The other day Old Road Apples said such a flattering thing about my blog:
It’s interesting…I don’t wear jewelry, don’t shop for jewelry, but still find myself needing to “like” things on your page.
It’s so flattering because that perfectly sums up my goals with my writing. Sure, I write about jewelry, but I use it as a device to write about more in life; my stories, things that impress me, just regular human experiences that are bigger than gender and the writing device itself. I am proud that I have a number of male and female readers who are not jewelry aficionados and that my blog isn’t a specifically ‘No Boys Allowed!’ kind of club.
As I mentioned in this post about hope, there is a trifecta of stars in my life that I am hoping will align right now. We can check off successful IVF, which leaves two: a big deal art fair that I applied to, and finding an agent for my novel. I spent yesterday emailing agents and two requested writing samples. HOORAY! Right? So I posted an update about it on facebook.
Now my novel, like my blog, is something that I hope transcends gendered interest. I wish it would fall into the noir, mystery, or suspense genres but since I am female, and the protagonist is female, we decided to call it ‘chicklit noir’ because the aim is to sell this thing, afterall. I’ll make a big fuss about this whole silly ‘chicklit’ notion later when I’m established.
Wait, no, I’ll make a fuss now. You know how many times Lee Childs goes into detail about Jack Reacher’s weaponry? A shit ton. Do I care about his weaponry specifics? Not a fig, but I still read every damn Jack Reacher book. Now, my casino story I describe some outfits my character wears. Will everyone care? No, but fuck that. I read about Jack Reacher’s weapons, my reader can fucking tolerate some wardrobe changes. And so what my protagonist develops a love interest in the story, so does Jack Reacher (in every single Reacher story) but we’re not lumping him into ‘chicklit’.
Back on topic, I had two agents bite on my query emails. Lots of fb friends very nicely ‘liked’ my update and posted encouraging comments. It was super heartwarming. But then of course this rage inducing exchange (see below) goes down in private message.
First of all- Don’t “sexy” pm me ANYTHING EVER for so many reasons but especially since I am married. Pro-tip, don’t send unsolicited “sexy” pms to ANY woman EVER.
Second- I obviously already expressed my concern at being gender typecast and FIRST QUESTION about my novel is the fucking sexiness of the clothes?!?
Third- Even without the prior concerns expressed, are you fucking kidding me with this question? There is no point at which this question would be appropriate. *Maybe* if I was like “I’m writing a novel all about sexy outfits” *maybe* then it’d be passably acceptable. But it’s not. It’s about a woman who works in a casino. So ask me a fucking casino related question, I know my gambling shit.
Fourth- “Chicklit” pretty much guarantees no descriptions of “sexy” outfits. “Chicklit” is not “erotic fiction”.
Anyway. I showed my husband the exchange. He said “what a creep.” Which is exactly correct, this is an excellent illustration of creepiness. And this guy can’t figure out why he can’t find a girlfriend. ANYWAY. I’m done bitching.
How are you guys doing? Did you pop over to Old Road Apples blog yet? I love the found photos. Especially now, it makes me so thankful for our lack of snow in SF.