A couple times a month, I get an email from a husband who’s not too pleased with me. Most say the same thing. They tell me that their wives have paid them no attention and when they get in bed, they find she’s curled up with one of my books. “Go away.” Seriously, I had a man write me after his honeymoon and rip me a new one because I’d ruined his week on the beach with his new bride. (This has happened more than once.) I’ve always taken that with a grain of salt and chalked it up to the problem having more to do with his lack of romance and less to do with my writing. I mean, there’s got to be a reason his wife is bored. Right? See, that’s what I thought.
Until now.
Not five minutes ago, my wife walked up to me with an empty glass, handed it to me and said, “All I want right now is a glass of wine, my pajamas, and Mitch.” As in, Mitch Rapp. As in, Vince Flynn. As in, this is not the first time this week.
Thanks, Vince.
I’d like to apologize to all my male readers whose wives have snuffed them in lieu of my books. So sorry. I would lie to you and tell you that it won’t happen again, but that’d be lying. I hope it does. Many times over. But, look at it this way. You only have to contend with me. Every time Vince Flynn puts out a new book, I’ve got to contend with Mitch Rapp. And he can leap tall buildings…
Vince, if you read this, I need a blurb for my next book. It’s called, “Thunder and Rain” and I think you’ll like it. Mitch would. I think it’s the least you can do. Seriously. I’m just saying…