Tonight is that lovely, but also dreaded, day that I get to meet my daughter’s teacher. She is extremely excited to the point that she was texting my dad about it from her iPad…and he was only on the other side of the house. Yeah.
What’s to dread, you ask?
Well, I know at some point, what I do for living will come up. Maybe not tonight, but by the time we’re scheduling the first parent-teacher conference, it will have been brought up.
Now, I’m in not way ashamed of what I do. I love to write about people falling in love. And people falling in love often have sex. This is not a new concept. BUT I do live in Texas, which is in the Bible Belt, which means that as soon as I say, “I write romance novels. The steamy kind.”—at least one person will be clutching their pearls. Metaphorically speaking, that is. I haven’t seen too many people wearing pearls around here anymore.
Could I not offer all that information upfront? Sure, but then, when someone asks for my pen name, I’d have to warn them what they’re getting into anyway. Might as well make it clear from the get-go so no one is caught off-guard or offended. And so they don’t keep asking questions, reading the book, DNF’ing, and leaving me a one-star review on Amazon because I write “filth.”
Now, if the teacher is still interested in reading my books, you bet your butt I’ll be bringing her a signed copy of one of them up to the school. A new minion….er, reader….is always a good thing.
Be First to Comment