fifty shades of me

So, I released a book called Shadows Gray. At the same time, some woman released a book called 50 Shades of Gray. I sold like, two copies. She sold like, six squillion and counting.

Sometimes someone buys my book and promptly returns it for a refund. I can just picture them yelling,

hey! what the heck! where's all the naughty bits? boy, cousin Tilly has the worst taste ever in erotica. that's the last time I listen to her; she probably gets all hot and bothered over Sweet Valley Twins.

Anyway, I have a few friends who read it, and a few friends who would NEVER read it, and a few friends who don't read anything, so they're out of the equation. 

I didn't have any interest in reading it, per se, but I had just gotten my Kindle and I was getting the hang of downloading free books.

Free kindle books. This could be a blog post all its own. And it will be soon, I think. I shall title it The Warrior's Werewolf and His Submissive Amish Zombie Lover; the Novella, Part 4. 

For a time, amazon was offering the first couple of chapters of 50 Shades for free. So, I downloaded it out of curiosity. Now, I'm not just saying this out of petty jealousy for a woman who became a squillionaire for being a smut writer, but it was pretty boring, badly written stuff. 

Rolling my eyes, I felt dumb for having it on my kindle.

Then, I realized: I had it on my kindle.

The kindle that my kids played Angry Birds on. The kindle that my husband peruses when everyone else has the remote control. That kindle.

I didn't want them to see 50 Shades on that kindle! 

Feverishly, I went to get it off. But getting rid of kindle books is nothing like dropping off your unwanted paperbacks anonymously at the Goodwill! I had just gotten this kindle, remember, and I'm about as tech-y as your average garden gnome. I can barely cut and paste. 

I start tapping the touch screen of the blasted device in various patterns. Perhaps if I touch the right spot, it will give me the option to "delete forever from this device and your memory" but alas. I played the opening lines of the theme to the Young and the Restless, which was the only piano song I ever learned, but no. It was still there, mocking me. I could almost hear the Church Ladies marching up my step. They were going to burst into my bedroom! They were going to pray for my wayward soul (again. So awkward).  I'd be fired from my job with children! I'd be left by my husband who thought he married a Good Girl! 

The tapping wasn't working, so I tried to find the owner's manual. Evidently, the owner's manual is IN the kindle, but I didn't know that at the time. Well played, amazon, well played.

I decide to ask google. I fire up the trusty laptop and type deleting mommy porn from an ereader before anyone finds out.

The laptop FREEZES. I repeat, IT FREEZES WITH THAT OH-SO CRIMINAL SENTENCE IN THE SEARCH ENGINE. It won't minimize the page, it won't close, the laptop won't even turn off. I am going to hell in a hand basket.

The church ladies are getting closer: I can hear them singing Follow the Fold and Stray No More. They are nearly on my lawn! I swear, I have ten heart attacks. I have to get this off my kindle.

I go through the rigmarole of  waiting for the laptop to mysteriously stop freezing, which takes about 3 weeks. In the meantime, my kids have grown up without a mother and my husband leaves me for Sarah Brown and the Mission Band. One time, a small child enters my room and I toss the kindle like a Frisbee under my bed. I feel like a teen caught with Playboy. Or a mom caught with 50 Shades of Gray. 

Eventually, once the laptop stops teasing me I find what I'm looking for. To delete a book from your kindle, you simply touch the screen a bit longer and the option magically appears. What a relief. 

I'm so relieved I eat a pint of ice cream and go to bed in my flannel pjs and team building exercise tshirt and fuzzy socks. I've heard an urban legend that reading 50 Shades of Gray ignited fiery passion in the bedrooms of house wives everywhere, but I certainly don't see how. 

Those women are so weird, I swear.