When I sold my first mainstream novel to Samhain, my mother thought I’d written a “Mommy Dearest”. I told her to forget her fears of Joan Crawford, because LEAVING MAMA had nothing to do with her or anyone in our family—it was fiction.
“But it’s called Leaving Mama.” She was still confused.
“Mom, it opens with the main character sitting on her grandmother’s coffin in the middle of a rainstorm, and she’s smoking pot beneath a beach umbrella.”
“The grandmother?!”
sigh “No, Mom. Forget it. The book isn’t about us in any way, shape, or form. We don’t even have a beach umbrella.”
She sniffled. “Would you really leave your mama?”
“Mom. I’m over the age of forty – it’s a done deal.”
“You don’t have to get hateful about it.”
If I’d had a link at the time, I’d have told her to read for herself and see that these women love their mothers.
Read an excerpt of Leaving Mama
Then came RED HOT LOVER, and we had the coversation regarding the definition of erotica and why on God’s green earth anyone would write such a thing. She asked what name I’d used. I remember staring at her with my best poker face and telling her, “Yours.” After she recovered, I came clean, told her I’d made up the name, because not all of Bobbie’s readers would appreciate erotic romance. 
“Does this mean you’re still, you know…a good girl?”
“Mother, the hymen doesn’t grow back, but yes—I’m good. In fact, I’m great.”
By the time LA BELLA LUNA sold, she no longer worried what I wrote or whose name I used as long as I didn’t compare her to Ms. Crawford. Smiling Here Not a chance. Maybe if Christina Crawford had had Loretta for a mother she’d have penned a happier book. As it stands, I’m the one who benefited from a mother with a great sense of humor.
I’m not sure why she’s obsessed with Joan. I just know that I’m not telling her of the m/m romances. Can’t have her thinking that I’m considering a sex change operation, although I DID receive a Father’s Day present or two this year. Single mother, and a single child who knows about Cash Cole – lol.
A big SHOUT OUT and THANK YOU to those of you who have supported La Bella Luna’s debut. For those who aren’t familiar with the book, here’s the link to read an excerpt:
Read an excerpt of La Bella Luna
Do you remember how you told your family you wrote? What were their reactions?
, thankfully sparing her the intimate details of what thing led where.
“Edward…Edward…EDWARD!” Leta Lou knocked on his forehead as if it was a solid oak door and she was trying to get to the person on the other side.
“I don’t give a damn about how you got started, whose hand went where, or what you were wearing—those aren’t the details that concern me. I want to know if you wore rubbers and if you brought back some fatal disease to our bed!”
“Leta Lou!” he shouted, standing up.
Asher cracked the door and hissed to get Edward’s attention. “What did she say, Edward?”
“She never swears or talks dirty—she’s drunk!” Edward shouted back, his arms straining to hold Leta Lou back, to keep her from having a face-to-face meeting with Asher.
“I am not drunk, Edward—I’m high—high as a damn kite!”
“What?”
“I smoked pot with your kids,” she said smugly.
“Leta Lou, you can’t—what? I mean, the press would crucify me if they found out!”
She burst into giggles and rocked back onto the sofa. “The press is going to be too busy trying to figure out why you are shacked up in the Marriott with another man than to worry about what I put in my mouth.” She snorted. “They’re going to be more concerned with what you put in yours! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Would she like some coffee?” Asher offered from the doorway, shrugging when Edward and Leta Lou glared at him. “Coffee always seems to work when people are drunk. I thought perhaps it might help…in…her situation.”
Leta Lou’s buzz must’ve started to wear off, because her teeth suddenly felt fuzzy. “Sure,” she said. “That would be the cherry on the cake of my day, Asher, to have coffee with you and Edward in the Love Shack here.”
*
Thirty minutes later, she found herself with an icepack on her forehead and her fourth cup of coffee in her hands.
“Not bad, Asher,” she told the slight man across from her at the table for two. “Next time around, I’m going for a wife instead of a husband. Every woman should have one as far as I’m concerned.”
He placed his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. “I am so sorry about all of this, Leta Lou. May I call you Leta Lou?”
“Call me anything you like,” she said, taking another sip of the steaming liquid.
Edward stood behind Asher and stared at her hair. “I like it.”
“Thank you. Back to your groveling, though. Just explain to me when you first knew that you weren’t attracted to me any more. Asher here doesn’t mind—we’ve bonded over Folgers, after all, and I have the right to know. Okay?”
“When I realized I was attracted to a man. And you don’t really want to know the answer to that time frame.”
“Ah. I see.” And she did. “So was Asher the first?”
“Yes. Well, the first one I did anything about. Before, I just ignored my feelings or wound up confused, but I never acted on them.”
“And did you make love to me any time after you slept with him?” She had to know.
“No. Honestly—no, I didn’t.”
“He didn’t,” Asher chimed in. “We were very concerned about our wives.”
His face was so sincere in a Nathan Lane sort of way that Leta Lou almost believed him.
“You have to believe us, Leta Lou,” Edward said. “But there’s nothing for you to be worried about…I mean, he’s been tested, and I’ve…”
She held up her hands to stop him. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“Leta Lou, I would never put your life in danger. Or mine. I put a lot of thought into this before I left you. Before I…started this relationship with Asher.”
“That’s comforting. Really.” She wished she was still dopey.
Asher rose and offered his chair to Edward. Turning back to Leta Lou, he held out his hands for her to clasp—not one, but both of them. “You two need to talk some more without me. I just wanted to meet you and to say I’m sorry.”
Leta Lou nodded and squeezed his hands then let them go as he smiled and sighed.
Then Edward leaned forward and grasped her hands almost as soon as Asher released them. “Have I ruined things to the point that you and I can’t be friends? I know that sounds corny and trite, but you were my best friend for so many years, Leta Lou. The hardest thing about leaving you was leaving my best friend.”
All the thunder she’d felt up to that moment dissolved. She wasn’t tearful. She was just thankful that a major bridge had been crossed. One that kept them linked while apart. And she was fighting to keep from howling with laugher. This whole meeting with him was so surreal, so La Cage Aux Follies.
They talked for a few more minutes. She told him to fetch Asher, so that she could say goodbye.
Asher was obviously uncomfortable as hell and looked as if he’d been crying, but Leta Lou did her best to put him at ease, to let him know that while she didn’t understand and still resented them both, they all needed to get on with their lives, such as they were. They needed to find some way to keep sane and civil to one another.
And when she left, she felt like she’d just given birth to herself, experiencing the same feelings she’d had when she delivered her children. Tired, confused, relieved, wanting ice-cream and needing a massage. But like any birth, once it was over, there was a quiet glory in it, knowing that new life was emerging. Knowing that new possibilities abounded.
And there was a sadness to it, knowing that the pain would be forgotten too soon.
One of my personal goals for 2008 was to learn something new every day that I could. Now whether or not I’ll remember it is another matter, but here is what I learned today.
