Seventy-two hours from now, I will be in the land of my birth, where double names are standard and the immoral act of selling alcohol has once again been shot down through the power of the voting public.
I’ll be seeing Billy Ray, Earl Ray (no relation) and David Lee. And, no, none of those are surnames. The topic of book-writing will invariably come up, followed by the inevitable question: “What’s it about?”
I have a hard time with that question. I mean, these are my family members, so I don’t want them to think I’m a raving lunatic. And if I give them an honest answer: “It’s a series of books about a young female wizard who has to cope with preternatural creatures who come stampeding into New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina creates a breach between temporal worlds”… well, I’m gonna get that glass-eyed stare. You know the one. The one where they’re wondering if I could have been switched at the hospital and belong to some other family. The one where they feel sorry for my mama and are grateful that my brother turned out so good.
How does one explain urban fantasy and paranormal romance to really nice, salt-of-the-earth people–most of them over the age of 65–whose idea of a novel is a nice Zane Gray horse opera? Ideas?