In Which Maryn Arrives

Kicking and screaming only a little, in a most ladylike way, I have dragged myself into the 21st Century with a blog.

See, I've never been much of a tech person and felt little need for a blog. I don't keep a diary or journal, although the jottings on the flip side of the grocery list probably sum up my days pretty well.

My life as a person is mercifully boring, which beats the hell out of dysfunction and drama. It's not perfect, but whose is?

My life as a writer has only recently become more interesting. While I've written regularly for a lot of years, I rarely submitted anything. I enjoyed the process of creating the characters and their world and making things happen to and between them. I liked the finished results. If I were to--gasp!--submit them, I might find out nobody else thought much of them. Why risk it? So I mostly wrote for myself.

Oh, sure, I subbed once in a while, and got a double-handful of sales of short stories, under several pen names.Why pen names? Early on, I worried family or the parents of our kids, still in school, would be disapproving. My husband's from the heartland, and the relatives our age who remain there are lovely people who have probably never read anything erotic in their lives. Their adult "kids" might have, but I'm not sure. They're a socially conservative bunch, which is their right.

But you know what? Not one of them is a detective. I don't see how they'd know Maryn Blackburn is me, or Maryn Bittner, or James Bittner, or any of my other selves who've published their shocking personal fantasies.

And I've sold a book. 

So I'm good. Real good, even. Hope you are, too. Welcome to the blog.