My daughter and I were coming in from the grocery store today, and she was valiantly trying to help me in with the foodstuffs. I caught her dragging a package of celery and said something to the effect of, "You're dragging the celery through the dirt." She came back with the ever-witty reply of, "It's the celery's fault!"
Now, we all know it's not the celery's fault it was being dragged through the dirt on its way to my fridge, so I replied with the all-wise, "Own it, Elizabeth. Just get the celery out of the dirt!"
I have no idea what she did, as I was on my way back to the car for the 30-pack of beer, because it's Friday night, after all...
That one comment, coupled with this blog post, got me thinking...
Last Sunday, at church the president of our women's group introduced me to another member as "a published writer" where I blushed profusely and started staring at my fascinating shoes.
See a couple of months ago, during a moment of weakness, I announced to the entire group of 30 little old church ladies that my Smashwords check was more than I anticipated, and I was proud that my books were making a little money. All thirty silver-headed ladies pulled out pen and paper and started writing down my information. When I told them they couldn't buy actual copies of the books, more than half of them put away their paper, but they were all very curious about what kind of books I wrote.
I actually told them I write trashy romances. Yup. Those are the words I used.
Tonight I realized, nobody will take me seriously if I don't take myself seriously. Which means I need to lose the word "trashy" in my repertoire. I need to tell people, proudly that I am about to publish my sixth romance novel. My in person presence needs to match my online presence. I am a mother. I go to church. But I'm also an author. I author books. And I have published several. And people buy them. And LIKE them. So there! Yes, I'm aware I just began five sentences in a row with a conjunction (My apologies, Mrs. Garcia). It's a stylistic choice.
So, yeah...Elizabeth needs to own the fact that it was not the celery's fault she was dragging it through the dirt. And I need to own the fact that I write romance. When my daughter tells her friends' parents that her mother wrote a book called Hot Mess, and they look at me expectantly, I will not blush and stare at my feet saying, "Yeah, let's go, hon..." I will hold my head up high and say, "You can check it out at www.anneconley.com. Or join 1750 other people who like my facebook page.