A Fake Conversation with Mum About Having Written A Book
I haven’t told my Mum I write romance fiction.
I know that sounds bad, as if I’m ashamed. I’m not.
I offer in my defence all of my previously recorded verbatim conversations with Mum and let you decide if it’s better for my health to keep – er – mum, or put on the big girl pants and fess up.
I will tell you now, if you decide on the later, you are not my friend anymore. Just so we’re straight.
Elise writes small town and other lovely things, Jacquie writes mystical, magical stories and Rachel is an original ru-ro queen.
They all suck.
Please address any complaints to them.
I think it would go much like this: She would so win.
Me: So, I’ve written a book.
Mum: What do you mean written?
Me: You know, one word after another, a page of words, followed by more pages of words, that kind of a book.
Mum: A book book.
Mum: What for?
Me: Well I wanted to see if I could.
Mum: Why would you want to do that?
Me: Good question. I’ve always wanted to.
Mum: No, you haven’t.
Me: Yes, I have.
Mum: Well you left it a bit late to try didn’t you?
Mum: What’s it about? Would I like it?
Me: You wouldn’t like it.
Mum: It’s not a stupid vampire thing is it?
Mum: Is it a book with proper pages or a Kindle book?
Me: It’s a Kindle book.
Mum: Anyone can make one of those. John Cousins is doing one about his parents. Can’t imagine how boring that will be. I’ll probably have to buy it. You didn’t write about us did you?
Me: No. Not at all.
Mum: So it’s not a real book. It’s like the book that Margie did on the family.
Me: No it’s not like that. That was photocopied.
Mum: It was very good photocopying. How much did it cost you?
Me: It didn’t cost me anything except time.
Mum: John is paying a lot of money for his, like thousands. How did you do it for free? You should tell him.
Me: I don’t even know who John is.
Mum: You do, but it doesn’t matter.
Me: Maybe one day I’ll write a print book.
Mum: You’re still doing it?
Me: It’s not illegal.
Mum: Don’t be silly. When did you do this thing?
Me: It’s not a thing. I wrote a book. I wrote a few.
Mum: A few, what do you mean a few?
Me: More than two.
Mum: What for?
Me: I’m wondering that myself.
Mum: Would I like any of them?
Mum: Why didn’t you write a book I would like?
Me: I don’t think that’s possible.
Mum: Is it more of a textbook?
Me: No, it’s fiction.
Mum: That’s what I read.
Me: I know.
Mum: You don’t know anything about murders and investigations.
Me: I don’t write about crime.
Mum: But that’s what I read.
Me: I didn’t write the books just for you.
Mum: That was silly. At least you’d know one person would’ve read them.