Who Says You Can Only Be A Virgin Once?

Yes, I have been deflowered. It’s not what you’re thinking. That deflowerment happened a long, long, long….well it happened awhile ago. Today, I’m writing about my deflowerment as a writer. I’m keeping this sophisticated… people! For the last eighteen months I’ve labored over completing my first novel. During this time there’s been many ‘firsts’ — experiences that I refer to as my deflowerments as a writer; some were good, some were not so good. Today I’m sharing some of those moments with you.

At this point you’re probably asking yourself, who is C.J. Carpenter? Has she drugged Sarah and hacked her way into The Idiosyncratic Mind? Sarah’s fine, resting comfortably.

I’ll give you a brief biography of myself. I’ve lived in Manhattan fourteen years and began my working life in the glamourous, high paying world of advertising and public relations. The only problem was my job was neither glamourous nor high paying. I decided I wanted to make less money, work harder and develop insomnia, so I switched to the really glamourous world of television production. This means I did everything; production assistant, set design, stylist’s assistant, and my favorite — craft service. One day during the shoot for a diaper commercial, I had the job of walking the ‘talent’ around midtown Manhattan — the talent being ten golden retriever puppies. It was then I experienced a major epiphany. I realized I’d run out of pooper-scooper plastic bags and had four more blocks to walk, I stood looking down at these adorable bladder-challenged pups and it dawned on me; they were earning a higher hourly rate than I was. I decided it was time to get serious about my future and do what I love: to write. Fast-forward to completing my first novel and entering the writing/publishing world.

As you read about some of my deflowerments as a writer, I’d like you to think about some of your own experiences when you began writing. I’d love to know if you’ve had any similar moments, or at the very least, help prepare me for upcoming deflowerments.

The first time someone read my work. I e-mailed a writer friend the first fifty pages of my manuscript. As soon as I pressed the send button, my stomach turned. I had visions of him reading my manuscript and then projectile vomiting over it. My fears were eased when a few minutes later he e-mailed back telling me to stop pacing, I was in good hands and he’d get back to me later in the day. Now, how did he know I was pacing? He did get back to me and gave me great advice. One deflowerment down. Thousands to go.

The first time I lost my book when my computer died. (and no, I did not have a current backup) I was up late one night working on my book and suddenly the screen slowly faded to black. Then, my laptop made an awful moaning sound, yes, my computer actually moaned. I assumed it was a ‘user’ issue, most of my computer problems are. Unfortunately, it was not. My board was fried and basically, D.O.A. on arrival to the Apple store. By the way, thanks to the staff at the Apple store for talking me in off the ledge and buying me a decaff Latte. They shipped my laptop to California, called me immediately when they found my book and rebuilt my computer. I did lose pages, but the lesson was learned. Backup constantly. Honestly, I could have lived quite happily without that deflowerment.

Edgar Week. The first time I attended the awards. Picture this, new writer, snagging a seat at the same table as Lawrence Block and Reed Farrel Coleman — as well as getting a picture with them that later appeared in CrimeSpree Magazine. I’d like to take this moment to apologize to Mr. Block for eating his mushroom pastry appetizer. I didn’t realize it was his. Okay, I did, but he wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Am I the only one who thought mushroom pastry appetizers were amazing? I had three. (By the way, Reed — you’re the best.)

The first time (and hopefully the last) I was mistaken for C.J. Box. During Edgar week a rather drunk gentleman approached me, saw the “C.J.” on my name tag and began to tell me how much he loved my books. Here’s the thing, I’m a woman. C.J. Box is a man. I’m willing to bet he looks better in a cowboy hat and boots than I do. Needless to say, my self-esteem soared after that encounter.

I need to take a momentary break. Reliving some of these deflowerments has made me a bit weepy. I’ll be back in the afternoon to talk about my childbearing hips. Seriously, it’s a great story, you’ll want to check it out.