In case you didn’t know, I’m kinda nerdy. Like book nerdy. Maybe even a little sexy librarian nerdy…at least in my mind.
This week, I started the second semester of graduate school. I’m working on a master’s degree in publishing.
One of the classes I am super excited about started as well. Young Adult Genre Studies. We get to read and analyze books like Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Archer and Matched by Ally Condie. Great books by great authors.
With the start of every new semester comes the day of introductions. State your name, occupation, and other general bullshit that no one will remember tomorrow. This particular first class though, something interesting happened that I probably should have seen coming.
Along with the usual getting-to know-you questions came, “What were your favorite books as a teen?”
Uh. Um. Yeah.
I write erotica. I didn’t exactly follow the path of innocence to get here. Even in my teen years, I wanted passion so hot I blushed just reading it. I wanted strong-willed heroines who were just waiting for a man who could match her wits and set free her deepest desires. I wanted heroes with chiseled chests and big…uh, you get the picture.
But how to put this delicately? Hmm…
Then I remembered there was one non-Harlequin-esque book I enjoyed. One book that was slightly respectable for a girl of that age to be reading, one book that had more plot than sex, one book that I could throw out to my classmates without looking like the complete smut-lover that I am.
Unforgiven by Patricia MacDonald. This was a relatively mild book in comparison to the sexy exploits I enjoyed even then. (My alter ego actually talked to our own Monette Michaels on her blog about it not too long ago.) So, there it was, I threw that one out there. My favorite book as a teen.
One slightly awkward instance in the life of an erotic writer. Trust me, there are so many more and most of them are far worse than this!