So, I saw Heidi Cullinan's tweet this morning. She was full of *FLAIL* because she'd been nominated for a RITA® award in long contemporary fiction for Fever Pitch--the first gay romance writer to get the call.
I was happy for her, and so proud for our genre and…
Okay. I can admit it. HELL YES was I jealous. I mean, aren't we all, even if we like the person and admire their work? Don't we want the recognition? I wrote an entire Amy's Lane last year at this time about dealing with that let down, and about being happy for what we have, and proud for our friends and excited that there is such good literature in the world-- and I still stand by that piece. Every writer worth his or her salt really is the prettiest princess to a reader out there who feels absolutely saved by that particular book-- and to connect with someone in that way really is the greatest honor. You can't name an award after that--and it really is why we do what we do.
But, all that being said, when J. Kenner called me as I drove Squish to school this morning, I have to confess that I totally lost my fuckin' mind. Poor woman-- first I screamed, "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!" And then I gushed all over her because I adored Wanted and am now going to read her backlist. And then I bailed from the conversation because I was driving while talking on a cell phone which is illegal in California, and Squish was in the back of the car going, "Congratulations mom! I think I'm late!!!" (The congratulations were sincere-- she was such a supportive little Squish!)
You see, J. Kenner was calling for the RITA Award committee, and The Bells of Times Square made the cut for best short historical.
And Lynda Aicher has an erotic story--Bonds of Denial-- in the nominations too.
Which means there are three RITA Award ® nominated authors who write gay romance. And I'm one.
Yeah-- I'm one.
Sarah Frantz, my editor for Bells called me as I sat in front of Squish's school, and we squeee'd on each other for about five minutes. I'm still in a bit of shock. (And oddly enough, I'm starving. Nobody tells you that's a side effect of being nominated for something, but the Oscar nominees who have to show up in the skimpy dresses must be miserable.)
I'm nominated for a Romance Oscar. Holy fuckin' wow.
I was already going to the RWA ® Nationals this year-- but now, I'm one of the people in the black dress at the awards banquet.
Damn. Thanks to everyone who has offered congratulations, and to everyone who read Bells, or Beneath the Stain or any Amy Lane book and thought, "Damn. That's good stuff! I want to tell the world!"
Cause that's what this feels like--like the world has been told.
And my day is full of SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!