Author Erica Dean Guest Post on How to be a …
How to be a respected writer in three easy lessons
Someone (who shall remain nameless to avoid any confrontation in the bedroom) once told me love was a figment of the imagination, nothing more than a chemical reaction… an electric impulse. Maybe that’s why I strive so hard to create that moment within the pages of a book. I want a romance so epic the non-believers are converted before the final page is turned. But my very own significant other scoffs at the idea, making gagging sounds as I read the pages of my book aloud. Is that any way to act in the presence of a professional writer? An esteemed author of fluffy romance? I think not.
Being a writer is hard work! I’ve followed the basic rules: 1) Spend the entire day lounging in pajamas, while 2) Conferring with the voices in my head, and 3) Living vicariously through the main character as I fall madly in love with my imaginary hero. And according to most of the literary greats, you should attempt this while half-sloshed.
So in a moment of defiance during this childish argument, I told him I’d decided to become a heavy drinker. Drinking is practically in the writer’s manual, right? Think Fitzgerald, Kerouac, Poe, Faulkner… even Dorothy Parker had a taste for the drink. Oh sure, they were probably into the heavy stuff, but since I write romantic chick-lit, I figured I should drink cosmopolitans. They seem to be the drink of choice in all the best girly literature. Then, I read that Hemingway drank daiquiris, and having had those before—they are pretty tasty—I decided I could take up drinking daiquiris… strawberry being my flavor of choice.
Of course, my husband just shook his head and rolled his eyes, mumbling “Good luck with that,” as he wandered off to do whatever husbands do. You see, he knows my ability to hold my liquor is on par with that of a sixth grader. Well, if sixth graders were allowed to drink alcohol, which of course, they’re not. And as it turns out, I shouldn’t be allowed either. Apparently, I giggle a lot when I drink. And I can barely get through one martini glass filled with the potent pink concoction before my giggles become obnoxious… or entertaining, depending on who you ask.
Basically, I’m a lot like my character, Katie James, in To Katie With Love. She’s not a drinker. She can’t hold her liquor. But somehow, fate (just call me Fate) decides she needs to drink far too much at her 29th birthday party, and she wakes up in her dream guy’s bed. Not a bad way to start the year, if you ask me. The guy is seriously hot… and maybe a little bit dangerous. Then again, having an assassin for a boyfriend just might be the least of her worries.
