Where are my flowers? I was told there would practically be a flower shop waiting for me when I got here. Everyone knows fluffy romance and chick lit author Erica Lucke Dean (that’s me, in case you were wondering) is partial to the frilly and floral. Even my website is awash with orchids. Then again, I should have known better. A guy known to the world as Big Al isn’t likely to be overflowing with orchids or frilly things, now is he? But no matter, I’ve heard good things about Big Al, so I’m going to cut him a little slack this time. Besides, I’m fairly certain I can still create under these very manly conditions.
After all, I have a man on staff right here at home (even if I’ve been forbidden to mention him by name). You know how those pesky significant others can be, right? Apparently, he missed the memo on “How to cope with being married to a writer.” Although I don’t know how… I put a copy of it right beside the TV remote, one in the freezer (conveniently wrapped around the half-eaten tub of Chubby Hubby) and one on the lid of the toilet. All places a man frequents with regularity, right?
Well, memo or not, he’s not buying it. He threw down the gauntlet and insisted I refrain from referring to him in all blog posts, Tweets, and on my Facebook timeline. And damn it if he doesn’t follow me in all three places just to make sure I’m not breaking the rules. I suppose I should have tweeted the location of that memo a few times… but I digress.
So what’s a girl to do when she can’t even allude to her main squeeze in a public forum? Well, this chick decided to make one up instead. If I can’t talk about the real guy in my life, I’ll just pretend to spend time with the imaginary one. Of course, (and don’t tell him I said so) this is just an elaborate ruse to talk about him behind his back. He can’t complain if I say, “Mr. Lincoln did this,” or “Mr. Lincoln did that.” Even if it was while singing Joe Cocker at karaoke, wearing nothing but his sexy stove pipe hat. I’m beginning to see the genius in Prince’s one- time foray into unpronounceable symbolism. Everyone knows my Imaginary Dead President (IDP for short) is really Mr. Leave My Name Out Of It. But because I’m following the rules (to the letter) I’m getting away scot-free, and having a blast, I might add.
As for the moral of this sordid little story? Never mess with someone who makes stuff up for a living. You can’t win. We’ll just kill you off in the next chapter—and bring you back as something highly inappropriate. Like a karaoke singing, thong wearing, stove pipe hat flaunting, imaginary dead president. And trust me…people love that crap. Especially if you toss a few orchids around the room. Next time… right, Big Al?
For more from Erica, visit her website.
You can get your copy of Erica's new release, To Katie With Love, from Amazon US (paper or ebook), Amazon UK (paper or ebook), or Barnes & Noble. Be sure to enter the Rafflecoptor giveaway below for a chance at winning some great prizes from Red Adept Publishing.
And don't let it be said that BigAl isn't capable of learning. (I hope IDP isn't a jealous man.) A gift, from BigAl to Erica ...