Long ago when I started writing fiction, my older brother and I had a conversation that went something like:

“Why don’t you write a romance novel?” he said. “They always sell.”

“But I don’t read romance novels,” I said.

“So what? Write one anyway.”

“I can’t!” I said.

He could have done it, no doubt–he’s always been a talented writer, but he’s never been that moved to write. He just reads a ton.

Over the years the romance genre continues to be one of the strongest selling fiction markets. The romance writers met in Atlanta last week, their 26th annual conference. Here’s the stats the Los Angeles Times cited:

In 2004, romance novels generated $1.2 million in sales (40% of fiction sales).
Romance novels have expanded into sci-fi and military tales, increasing male readership from 7% in 2002 to 22% in 2004.

Readers and writers of romance novels are a tight-knit group, enviably so. When PEN ON FIRE came out, I spoke at the Romance Writers of America-Orange County chapter’s monthly meeting. (Debbie Macomber was the main speaker.) There were a ton of enthusiastic members present, and some were writers in other genres who enjoyed the community.

There’s community in the mystery field, too. Lots of mystery bookstores, lots of events and conferences for mystery writers and readers.

Wonder why that’s not so for literary fiction writers. Any guesses?

This was in the Los Angeles Times yesterday (reported by the AP): “In Iran, Pizzas Will Now be Called Loaves”. They’re getting rid of foreign words that have inundated their language. “‘Chat’ will become ‘a short talk.'”

Also, a photo ran of a man in Tyre, Lebanon, gathering his books strewn about from a bombing. There is so much about the war that saddens me, but I had to cut this image out of the paper. It’s on the wall above this computer. Such a visceral image.

Here’s my Thursday night class, which we held in the front yard on Thursday since it is SSH (So Stinking Hot) in the house. It was lovely, really, and fun to be outside with all the night sounds and this group of folks. We may make it a habit to meet out here, as long as the weather permits.

In this photo, Andy, our cartoonist/graphic novelist, is making us laugh (as usual). That’s Barbara to his left, and Connie, to her left, all long-time members of the workshop.

Here, Diane, Lacy and Marrie are trying to avoid the camera but realize there’s nowhere to turn.

Robin, Peter and Andy … always upbeat folks, ready for a laugh …

Marrie, Elle and moi…

Elle and moi. We have fun. Does it show?

Dianne and Lacy are focused on the work at hand. Marrie is into the food. And she’s so enviably svelte!

It grows dark….

And darker…

Goodnight! Until next time…..

Brian says to me, “You wrote about your cold bath on your blog???”

“How’d you hear that?”

“One of my student’s, his mom. David’s mom. She was laughing about your cold bath.”

“Well, that’s good she found it funny.”

Brian gives me a look that says, what else did I write about on my blog and is there anything that he maybe should be concerned with? He won’t read my blog–in part because he’s a luddite, when it comes to computers, happily so, and can think of a ton of things he would rather do than sit in front of a computer. But also, I’m sure, a part of it is he’s afraid of what he might learn. Which is why it took him so long to read Pen on Fire; yes, he had read many pages early on, way before they were even a book, but once his friends, who’d bought the book, started telling him things about him that they found in the book, he was afraid to look.

It can be a wild, hairy ride, living with an author who might quote you or write about you at any turn. Yet it could be worse. Imagine living with a trial attorney and getting interrogated about your every move. Or living with a dentist, who is always checking out your teeth. Or an ob/gyn who’s sees it all.

So Brian says, “You didn’t write about…..”

“No!” I tell him. “I wouldn’t write about that.” At least not in my blog. Now in my fiction where I can disguise people and places, well, you just never know.

I’m sitting here working on The ASJA Monthly and I’m reading Media Bistro’s Newsfeeds (www.mediabistro.com). I come across George W. Bush’s name, last night’s dream flashes by, and I mouth the words: Oh. My. God.

Last night I dreamed George W. and I were dancing. I was infatuated with him and he was infatuated with me, although when he looked at me, he didn’t quite look in my eyes, but focused somewhere near my eyebrows. I don’t recall Secret Service or Laura Bush or even Brian. We were simply dancing.

Now, the one thing I like about George W., I admit, is that he wears cowboy boots on occasion.

I’ve begun keeping a notebook of dreams (again, after years and years). Perhaps my subconscious has decided to entertain me.

I have never before in my life taken a cold bath. I’m from back east; I’m not a wimp when it comes to experiencing heat. I’ve spent August days in the desert when it was 100 degrees in the shade.

But I’ve never been so moved to take a cold bath as I was tonight.

So I filled the tub, affixed the suction cups of the bath pillow, and settled in to read Carolyn See’s There Will Never Be Another You, which just came out. I’m halfway through. I love this book. LOVE this book. She’s going to be on the show in a few weeks. Her last three books have been winners: Handyman, then Making a Literary Life and now this. I’m enamored.

So if where you are is as hot as where I am, consider filling the bathtub with cold water and spending an hour or two with this book–or any book you love, really.