text: Avidan made a tidy living writing formulaic romance novels full of graphic descriptions of casual sex, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He published under a pen name, and told no one. All his loved ones thought he worked at his volunteer job at the homeless shelter, and somehow never questioned how a person could afford an apartment in this city from whatever imaginary earnings they thought he accrued from such a modest organization. His life was smut and serving soup. His editor told him she was going to have to take a ten month leave of absence for personal reasons involving cocaine and legal trouble, but that everything was perfectly fine. Really. She assured him that she would return at the conclusion of this hiatus prepared to edit, and was trying so hard to keep her cool in this three-minute phone call that she didn’t give him any writing parameters at all. This was unprecedented. “No wonder she always sends her edits in the middle of the night,” he said to himself after he got off the phone. Avidan set his personal feelings regarding drug addiction aside and contemplated the gift he’d just been given. Thankfully, his last novel was already on the press, which meant it was time to start a new one. He could finally write however he wanted. He had ten months, but this project had to be of such quality that his editor would publish it even though it wasn’t like his other books. He was going to go rogue. It had to be a romance novel or his editor wouldn’t touch it, so he poured his heart and soul into writing the romance novel he’d always wanted to write. After ten grueling months of late nights and peanut butter sandwiches set on top of glasses of milk next to his computer for more meals than was really prudent, he had a complete draft. The protagonist had a complex personality, and rejected the handsome man who doggedly pursed her because he was shallow and controlling. When he attempted to rape her, she gave him a knee to the groin and reported him to the authorities. He went to prison halfway through the book. She overcame nearly insurmountable obstacles in order to receive a formal education, and met a wonderful man who treated her as an equal. They fought some pirates and then moved to a city where they had ample career opportunities. His editor broke the silence. “Do you have a draft for me?” She sounded more like her old self, if less energetic. “Well...I do... It’s not like my other novels. Just read it and keep an open mind.” “This does not inspire me with confidence.” She read it. She loved it. They sent edits back and forth for a while, then it was published. Within six months, it was apparent that this book was going to sell extremely well. Whether it was the pirates, or the total breakdown of normal romance novel procedure, either way, he now had many readers. The publisher increased the advertising budget, and then sales exploded. Now there was talk of a book tour. This was problematic. He had no way of explaining his absence to his friends and family, and felt bad about taking leave from the homeless shelter. Sales went up and up, and soon his other books had increased sales, as well. Avidan was becoming a rich man. “The book tour is non-negotiable.” They told him. “You leave in June, come back in September.” He was going to have to tell his friends and family. This did not go well. He was glad he decided to call his parents, rather than tell them face to face. “You’re some kind of porn writer?” His mom scornfully spat out. “What happened to writing Christian books? That’s all you talked about, growing up.” “Writing smut is the only way to make a living as a novelist,” he attempted to explain in vain. Then, he endured a fifteen-minute lecture about Jesus, moral values, and the importance of good reputation and how he was destroying their family. He tried to point out that he wrote under a pen name, but his mom was resolute in her certainty that everyone would find out once he did the book tour. “It’ll be your face in all the pictures. People will know.” “What pictures? Nobody is going to take any pictures. I’m just going to go to bookstores and sign books.” His dad intervened at this point and negotiated in earnest for the family to simply never discuss this issue again. It was left that way. So he thought. Right before he left for his book tour, he received a call from his 89-year-old religious grandmother. “I’ve read all your books, and I have some questions...” she began. “Oh, dear God, no!” He couldn’t help but say. “Calm down. I’ve had two husbands and know more about romance than you. I have questions about some of the decisions your heroines made. Why in the world did Penelope in your first book lead on that poor, hardworking lawyer who loved her so much?” They discussed G rated plot details for hours, and she gave him valuable insight. He was shocked to have such an unlikely supporter of his career. His friends mostly made fun of him, and he learned from his mistake with his family and refrained from divulging his pen name, despite considerable pressure. Then, there was the matter of the money. Avidan had royalties pouring in, and he was a simple man who required few material things. He completed his book tour, sales still skyrocketing, and was given complete liberty to write his next book. As he set about to write another novel that broke convention, his savings had accumulated to the point that he could retire if he wanted. Instead, for the rest of his long career, he continued to write industriously, and donated all his earnings to the homeless shelter. He no longer volunteered there, instead spending all his time writing so that he could maximize his earnings. They were able to expand, serve better meals, hire more staff, and start providing additional services with his smut money.