in stories. To use a baking analogy: I tossed all of these ingredients into a bowl, mixed until just combined, and baked to perfection, creating the town of Mystic Water.

While writing a cast of characters that we can all relate to—the heroine, the best friend, the love interest, the ex, the parents—what I hadn’t expected was how fervently the community would present itself. Even though there is a magical element in the book, the story is about friendship, love, family, and even heartache. There is also a powerful sense of kinship, and the characters’ lives became fully entwined with the town. That’s when I realized Mystic Water was just as much of a character as Anna (and just as cherished too).

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3. Mystic Water is a favorite travel destination for readers.

Mystic Water has all the cozy charm of a small Southern town with its quirky lovable townsfolk. If you can close your eyes and imagine a Hallmark movie set, then you’ll get an idea of what it’s like living in Mystic Water. What I discovered about the town is that everything I love about it, the readers do too. From hundreds of readers, I’ve heard variations of “I want to live there.” So do I!

I created Mystic Water to feel like a place readers would want to take a road trip to with their best friends, where they could picture themselves walking downtown eating ice cream, where they could fall in love. I wanted readers to feel the magic of the breeze. Mystic Water is a place of dreams and charm and love, and it’s one of my very favorite places to visit. I tell readers that anytime they’re ready to take a trip to Mystic Water, so am I.

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