So, it’s finally sinking in that the book thing is going to happen. I was talking to my Dad on the phone about it the other night and he kind of got this weird tone to his voice and asked if I was going to have one of those “half-naked barbarian” covers.
Which, I suppose, is possible. Although you don’t see too many clinch covers these days, and probably very unlikely for an Urban Fantasy type of romance – but, as I told him, it’s probably not going to be up to me. I honestly have no idea how much input I’ll get into it, but that’s all right. His question kind of had me thinking, though. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve written….but I’m not sure I really want to know that he’s read it. I mean, I told him it was fairly smutty in places and he was like, “Oh, like Catcher in the Rye? I seem to remember that was pretty racy.”
And I kind of had to sigh, because…no. Even aside from the fact that I’m not actually J.D. Salinger, no. If Holden Caulfield had sex with a daemon prostitute, maybe. As I’ve stated before, I don’t write erotica, but it (in its currently un-revised-by-editor-state) has its fair share of frank language and graphic sex scenes.
Clearly there’s a bit of a generational gap here, not to mention a lack of familiarity with the romance genre on my father’s side. It’s kind of cute. That being said, I’m not sure *I* want to be the one to bridge it. After all, it’s probably hard to reconcile that one’s little girl, whom you so fondly remember in diapers and pigtails, is suddenly using words like cock and cunt with literary abandon.
Well, okay, not abandon. But they’re in there.