Boobs & Reception

Striking title.

What can I say? I am trying to get your attention. I promise this will take a turn that you do not expect.

So, my parents are reading my book and the preliminary reviews from them are flowing.

See? Strange.

My mother called me over the weekend and my father was in the car. They were driving to my brother-in-law and sisters, who live two hours away, for my nephew’s first birthday. (Happy birthday, River!) The phone call was… well, I’ll tell you.

My mother was reading while my father drove, and they started off by trying to pick out people in my past who were indicative of the characters I had written.

“No. Mom. I told you. Don’t try to attach them to someone. Yes, I do breathe life into my characters with nuances of real people, but these are not people I have met. I promise.”

I tried reason.

“Are you sure?”

I face palmed.

“Yes! I told you to just enjoy it.”

She laughed. “I remember now. Hold on, your father wants to ask you something.”

I braced myself.

“Who are you writing about? Someone we know?”

I wanted to drink cyanide.

“No, Dad! Just a book! Just characters! Just a story! I promise!”

Then they started talking about Erin and Santana.

God help me.

“But Son… You always liked big hips. That’s what Erin has, right?”

I poured my coffee into the sink and went for the Jack Daniel’s.

“Dad! No! I am not my characters! I do put a little bit of me into every one of them, but I am not Carnegie! I am not Allen! I am not anyone!”

My mother, in her wisdom, reentered the conversation.

“Yeah, Andy. He’s more of a boob guy.”

I tipped the bottle skyward, bottom up.

“Yeah, I guess. But what about that one girl?” My father contemplated.

My father contemplated whether or not boobs or hips were my fancy.

He had no idea who he was talking about. I had no idea who he was talking about.

My dad is the guy who would yell at me and my sisters as, “Leah! Naomi! Jonathan! Shoot! You! Hey!”

He would pass our names like there were a dozen of us.

Three.

There are three of us.

Now, my parents don’t read much fiction, and I love them for delving into this world. It isn’t exactly an easy introduction, but they are supportive, wonderful parents. They’ve been married for 7,203 years. (That’s a joke. 38 years.)

Let’s rewind.

The conversation started with my mom yelling at me because my dad had been late to many engagements that week because he was reading for too long in his “office.”

My dad reads in the bathroom.

A lot.

 

**News Update**

I was just on the phone with my older sister for almost an hour. (Yes, the Gorgon from the Christmas post.) She told me her and my other brother-in-law and my parents had formed an unofficial book club about my book and my mother has spoiled too many things because she is a few steps ahead.

Long story long, my family makes all of this worth it.

I miss them so much. Every day, I wish I could drive over and see my nephews, my sister, my mom.

My dad. (He will always be my hero.)

(Period.)

Well! Now I just switched my Spotify to “Fall on Me” by Andrea Bocelli!

My mom is amazing.

I’m done.

I hope wherever you are at in the book, you are enjoying it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And it makes me happy beyond words that my parents are doing just that.

Beyond words.