USA Today bestselling author Sarah Adler writes romantic comedies about lovable weirdos finding their happily ever afters. She lives in Maryland with her husband, daughter, and very mischievous cat. When not working, you can find her attempting to course-correct an ill-advised late afternoon nap with an equally ill-advised late afternoon coffee, as she is incapable of ever learning a lesson.

I’m currently in-between revision rounds for my fourth book, slated to publish next summer, which means it’s time to start refilling my creative well and brainstorming my next project. I’ve learned that coming up with ideas is actually pretty easy (just ask my dad, who is constantly trying to sell me on his); the tricky part is figuring out if they’re worth pursuing. To keep me from spending too much time playing around with things that aren’t going to pan out, I’ve developed a series of questions that I ask myself to determine whether my ideas have legs.

1. Is this a plot, or just a premise?

Premises are easy. Ask any writer (or, again, my dad) and they can probably come up with ten on the spot. Premises are the “what if…?” that lead to a story—the one-sentence summaries on book deal announcements. Plots are different beasts altogether. They are the how, the action, the story itself, and they usually take some time and work to figure out. A majority of my ideas are fun premises that I might be able to pair with an excellent plot one day, but I’m not yet sure how to make the pieces line up and therefore it needs more time to cook.

Warning signs: Don’t know anything beyond characters in their initial situation, even after thinking about it for a bit. Can’t articulate the potential conflict or its resolution. If someone were to ask questions about what happens beyond that one sentence summary, I would have to answer most of them with “I don’t know yet.”

2. Is it high concept enough?

It honestly took me forever to understand what “high concept” even means, but I think I’ve got it now. Personally, my shortcut question is “is this a book only I can write?” This shouldn’t be confused with “write what you know,” which is more about experiences—professional, emotional, cultural, etc.—though that has its own importance. Rather, it’s asking if this idea is something that only my particular brain is likely to generate. Am I taking familiar tropes, and adding a unique spin on them that will make it stand out in a crowded market? If the answer is no, it’s probably not the right idea for me.

Warning signs: I can think of another book with a nearly identical premise. If I saw it as a deal announcement for another author, I’d probably forget about it in a day or two or get it confused with someone else’s upcoming release. If asked, I’d struggle to articulate the premise beyond its characters or a single trope.

3. Does it fit with my other books/ultimate career goals?

Now that I’ve published a few novels, readers have certain expectations when they pick one up. A Sarah Adler book is going to be full of humor and heart, have a premise that’s a little bit out there, and be grounded in modern reality even when it includes speculative or historical elements. I might have a killer idea for a historical lit fic, or an experimental scifi, but those don’t fit with the contemporary romcom brand I’m currently in the process of building. So those sorts of things get shelved for now, and maybe I’ll revisit them when I’m ten books in and my readers are more willing to take a gamble on my shenanigans. That being said, I don’t want to write the same book over and over either, so anything too close to my previous work is also a no go.

Warning signs: It repeats a theme or trope I’ve recently used. It’s a different (sub)genre that my readers may not be ready to follow me to yet. It would be a major departure in tone or voice from my previous work.

4. Do I want to write it?

This may seem obvious, but once contracts, deadlines, and money come into the equation, I think sometimes it’s tempting to take the first viable idea and force yourself to run with it. Like, okay, I have a high concept premise that I know how to plot, it plays nicely enough with my previous work and would continue my career trajectory in its intended direction. But if I’m not excited about it, eager to dive in, it might not be worth it. It’s like when you have a book on your TBR that appeals to you in general, but it isn’t something you feel a strong need to shove everything aside to read right away. Lots of my ideas are like that. Perfectly serviceable, yet missing that “YES!!!” feeling. It can feel irresponsible to shelve something seemingly suitable when there’s (usually self-imposed) pressure to get started on something new. But it’s much better than trudging through the long drafting and revision process without having my heart in it. (Or, worse, realizing after it’s already under contract that I can’t trudge through it.)

Warning signs: It makes sense on paper, but I don’t feel particularly eager to get working on it. I have trouble imagining potential scenes or hearing the characters’ voices. I feel stuck with characters or a plot that I’m not sure are the best for the story, but also don’t feel capable of coming up with anything better.

With the caveat that I have very limited experience with dating, I think this part of the writing process isn’t unlike trying to decide whether or not to get serious with someone new. I’m feeling out the vibes while also asking myself some important questions about compatibility. It’s just that in this context, the compatibility is not just with me personally but also with my career goals and the industry at large. Sometimes these questions are easy to answer on my own, and sometimes I need the outside perspective of a friend (or my agent or editor). But ultimately this screening process has saved me a boatload of time, while also giving me the language to explain to my dad why I’m never going to write a book about a bride’s ultra-difficult mom called M.O.B. Scene. I hope it is similarly helpful to you.

Finders Keepers by Sarah Alder

When Nina is forced to return home to her parents’ house after losing her job and long-term boyfriend, she is facing an uncertain future. And it just so happens that her childhood friend and neighbor, Quentin, is back home too. He suggests they pick up where they left off and resume their treasure hunt that ended their friendship almost 20 years ago. But with nothing to lose, Nina agrees, and the two are off on an adventure to find the rumored riches that will help get her life back on track. But their secrets do not stay buried for long, and it is up to them to dig up the truth about one another for the chance to be together.

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