The Innocence of a Novelist

A novelist can be accused of many things, but innocence hardly seems likely.

It’s such a peculiar life, sitting at a desk typing stories into a keyboard and screen. Real life goes on around you, but while you’re in the story, that’s where your focus lies.

You start feeling proprietary about places and events. Whenever someone mentions the Coronado Bridge, I stand taller and bore them with facts.

(“Did you know it’s number three for suicides in the United States?”).

I can tell you all about the Hotel del Coronado, point out fine restaurants in Coronado, and discuss the challenges Navy SEALs face in their domestic lives.

(Did you know they can’t carry cell phones on their mission? GPS will give them away.)

You study craft, and you may participate in a critique group to review your work. Your spouse knows you’re writing, and your kids do, too.

Your friends and relatives may even ask from time to time how things are going.

All of that happened to me when I wrote my novel Bridging Two Hearts.

Other Blog Posts about the book.

I blogged about the experience in several places. (Coronado? Maps? Kindness of Seals? Need for a  Massage?)

I marveled at holding the paperback in my hand with my name on the front cover.

Who knows how many times I’d read it, taken it apart, thought through the events, and talked about the storyline?

One day, Bridging Two Hearts launched into the world like an eager child and was gone. Strangers picked it up and read the story of Josh and Amy. Friends from church read it. Several relatives read the book. A group of my online friends reads it.

And then they all began to talk to me about it.

In my innocence, this extrovert hoped people would like the Navy SEAL story and gain insight into that difficult life. I expected some women would savor the scenes at the spa.

What I didn’t expect was that they would talk to me about my novel.

The first time I overheard someone at church talking about “this Navy SEAL Josh and his girlfriend Amy,” my head whipped around.

“Yeah, I really liked your book,” the friend said.

That surprised me.

But, hadn’t I sold it to him?

At my book launch party, we set out the gelato cones, and my neighbor exclaimed, “You’re not going to do that scene, are you?”

How did she know?

“As soon as you invited me to the party, I bought your book. I loved that scene.”

In all innocence, I was surprised that people would actually read it, let alone comment.  Reviewers were kind, friends sincere, and even the ones who didn’t care for a “guy romance” were complimentary.

Several reviews disappointed me. Several delighted me. People asked me to write another Navy SEAL story.

(I’ve got another planned).

I took six copies to Zumba on my birthday and gave them away within minutes. Dancers nudge each other even now, “she’s the writer.”

I grin like a silly woman, but it also feels odd — the people who lived in my mind for all those months of writing the book are now known to total strangers.

I feel humbled.

Surprised.

And I agree with everyone.  I liked Mrs. Admiral Martin the best, too!