I don’t think I’ll ever write a 100,000 word manuscript.
First of all, my attention span isn’t that long. Also, I have been known to search for just the “right word” for 45 minutes. You don’t pound out 100K words doing that. But the biggest reason is…
I’m just not that into detail.
I can’t spend three pages setting a scene. Which makes me a perfect kidlit writer, of course. Only adult market writers can get away with crap like that. The one thing that would bore me more than reading such a thing is writing it.
And I don’t want to describe what my characters look like down to the last wart on Aunt Junie May’s left pinkie toe. Sorry. Most of the time, I won’t even tell you what color their hair is. Or their eyes. Not unless it’s important to the characterization or the story.
And the house might be “needing paint” or it might come “from family money”, but I’m not going to furnish the blueprints and color swatches.
Because if you’re reading my story, I’m going to make you work.
When you pick up my book, you and I enter into an agreement. I will do my best to entertain you, and you will do your darnedest to be entertained. I ply my craft, you apply your imagination.
You, the reader, get to create too.
And that, my fellow writers, is the reason that there will always be books.