Fifty Shades of Hyde

For the first three weeks of my son’s life, his name was ‘Baby’. This should tell you something about my ability to commit to names. Granted, most of that was because his father wanted to name him after Leonard Cohen. Really? Sure, because Leonard seems like such a happy, well-adjusted man. Exactly the footsteps I want my kid to follow in.

Naming novels is just as hard as naming children. Perhaps even harder because there are no little pink or blue books with popular titles. And if there were, they’d all have been used before. To title a book, you need something original, something people will remember, something people can mention in public without blushing.

Authors often use a ‘working title’ while they are writing or editing a book. It may not be perfect, but it is something easy to say or refer to. For instance, my soon-to-be-released comedic-mystery is called No Experience Required because my heroine is perpetually unemployed. But “No Experience Required” proved to be too unwieldy a name to scream at my computer when a scene wasn’t working. And thus, its nickname ‘NERF’ was born. The ‘F’ stands for something, but you’ll have to use your imagination as to which word it is. ;)

The story of how I came up with the incredibly original title for my urban fantasy novel, is more complicated. Here’s the first shocker—it’s inspired by R.L. Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Big surprise, right?

The second surprise came to me recently. While looking through various documents on my hard drive, I found the very first blurb I’d written for the book. For those of you who don’t know, a blurb is the description found on the back of the book or on the book’s buy-page. And yes, there are usually many, many attempts before it’s right. Here’s the part that surprised me (ignore the melodramatic nature of all the words surrounding the title, which is in caps):

Mitch is confronted with the reality that there's good inside of him yet, and Eden learns that being good all the time is a complete waste of her time…and her life. They have to meet in the middle to discover life is always A SHADE OF GRAY.

 “A Shade of Gray.” Huh. It goes with the theme of the book—dark and light, good and evil, black and white. But I’m pretty sure that title is similar to another book I’ve seen around lately.

Now, I chose that title back before there was such a thing as “Post Traumatic Fifty-Shades-of-Grey Disorder”. It was before you could find FSoG in bookstores, underwear shops, and hotels. It was even before the book hit the top 100,000 on Amazon, let alone the NYT Bestseller’s list. And well before hundreds of other books appeared with cute derivatives of the title.

It was a good thing I changed it, huh? And while “Shades of Gray” was the official title while my book was in its first draft, I still called it ‘Hyde’. And I just couldn’t think of it as anything else. So “Shades of Gray” was tossed. Phew, that was close. Imagine how confusing that would have been. ;)

Book two of my series will (everyone please knock on something wooden for me) be out by the end of the year. People have been asking what the title is. Probably because “Hyde 2” sounds pretty lame. I wish my answer was exciting and original, but it isn’t. The title of the second book is…
 

 Jekyll

So simple, so not-shocking. Jekyll. I played around with the idea of just calling it the second half of the word: “Kyll” because I think it’s cool. Hyde/hide; Kyll/kill. Get it? Yeah, probably too subtle. But when I show you the gor-ge-ous cover of the book, I think you'll get it. Because it’s cool.

 Jekyll

 So there it is, in all its glory. A friend who shall not be named (but whom I’ll always adore) made the unveiling of the title a bigger deal than it should’ve been. Because, honestly, it’s just a title. And, while I’ve bought books simply because they had a great title, isn’t it all the words that are behind a great title and cover that matter? So I’m focusing on those words, to make those as memorable as possible.

Here's a little bit about Jekyll…

At the end of Hyde, Eden has changed. So if you’re expecting the same goody-two-shoes she was in book one, you’ll be disappointed. Sometimes a girl has to adapt, be flexible, and be willing to kick some ass to get what she wants.

Mitch has changed too, but not in the same way. He’s lost something he’d never thought he’d find to begin with. And the whole “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” is a lie. A lie people tell themselves to make the pain go away. But the pain doesn’t go away, not for someone like Mitch. It festers. It grows. Until it can’t be held back, even by the bars of a cage.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Please be sure to add it to your TBR list. Also, feel free to follow me on twitter and friend me on Facebook. I'll be posting updates and teasers as the book's launch approaches. And please send me an email if you'd like to be on my mailing list once I figure out how to get the mother-f*cking thing to work.

And as for book three's title? Hmm…I’m still thinking. Anyone have any suggestions?

