Janie Willingson wanted her doctorate in women’s studies. Specifically, she wanted to attend the University of Arizona in Tucson. Her initial visit there for a class trip during the last year of graduate school fanned a spark burning in her since high school when she learned about careers for women, about women. She dragged her disagreeable husband, Darrell, to the city for vacation whenever he would tolerate such a trip, which amounted to not often. In twenty-seven years of marriage, they went to Tucson twice. She curbed her usual enthusiasm and now broached the subject with caution and hesitation. She spent hours in her home office privately poring over her well-organized and updated collection of information about the city and the university. Thus, Darrell found her on a sunny August afternoon.
As usual I am late to the party, but I will add this: if the principal focus for a writer is to produce as many titles as possible, outlining is a must. But what has to be true (I would think) for those who turn out book-length multiple titles annually is that the role of reflection is pretty much cancelled. I admire writers who manage–somehow–to produce readable, entertaining books at a fast clip. But generally, those are not the books I’m likely to reread.
In fairness, though, I have to add that I don’t reread many books, period.