The Phone Call

Not long after my first book was published, I got the phone call. Not the one that makes authors bounce up and down or chair dance, but the one daughters dread. It was a phone call from my mother.

It began with a simple, “Margaret Mary….”

You see, I’d forgotten exactly how steamy my ghost paranormal, Paramour (published as Margaret Ethridge), actually was. Eep!

In my defense:

  • It had been a long time since I’d proofed the galley. Months.
  • I read a lot of hot contemporary and erotic romance, so the sex scenes didn’t seem overly hot to me. Oops.
  • I didn’t put it ALL on the page. Just enough to make the woman who birthed me pick up the phone and dial.

Now, I have to say that my mother is no prude. The woman had seven children. I’m thinking she found some pleasure in the process. She was no shrinking violet, raising five boys in the heyday of Cheech & Chong and George Carlin. But she is my mother. My very Catholic mother. And she had a reason for calling. She wanted to know where I (a married woman older than she was when she gave birth to me) had “learned all those things.”

I gave the only answer a good daughter could: “Wikipedia.”

And not long after that (and before my first erotic romance, Seducing Steve, was published), Maggie Wells was born.

I’m telling you all this because I’m excited to share the news that my naughty ghost story, Paramour, has new life! It’s a part of the Enchanted Lover boxed set available now for only $0.99!


If you want to read the story that inspired the birth of a pen name, grab your copy here: AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | IBOOKS | KOBO | SMASHWORDS

So tell me, when was the last time you were busted by a parent? Share your story in the comments and I’ll give one winner their choice from Margaret or Maggie’s digital backlist!


The Phone Call — 8 Comments

  1. LOL. I always wondered what my mom would have thought about my books. She passed away before I was published and I don’t write steamy, but I can well imagine a call starting with, “Elizabeth…”

  2. LOL Maggie, I love it! My mother (a feminist and a lawyer) introduced me to romance novels when I was a pre-teen so I know she reads mine without batting an eye, but that doesn’t stop me from occasionally pausing mid-dirty word while I’m typing, imagining her looking over my shoulder!

  3. My mother knew that I wrote, but I don’t think she knew what I wrote. I didn’t exactly share my process, or my books, with her. The only thing she ever read of mine were a few magazine articles. And I liked it that way!

  4. Now I simply tell her if the book is something she can tell her friends to read or not. Did I mention that before she read the book, she bragged about me to the alumni newsletter. My Catholic High School’s alumni news letter. They printed the cover and blurb for my naughty ghost story right there on the In Memoriam page. Oops!

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