My daughter thinks my last blog was appalling being that it insinuated that her mother, at some point in her life, may have (please note past tense) been a sexual being.  Four times, she allotted me, given that I have three children and she so generously threw in a wedding night conjoining.  I understand that no child, even ones of adult age, prefer to envision their parents in a lascivious light.  I get it; I had parents too.  I can recall sitting at the bottom of the steps that lead to my parent’s bedroom late one night, holding my little sister back from interrupting the giggling and who knows what we heard going on up there.  Surely we were too young to know what it really meant, but I do know that it gave me a warm and secure feeling inside.  I thought it was love that we wanted to envision, not the hot sex part.  Silly, naive me.

Then a friend sent me an article about how sex sells.  “You need to promote your book through sex,” she told me.  I reminded her that my Shades of Gray wasn’t about sex.  Sure there are lots of characters having sex throughout my novel; which is how chapter ten got to be a favorite of so many of my readers.  And, of course, there is the constant need to have sex based on Olivia’s ovulation schedule or the insinuation of sex that causes so many students to have children or become pregnant.  This is not enough apparently.  Implications are not sufficient; seemingly I need to be pushing the sex card to sell.

Therefore, hard as I try to resurrect my image due to the confusion over my Shades of Gray for the more erotic Fifty Shades (see my last blog), I am afraid I might just have to go with it if I want my book to ever see a best sellers list.  The fabulously promising reviews just might not be enough.  Even my own friends, who have all pledged their adoration for my Shades, ostensibly have needs.  While planning a local book signing for me I got involved in a long and rather comical string of text messages that virtually had me laughing out loud while in CVS.  (I opted to leave the store when I noticed a woman tugging at her child’s hand in order to keep her from the crazy lady: me.)  One friend asked if I could sign leather riding crops rather than my books.  Another suggested personalized bags for one’s Ben Wa balls as a door prize.  (Lilly Pulitzer designed as I do live in a rather upscale suburb.)  Mind you that same friend had to Wikipedia the spelling of Ben Wa balls and at the same time provided us with the useful information that this sex toy can sometimes be used to treat mild incontinence.  That is when Mary (name changed to protect the innocent) decided that she felt a bout of incontinence cumming on. Mary then rushed off to church to repent.  Terri, our agnostic friend (and another feigning purist) wished she too could turn to church to repent, if only she sensed a little Christian in her.   “Ahhh, a little Christian in me would be nice,” a third fan of Fifty Shades chimed in.  It continued for most the morning proving to me that although my Shades may provide a heartwarming, inspirational bit of prose, the real inspiration for getting some people to read these days is through SEX.  Hot, steamy, fresh out of the red-room-of-pain sex.

So much for happy endings – the kind you find in a novel, not a strip club.  Enough with the gleeful feeling two little girls felt at the thought of their parents being in love.  Who cares if the infertile couple (Olivia and Tom) ever has a baby as long as they have tons of wild sex while trying?  I apologize, dear children, I just may have to go the less ladylike route this time, all for the good of marketing, of course.  Enough with the don’t kiss and tell approach.  I confess….Olivia may have been a naughty little girl and is ready to play bad teacher.