I had a conversation with my boyfriend, L, today. It was through text message so maybe I missed a joke or he missed a joke or we both missed sarcasm.
It went something like this:
L: I don’t want to have to visit you in jail just yet.
L: The yet is optional. You’re bound to murder someone.
I’m not sure I appreciate my friends believing I am capable of ending a person’s life, but I can’t blame them. I often wonder if the police investigating a homicide go after authors the deceased knew. Sometimes I read a book about a serial killer and feel a tinge of fear towards the author—the person responsible for such imaginative ways of murder in a fictional story.
I mean, confetti made of human pieces? Who thinks like that! (Referencing Cut & Run by Madeleine Urban & Agail Roux) It was brilliant and stuck with me as a reader, but ghastly to think about it really happening. I don’t doubt that it has happened, but I’ll pretend it hasn’t.
I emailed my idea for a cover for my first published story (through Dreamspinner Press) and started to think about it again. I do that. I made a decision and analyze further after I’ve decided. But a thought occurred to me that if I want this book cover in my house and displayed I might want to reconsider my ideas for a cover. Telling my parents and a few friends that I write romance would be horrible enough, but adding that it’s gay romance is out of the question.
So I’ll need to email again and be the annoying author that emails too much. I really do feel silly for not thinking about this during the days I tortured myself with cover ideas. I don’t care what the cover is as long as it’s mine. I wonder if I’ll feel this way if I publish another two or three...Wishful thinking.