
Are romance authors responsible for the age of their readers?
This is a sticky question that I was forced to confront recently. Before I went on parental leave, I had spent the majority of my adult working years in bookstores, and my answer to this question was simple—I’m not your mom. A young-looking person asks where to find the Sierra Simone? I’m not your mom. A teenager comes through my till with Punk 57 in the middle of a stack of books like it’s contraband? I’m not your mom.
But when I had my first book signing event, perhaps the fact that I was now someone’s mom made me falter. There was one girl who approached my table, who, to my eye, looked quite young. Like, I’m guessing 14, maybe a very youthful-looking 16. I awkwardly tried to give her my pitch while peppering in my disclaimers that there were some pretty mature scenes, which was as explicit as I was prepared to get at the front of a busy bookstore on a Sunday.
Finally, she looked me dead in the eye and, with no small degree of irritation, said, “I can handle it.” It was clear I needed the reminder—I’m not her mom. She got a copy, and I do hope she enjoyed it. It would be disingenuous for me to pretend that I wasn’t reading equally and more explicit stories on fanfiction.net at the same age (look, it was 2004 and we didn’t have Wattpad yet). And if you are the girl in this story and I’ve severely misjudged your age, I’m very sorry about that. For what it’s worth, I’m really stupid. So much so that I briefly forgot I wasn’t your mom.
Until next time, travelers,
Gael Romer
P.S. There was also a lovely family that approached because their young son loved the artwork. It was a bit of a relief that I didn’t have to explain the type of book I was selling, instead passing on a business card with the website and socials for my cover artist, Nyco Rudolph.
It was only after they left that I remembered Nyco’s prominent collection of ghostly prominences. Oops.