All these people keep telling me, “Writers need to be brands,” “You need to be your brand,” and “You are not just selling books, you are selling your brand.”

I am going to be like Doritos. Everyone likes Doritos, right?

First there was only nacho cheese flavored. Then they branched out with spicy nacho cheese, really spicy nacho cheese, and burn-your-face-off nacho cheese. And then they started getting really creative—guacamole-flavored and sour cream flavored chips to ease your palate, or for those who don’t like too much heat. But the piece de resistance—the scoop shape, marketed as the best way to avoid double-dipping in the salsa bowl. Make your friends like you again by scooping one enormous pile of diced tomato, jalapeno, onion and cilantro into your very own little corn bowl you can shove in your pie-hole. Brilliant.

But my piece de resistance is that all of my work is scoopable! While it may not make you more likeable to your friends, everything you read by me is cross-genre. Why not, right? Why not have a little bit of everything in every bite—I mean, in every story. Elements of comedy, satire, romance, suspense, mystery, paranormal, women’s issues.

Go on, taste it. You might just love it. You might even discover your new favorite brand.

Oh, and feel free to double-dip as much as you’d like, I won’t mind a bit.

Skinny jeans don't actually come with the skinny in them. Weird, right? In reality, they come with a sort of sausage shape with stuff squished and poking out on the top. Or at least they did in the ones I tried on. I'm really shocked the style is so popular. Do you think it was the brand? Anyone know where all the thin under-thirty-year-olds are getting theirs?

For those of you uneducated in the technique of “air hugging”, I’ve included step-by-step instructions.

*** This writer holds no responsibility if you hurt yourself or anyone around you while trying this.

1. Place your right hand on your left upper-arm.
2. Place your left hand on your right upper-arm.
3. Make eye-contact with the person you wish to “air hug”.
4. While gently squeezing your arms, say the words “air hug”.
5. That’s it! You’ve done it! Wasn't that fun?

The world would be a better place if we all did this more often. No mess, no bodily contact, just good lovin’. What’s not to like here?

It was as dark and stormy of a night that is possible at one o'clock in the afternoon in South Florida. The rain pelted my windshield in huge drops. The wipers, not being able to move at light-speed, were useless. I drove slowly. As slowly as a senior citizen on the freeway.

In the moments I could see, immediately after the wipers had bravely done their duty, before the downpour made everything disappear, I saw a woman next to the bus stop twenty feet from my car. She stood with her back to the wind and was holding . . . have to wait for the wipers . . . something white in her arms, covering it with as much of herself as she could. . . Wait for wipers. . . Oh my god, she's rocking it! Her gentle bounce and loving gaze were only interrupted by a . . . wipers . . . make that two quick glances up–probably searching for any sign of an approaching bus.

I had just enough time in between wiper swipes to check the backseat. Yep. I think my daughter's currently vacant carseat was the kind that could hold a child between 5-65 lbs. I would save them! If only the cars ahead of me would move a little faster, I could get this poor mother and child before they melted. . . Come on . . . Come on . . . A little closer now . . . Come on. A little closer.

I swung the car into the bus lane, slammed on the brakes, and threw on my hazard lights, hoping that the senior citizen behind me wouldn't get too confused, panic and plow into the rear end of my car. I slammed my finger onto the automatic window control (what did we do before those?) and the passenger-side window lowered, allowing the rain to drench my car's interior.

“Get in!” I shouted to the woman with the baby.

“Oh my God, thank you!” she shouted back, pulling the door open.

“There's a carseat in the back for the baby!”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She slid into the seat. Adjusting herself into the seat, she cooed, “See honey, we're all dry now.” The woman held her baby away from her body and unwrapped the soaking blanket.

The baby's fur was all matted and stuck out in brown and black spikes all over its head. The fierce pride that had swollen my chest turned into a sneeze. The woman looked over at me.

“I'm allergic,” I mumbled.

“What?” Her attention had already returned to her mangy-looking beast.

“Nothing. Cute dog.”

“Thanks. She's my little baby.” Then she started the baby-talk. “Awen't you, my pwetty ba-by?”

I pointed to the backseat. “You'd better strap her in.”

“Oh, no. She can stay up here with us.”

“Great.”

Lauren, the hero. Saving the day and then rushing to Walgreens for some Benadryl.