Medusa of Love
There are certain questions I ponder all the time. Was Bruce Lee’s death accidental or a hit? Which came first: the chicken or the egg? If my life was a movie, what theme song would be playing as I walked down the street? Who named mauve mauve? What’s my superpower?
Every now and then, I come up with an answer for a question or two, and I’m satisfied for a while, until I decide there must be other valid answers. Life is a multiple choice question where all the answers can be right at any given time, after all.
Lately, I’ve been pondering superpowers again. I’m working on a book where the hero is plagued by the powers bestowed on him and, naturally, I’ve been ruminating on my own superpowers. I go back and forth about what they might be, but I think I’ve nailed it this week.
I am a Love Medusa. Come in contact with me, and your heart won’t turn to stone—it’ll be filled with love and passion.
Is it any wonder I write romance novels?
That’s so cool, you say. I wish I could spread love and passion.
Well, actually you can—and probably do. But it’s not as cool as you think. Remember the part in Spiderman about great powers coming with great responsibilities? Imagine being responsible for hearts you don’t want to be responsible for. Imagine dating if love is your superpower.
Yeah, it’s not a pretty thing. Especially since my powers are always stronger than I realize. Meaning exposure to me seems to render men insane.
Literally insane.
We’re talking the kind of insanity that makes a drunk homeless guy stagger up to you with open arms and say “I wish I had my shit together, because I’d ask you out.” Or that causes men to propose after talking to you for five minutes. Or that inspires flowers and candy and bad poetry. We're talking the kind of insanity that blinds a man into believing a disastrous first date was awesome, when really he was one punch away from a visit to the ER.
At this point, the various men I’ve been going out with—past and present—are nodding their head vehemently. (Hello, boys! Yes, I know you’re reading this.) Or else they have no idea what I’m talking about.
In either case, men, you’ve been warned. Proceed at your own risk. Tread carefully, lest you become my next victim. (Insert ominous laugh here.)
What’s your superpower? Do you know? Everyone has one, you know. Think about it. Or—heck—let’s discuss it.
Complicated Stuff
"You called me your gentleman caller?" he asked the second I answered the Skype call. On video, he looked as indignant as he sounded. "Did old man sound too spry?"
I shifted the webcam so half my face wasn't cut off. "Gentleman caller didn't seem so bad."
"Can a gentleman caller and the Kama Sutra coexist in the same post?" His brow furrowed. "Does a gentleman caller even get to see your ankles?"
"Not in a blog that his mother reads. Besides, I can't call you my boyfriend." I wrinkled my nose as I tasted the word. "I just can't. It doesn't feel right. You're not a boy. You're all man."
He sat up taller in his office chair. "That's right, I am."
"I haven't found the right word for you yet." Pursing my lips, I reviewed the options. "I like beau."
He looked contemplative, like he was rolling the word around in his head. "Beau has promise."
"I wonder if any of my blog readers have suggestions."
A wary look entered his eyes.
Prodded by my shoulder devil, I rubbed my chin like I was in deep thought. "Maybe I should ask them."
"Um..."
"You don't mind if I blog about you from time to time, right? It comes with the territory." Because I'm truly evil, I added, "I'll try not to talk about the type of underwear you prefer or anything."
"We're going to have to set boundaries, aren't we?"
Oh, you can try, I answered in my head. But in the interest of keeping the peace, I nodded. "I would be open to such discussions."
His gaze narrowed. "Why do I feel like you're just humoring me?"
I blinked innocently. "I have no idea."
Books and Sex
A romance author walks into a bookstore.
For real. I walked into a bookstore to look at the shelves. I had a book published in Spain two or three years ago. The chances that it would still be in stock were slim, but I have friends with books translated into Spanish, so I went to browse the novelas románticas. Really, I was looking for VERONICA WOLFF novels—I totally wanted to buy one here. Sadly, I didn't find any in stock, but I did find a whole lot of other familiar names.
So I got this brilliant idea that I'd write a blog about romance novels in Spain. I know! Totally excellent idea, right? But as I started to think about it, I realized I had nothing to say about it. I mean, except that they're all published in a larger size than mass market: like young adult books or trade paperbacks. I guess women in Europe like 'em bigger.
So then I came home and laid down on the couch, thinking about the blog, when I noticed one of the books on the shelf next to me. Kama Sutra: The Perfect Bedside Companion.
Of course I opened it—wouldn't you? Professional curiosity. And research. Maybe I could get ideas for the next book. Or perhaps there'd at least be enough fodder for a blog.
There was fodder. Plenty of fodder. Like a footnote that says:
"There are certainly materialists who seemed to thing that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush."
Seriously—a bird in the hand and two in the bush? Snicker. Snicker again. And please don't tell me your mind didn't go there too.
Only then I remembered that my gentleman caller's* mom** reads my blog, and I haven't met her yet. What kind of impression will I be making if I write about, for example, "the fighting of the tongue"? And I was totally going to write about how a man should prepare for the day and his woman. There's a list, including:
"He should bathe daily, anoint his body with oil every other day, apply a lathering substance to his body every three days, get his head (including face) shaved every four days, and the other parts of his body every five or ten days. Ten days are allowed when the hair is taken out with a pairs of pincers."
Forget his face—other parts of his body? We're not talking about his toes, I'm sure.
For the record, I don't know any man who'd let someone with pincers get near his private red light area. Just saying.
But I can't talk about any of that. Mentioning men's dangling bits in front of my beau's mother? That's got to be against the law in some states.
So where does that leave us? Yeah—I have no idea either.
* To You-Know-Who-You-Are: as you can see, I settled on calling you my "gentleman caller" for the moment. Sorry I didn't use "Captain Loves-Real-Good" like you requested.
** To You-Know-Who-You-Are's mom: please don't stop reading my blog. Your presence will not inhibit me in any way. Obviously.
One of Those Blogs
I was going to write a manifesto on dating, especially for men, but I'm having doubts about that topic. Do I really care to help men get their woman? I don't, actually. I thought I did, but after enduring a weekend of endless texts and phone calls from men I (1) am not dating and (2) have no interest in dating, I'm going to say screw it. You men can fend for yourselves.
For the record, yes, I've told them I don't want to date them. I even pointed out to one of them that there are currently 3000 miles separating us, to which he replied, "When you come back, I have dibs."
Also for the record, the only person who has dibs on me is my sister. Period.
So then I thought I'd blog about my sister. Actually, it was her suggestion, because apparently I don't give her enough attention as it is. <— That was sarcastic. But she's been sick and uninteresting for a couple days now. Her new tattoo is pretty cool, but what is there to say about it? It's a dragon, and it's on her foot. End of story.
What I should really do is issue a press release to the city of Portland, Oregon, and its surrounding areas, because I'm headed its way. As I understand it, there is much revelry planned for my visit there, including tango, karaoke, and a Kell's extravaganza. That is, of course, around all the writing I'll be doing. <— Just in case my agent reads this blog.
So... What are you guys up to? Taxes? Spring break? Read any good books lately? Talk to me.