It happened last November.
My husband and I moved to Florida because New York City, particularly our tiny apartment in Queens, wasn't exactly conducive to raising a family and I was six months pregnant at the time.
Florida gets a bad rap in the news. A deservedly bad rap, let's be honest: Florida is insane. My favorite part of living in Florida, besides the beaches, has to be the local news. If you don't live in Florida my local news is so much better than your local news, like, you don't even know. At one point I was watching the news and these were the top three stories: a sinkhole ate someone, someone fell out of a plane(!?!?), and an alligator was chilling in someone's swimming pool.
Anyway, we moved, and I didn't have a job or a car yet, and there was only so many times in one day I could walk to Publix, you know? And it was November.
My nerdy writer friends already know where I'm going with this: I NanoWriMoed.
Now, I had NanoWriMoed before, but I had school and work and I never seemed to make it past a few thousand words before I decided maybe I should eat and sleep before bed instead of writing. There just wasn't the time, and to be honest, I didn't have the drive.
Then, just as a lark, I submitted a chapter to an editor participating in NanoWriMo...and she liked it.
Someone besides me liked what I was writing. I'd, uh, never really shown anyone else what I wrote before, because I had a paralyzing fear that it was just too embarrassing. I've been writing for myself since I could hold a pencil, but it was a private thing.
I launched into the book, and I finished it ahead of December, and...
I hated it.
I couldn't stand to look at it. I edited it, and re-edited, and then just shoved the pages I'd typed into a drawer and refused to look at them until a month ago. I read it again, and I fell in love with the story all over again. I thought about sending it to the editor (who had requested the full work upon completion, and gave me a special pass or whatever to cut through the slush pile), but I just couldn't do it.
What if I were rejected? (Yes, I am almost thirty years old. Sigh.)
So I did something crazy. I self-published.
And it sold.
Not crazy, but I sold fourteen copies the first week, and I sold ten the next, and then I released another short story and it sold four copies the first day.
So far I am not a millionaire. I haven't even made enough money to pay my cable bill. Maybe I should have just sent it to a publishing company and hoped for the best, but...I like this. There's something about having direct control over my product that makes it easier to produce.
I'm working on a novel that I might submit to publishers when I finish (that isn't erotica), just to prove to myself that I can be published, but so far I like not being beholden to the rules of genre. Neither of my stories have traditional HEAs (Happily Ever Afters), and they're not exactly marketable (one is a short story, and one features a priest and a succubus), but they're all mine, and people actually seem to want to read them (I've only had one return so far, knock on wood).
And because it's erotica I can't really tell my friends and family. I mean, I guess I could, but it's weird enough writing it with a baby hanging out next to me. I don't really want to make family dinners any more awkward than they already are.
So. I can't tell anyone that I'm writing erotica...except for the entire internet.
I'm writing erotica!!!
Buy it! ;-)