The Queen of Tropes Runs Amok
And Succeeds Brilliantly.

Two days in and the coursework is killing me.
I know, I know, I’m the one who signed up without considering the full implications, the necessity of…
My Muse looks up with a tiny smile.
…all the reading, the research, the interviews, the stuff that I’ve never done, am pretty sure that I don’t want to do, already know that I am going to hate doing.
She laughs out loud, eyes dancing so that I know I’ve hit a hot button.
What do you think we’re doing here, sweet cheeks?
It’s not all lollipops and puffy pink clouds, buttercup.
She’s riled up now. I am in for it, the mother of all sit-downs.
She patted a space on the couch next to her, careful not to disturb the napping dog. Once we’d sipped some tea, she started talking.
I remember this one writer. Sweet young woman. Big-bellied expecting her third son — two boys already and cute, little pipsqueak her, just asking for trouble.…Anyway, she decided that she wanted her story published more than she wanted to be right about her story and what it would take to get published.
So, that determined little person with huge bags under her eyes worked hard all day and wrote at night when the hellions were in bed. She gave it her all, absolutely everything she had to give and then some.
Within months, she’d written 25,000 words — a pretty good story if you ask me, complete with great characters, wonderful plot, compelling message.
Then she researched her genre. Her story had to be at least 40,000 words for anyone to consider publishing it.
She also needed to include one or two of the favored universal themes. Oh, yes, and there better be some solid tropes (plot devices such as “friends to lovers”) that readers expect.
Wind knocked out of her, she went to bed. And cried. Watched too much television, ate too much pizza, let the boys fingerpaint all over the side of the house.
Then, after a few days of wallow, she went to work.
She uncovered the universal themes she’d already written into the story. This kid knew her genre, reads like a fiend, so it didn’t take much to emphasize what was already there.
Then, she went to work on the tropes that agents, publishers, and readers expect. Her genre has roughly ten to fifteen depending on who you ask, wildly different and yet all remarkably the same. You’ve got to have at least one and it better show up early and deliver.
She almost cried, but got angry instead. When she tells other writers about it, she says she was inspired. I know better. She was out-of-her-mind furious — which is fine. We can work well together with fury.
She wove every single trope into her story. Stunningly, they worked.
Let anyone reject this, she cackled, adding in a new point of view character, jacking the word count to 45,000 and working in some witty banter and unique settings.
She’s now seven books published, just won a regional writing competition, and is hard at work on her next novel. The boys are running wild and roaming free. The little one thinks he might want to be a writer like Mommy when he grows up. Or maybe a Martian.
My Muse takes liberties with real life — and with true stories. When she started talking, I thought for sure she was making it up.
Then I remembered a conversation with S a few years ago. Making polite writer conversation, I learned that she had three little boys and that she loved the little buggers even though they’d given her the huge bags under her eyes because she hasn’t slept through the night in six years.
She’d been infuriated when her story fell short of requirements when she loved it so much. However, she wanted to be published more than she wanted to be right about the story. So, she’d worked in every single last living trope that she could — and then some.
The Muse stared into my eyes, searching to make sure that I got it. I nodded, looking as serious and committed as I knew how to do.
You don’t get it — at least not yet, she smiled.
Don’t worry. You will.
Let’s get back to work.
Creativity isn’t for the faint of heart. — Ken Spera
