For those that don’t know what these new featurettes will be about, here is the scoop! “You’ll Never Believe…” will feature the weirdest questions or encounters that authors have been asked/had. Might be about their books or random things, like meetings in a bathroom where someone asked what brand of toilet paper they normally use. Fun stuff and inside scoops that an author would not normally share.
Today’s “You’ll Never Believe…” celebrates the release of Alex Rosa’s latest book “Tryst”. LOL!!!! In this one, the author tells us about the time her dad read her book… and all of it’s steamy parts. “DAD!” <— Tee heeeeee!!!
You’ll Never Believe, by Alex Rosa
There’s one thing I never stop being thankful for, and I always broadcast it, which is being gifted with my parents unconditional support when it comes to my writing. It’s one of those things you so badly hope for; their approval and want for you to succeed.
I worried when I told them I wanted to be a writer that they would attempt to talk me out of it, and try to get me to go back to school, but instead they thought it made perfect sense.
As great as that is, there are some topics we just generally avoid. They know I write romance, and they even know plot points and storylines, but there’s one thing we don’t discuss: sex.
Sure, my mom has shelves of romance novels, but she doesn’t push it. Maybe it’s a girl thing, or a mom thing. She respects the boundary. She just smiles and nods at every accomplishment that comes along with writing and publishing.
My dad on the other hand, although his portion of the bookshelf is lined with science fiction and non-fiction, he became all too curious about what his baby-girl was writing about.
Sure, I should be excited that my Dad wants to take such an active interest in my life. However, at 26 years of age, I REALLY wanted my Dad to let this one go.
Alas, this situation proved to me exactly which parent gifted me with the, “stubborn gene”.
After finishing my first novel and on the brink of publishing my second (Tryst, in March 2015), my dad read one of my books without telling me until he completed it.
He strolled up to me in the kitchen one day. “So, I read your book.”
I might have visibly cringed. “Oh, yeah?”
“It was good.” He paused to examine me curiously, and there I am, trying to avoid his judgmental, fatherly eye in utter fear of what’s coming. He notices this, too, as he asks, “Why are you acting like that?”
“You look embarrassed,” he chides.
Can Dad’s be jerks? Because he was totally being a jerk.
I shook my head furiously. “I’m not.”
He smiled in a way only a father could do when they get some sick enjoyment out of their offspring’s discomfort. Ya know, like that time your dad liked to talk about your bodily functions in front of your first high school boyfriend? Okay, just me?
“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” he asks.
I don’t even fight this question. “Because, I don’t know. I just don’t.”
He smiles wider. “Is it because your books have sex in it?”
My face is now as hot as the surface of the sun, regardless of my mature age.
“No,” I lie, and then scrambling for some sense of logic, that of which I have no legs to stand on when these ridiculous words escape me. “Please don’t read my books any more. Please.” I plead.
He shakes his head, and actually laughs AT me. “Stop being like this. Your book was really good.”
I try to pull in a deep breath. That’s a good thing he’s just said, right?
I nod. “Thank you,” I exhale, praying for this conversation to be over. “Are we done?”
This time he gets peeved at me and frowns. “We should be able to talk about everything.”
At this point, I’m trying to distract myself by making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which I don’t even like. I hate jelly, almost as much as I hate the conversation that was unfolding.
“I know I’m your dad and all, but you’re an adult now. We should be able to talk about this. So what if there’s sex in your books.”
“DAD, STOP IT!”
He’s become baffled, looking at me like I’ve just grown a third arm while trying not to evilly laugh. “You’re being really weird about this.”
I want to say, no dad, you are, but I just continue to make a sandwich I won’t even eat.
Finally, giving into my irrational reaction, he sighs, shaking his head in disappointment as we just stare at each other. I almost think the horror is over, and we can move on.
That is until he says, “Does TRYST have sex in it, too? Like, a lot of it, or a little?”
“Dad, for the love of God, please stop talking.”
“I mean, it’s okay if it does. I was just curious, because I already preordered it, and I’d like to be prepared.”
I consider warning him, but I’m still horrified. “You did what?”
“Is that jelly on your sandwich? I thought you hated jelly.”