Fifty Shades of Purple …
On Friday night I went out – and that should be subject enough for a blog on its own – and the conversation around the (admittedly all female) table for a while was Fifty Shades of Grey, the book that has swept the country, selling ten million copies.
Three of the five other women had read at least one of the series and were waiting for the other sticky copies to be passed around town. To me, it was reminiscent of being 14 and being handed Lace, which fell open in twenty-five different places.
Apparently Kindle has made it possible to sit in a public place and read about willies, and with a bit of front, one can make comments about Mr Darcy and passers-by will be impressed by the reader’s cleverness.
Being an author, the conversation obviously changed as to why I haven’t filled my books with soft porn and considering the sales, maybe I should rethink and get on with it. My reply was that I’d always felt that we don’t need to read the nitty gritty and that allusion is usually better than stating the bleeding obvious.
I also had to add that when my turn comes to go on Have I Got News For You I couldn’t bear the thought of Ian Hislop reading out the grubby bits.
Plus my mum proof-reads my books and even for ten million sales, I couldn’t have her thinking that I’ve done all those things – it’s bad enough her thinking that I must have been taken over a car bonnet at a young farmer’s do whilst hanging on to a burger* (Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons) or taken over someone’s holiday home and used it as my own ** (Eating Blackbirds).
*I haven’t. Honestly.
** I did.
Available on e-book