Norwalk, that most vile of viral stalkers, has infiltrated my happy home. As always seems to be the case, my 13 y/o daughter was the first of its victims. She'd been planning a sleepover with two friends Saturday night, but when she curled up in a fetal position at 8:00 PM, insisting she felt like she was dying, I was forced to drive her disappointed buddies home. What followed was a puke-fest of epic proportions. I tell you, that girl barfs like a howler monkey--animals on the other side of the jungle run for cover at the noise she makes.
Right now, she's stretched out on a row of kitchen chairs in my living room, drinking gatorade and watching women giving birth on TLC, while my 14 y/o son languishes on the sofa. If he isn't sick, he's faking it well--most notably by his lack of protest at having to watch women giving birth on TLC.
And me? I've managed not to succumb--yet. Mostly due to scrubbing myself from head to toe with lye and a wire brush every time I've had to come within three feet of my kids. Unfortunately, I did manage to acquire some hideous sinus thing this weekend that had me feeling serously bagged by Sunday evening.
But the weekend wasn't ALL bad. On the dubiously bright side, I discovered at work on Saturday night that one of my regular customers had a print copy of Crossing Swords. His wife bought it for him for Valentine's Day (awwww), and when I cringed and said, "But...but, you aren't actually reading it, are you?" he grinned and replied, "I'm on chapter five and enjoying it so far. Boy, that's some imagination you've got! Can I get it signed?"
Which is kinda embarrassing, and yet kinda cool as well. And it makes me wonder if what will bring more men over to romance is not an engaging subplot or tons of action, but the kind of graphic, blunt, no-holds-barred sex to be found in erotic romance. Although I'm sure the bloodbath at the end of Crossing Swords probably helps it appeal to a male readership, too.
And when the guy's brother gave me THE LOOK, complete with eyebrow waggle, and asked if my book was based on "personal experience", I just smiled and replied "Of course! I mean, you can't write convincingly about how it feels to slit a man's carotid artery and windpipe, or what it's like to drag your sword out from between someone's ribs unless you've actually...what? Ohhhh, you mean the sex? Nah, I don't do any of that."
I'm guessing in the next few weeks, I'll be signing a copy for him, too. Which is okay. If I'm running out of people I can look in the eye in this town, I at least want to feel like I've earned it. :D