Oh, man. I'm Screwed.
Seriously.
I'm a pretty private person. In the year and a half I've been seriously writing, I've only shared my words with a handful of people. I finally mustered up the courage to tell my mother about my writing for two reasons. One, I wanted to go to Nationals in Reno this year, and two, I needed a babysitter for the kids while DH was at work during the day. Since my mother is a teacher and is off for the summer, she was willing to watch the kids. But asking that one small favor has opened up a whole can of worms.
She wants to read my book.
Oh, Lord.
My mother does not read romance. She reads mysteries - Grisham, Margolin - anything but romance. She read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks and had trouble with the love scene. Well, crap. I'm screwed. She can't read my work. Can't. No way - no how.
So she was here last night for DD's Kindergarted graduation. And she asked. Again. "When do I get to read your book? Do I have to wait until it's published?"
Um...I'm thinking she will have to wait a lot longer than that if I have anything to say about it.
Marina's Bane, which is under consideration with several agents now has . . . let me count, um . . . three full love scenes, two other partials. Oh, yeah, like I want her reading that. So that's out of the question. I could give her Wait For Me to read instead, that's done now. It only has one love scene. But, oh wait . . .HELLO! my alpha agressive wall-backing hero and the near violent love scene would probably give my mother a heart attack.
I don't want to have to explain to my kids that grandma died while reading mommy's book.
Okay. I'm screwed. No way she can read my work.
And then there's my sweet, adorable six year old daughter. She knows I write. She asks about my work all the time. She knows Marina's Bane is about an archaeologist. Last night at graduation, each child made a poster of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Then as they walked across the stage in their little graduation cap, the teacher announced over the microphone what their aspirations were. My daughter said, "When I grow up, I want to be an archaeologist." Sweet, huh? Oh yeah. She also wants to read my book. "Mommy, when you get your book made, I want to sit with you and we can read it together."
Oh, yeah. Like that's ever gonna happen!
I'm a pretty private person. In the year and a half I've been seriously writing, I've only shared my words with a handful of people. I finally mustered up the courage to tell my mother about my writing for two reasons. One, I wanted to go to Nationals in Reno this year, and two, I needed a babysitter for the kids while DH was at work during the day. Since my mother is a teacher and is off for the summer, she was willing to watch the kids. But asking that one small favor has opened up a whole can of worms.
She wants to read my book.
Oh, Lord.
My mother does not read romance. She reads mysteries - Grisham, Margolin - anything but romance. She read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks and had trouble with the love scene. Well, crap. I'm screwed. She can't read my work. Can't. No way - no how.
So she was here last night for DD's Kindergarted graduation. And she asked. Again. "When do I get to read your book? Do I have to wait until it's published?"
Um...I'm thinking she will have to wait a lot longer than that if I have anything to say about it.
Marina's Bane, which is under consideration with several agents now has . . . let me count, um . . . three full love scenes, two other partials. Oh, yeah, like I want her reading that. So that's out of the question. I could give her Wait For Me to read instead, that's done now. It only has one love scene. But, oh wait . . .HELLO! my alpha agressive wall-backing hero and the near violent love scene would probably give my mother a heart attack.
I don't want to have to explain to my kids that grandma died while reading mommy's book.
Okay. I'm screwed. No way she can read my work.
And then there's my sweet, adorable six year old daughter. She knows I write. She asks about my work all the time. She knows Marina's Bane is about an archaeologist. Last night at graduation, each child made a poster of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Then as they walked across the stage in their little graduation cap, the teacher announced over the microphone what their aspirations were. My daughter said, "When I grow up, I want to be an archaeologist." Sweet, huh? Oh yeah. She also wants to read my book. "Mommy, when you get your book made, I want to sit with you and we can read it together."
Oh, yeah. Like that's ever gonna happen!
posted by Elisabeth Naughton at 9:30 AM
6Comments:
Uh, E? You have three kids and the DH sells ED drugs. Kinda think mom's aware you know what sex is.
Of course, not that I want my parents reading my work. Or my sisters. The school board. Uh . . .
Oh, man. Guess I'm screwed, too.
Yes, Linda, but knowing about sex and reading the words your daughter has written about it are two very different things.
And my mother refuses to talk about DH's ED drugs. She just doesn't want to know anything about them.
We never talked about sex in our house. Never. My sed ed talk before leaving for college consisted of this:
"Don't be stupid. If you're going to be stupid though, don't be stupid about the way you're being stupid."
Seriously. That was it. Eighteen years of life, one big discussion with your only daughter, and it boils down to two short sentences. If my mother pretends it's not happening, it's not.
She just can't read my work. That's all there is to it.
I laughed while reading this. One because you're SO screwed. Two because when my mother came here, she asked to read some of my short stories. I gave her a couple, saving the erotic one back. She knew I'd written it. I openly talked about it, but she never asked to read that particular one and I never asked if she wanted to. *VBG*
In essence, we ignored the whole issue. I don't think my mother and I ever talked about sex in relation to whether I was having it or not. Waiting until I was leaving for college would have been stupid on her part. LOL!
I'm betting that IF you let your mother read the book with her knowing there are love scenes in there, she'll never mention those scenes in her assessment of the book. ;-)
I laughed while reading this. One because you're SO screwed. Two because when my mother came here, she asked to read some of my short stories. I gave her a couple, saving the erotic one back. She knew I'd written it. I openly talked about it, but she never asked to read that particular one and I never asked if she wanted to. *VBG*
In essence, we ignored the whole issue. I don't think my mother and I ever talked about sex in relation to whether I was having it or not. Waiting until I was leaving for college would have been stupid on her part. LOL!
I'm betting that IF you let your mother read the book with her knowing there are love scenes in there, she'll never mention those scenes in her assessment of the book. ;-)
Elizabeth,
I'm a mother of grown up girls. And would read love scenes they wrote knowing if is fiction. But it is the other way around for me - my girls don't want to read love scenes their mother wrote. They want to read my stuff though, they just skip over the love scenes.
I'm betting though you think your mother would die of mortification- you might be completely wrong - If she can't see the talent in your writing and look past the love scenes, then you have more of a problem than just being mortified over her reading a love scene.
If you want - wait until she buys the book, or hand it to her, tell her there are some love scenes she can skip if she likes. Tell her to enjoy.
My mother read one of my books. She loves romance novels, but, you know, it was still kind of weird, especially when she yelled out, "Stephanie, what are you doing writing about breasts on the first page! Your father can't read this!'
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