My husband—and several of my male friends—have been reading my first contemporary romance, The List. Some of them are septuagenarians. Most of them have never read a romance novel before.
I feel genuinely honored that they wanted to read my work. I also recognize that they likely wouldn’t have, except for the fact that they know me personally.
I worried, at first, that they might feel put off by some of the sex scenes. But they seemed to roll with the punches just fine. One of the men who plays poker with my husband on Wednesday nights told me he was at the part where “she licked his thigh.” We laughed. There is no such part. But perhaps the scene had incited his imagination—and that’s not a bad thing.
One of my neighbors texted me the other morning to say he was upset with Olivia, one of the secondary characters. I asked him why.
“Because she showed up with a date,” he replied.
A minute later, another text came through: “Tom should make his move.”
Tom is also a secondary character. Their story is fully developed in Book Two of the Providence Office Series, A Pesky Little Attraction. The fact that he felt compelled to text me told me something important: he was emotionally invested in the characters and the story. I’ll take that as a win.
Three men, however, are mad at me.
My brothers called—one is 82, the other 77—and they were upset that I hadn’t used their pictures on the cover. My husband, too, is incensed.
“I was way better looking when I was twenty-five,” he fumed. “You should have used my photo.”
What can I say?
One last note. We had a holiday dinner recently with men and women from our couples’ golf league. The women are also part of my book club. They were talking about my book, and I mentioned that several men had read The List.
One of the men said he didn’t read that genre.
His wife immediately replied, “Yes—but it’s not your typical romance.”
I felt like I’d struck gold.
Thanks for tuning in.
With all best wishes,
Margaret
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