“It’s true, though,” Lee laughed, pushing his glasses back into place, then clicking away in one window while the tiny, pop-up window in the corner of his screen showed Diana doing the same. “The only people I can think of who lie and obsess about sex more than romance authors are politicians.”
Diana barked out a laugh. “And pastors,” she added in her Texas drawl. “Sadly, we can’t forget about them.”
“Not real pastors,” Lee defended the segment of that population that he had no problem with. “There are plenty of men of the cloth out there who are genuinely concerned with caring for their flock and helping people through the worst of times.”
“There’s obviously a difference between religious people in the US and those you have in the UK,” Diana said with a smirk, glancing at her camera for a second before going back to whatever work she was doing. The two of them often did video chats with each other while they worked to keep their spirits up and to help each other push through.
“Rev. Barkeley was extraordinarily helpful in the last days of Dan’s life,” Lee added carefully. He didn’t want to bring what was otherwise a fun work session with one of his best friends down.
“Aaw, sweetie. I forgot about Dan entirely,” Diana said, stopping what she was doing and looking into the camera. “How are you and your mom holding up?”
That was the end of him being able to focus on making graphics for social media promo. At least for the moment.
“We’re doing good,” he reassured Diana with a smile, adjusting his glasses again as he sat back in his chair. “We’re coming up on the six-month mark. I think Mum is having a harder time than I am. Between the two of us, we spent so much time taking care of Dan in those last few months that I think she’s been at loose ends lately.”
“It’s hard when you’ve been someone’s primary caregiver after they’ve passed on,” Diana said. Lee could feel her sympathy through the thousands of miles that separated them. “Cancer sucks.”
“It does,” Lee sighed. It especially sucked when it took the life of someone so young. Dan was his older brother, but only by a few years. No one should die of cancer in their early thirties. “Sometimes I feel guilty about being so relieved I have more time for writing again, now that Dan is gone,” he confessed.
“Don’t feel guilty,” Diana said. “Dan was your biggest fan. I know he supported you in everything you did and wanted you to be a big-name author.”
Lee huffed an ironic laugh. “I just want to write sexy gay love stories. If becoming a big-name author happens as a matter of course, I won’t say no.”
“You’re an amazing writer,” Diana said, boosting his ego in a major way, which she always did.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he told her, smiling at his computer camera, grateful he had such a good friend, even if an ocean and half a continent separated them. “And you’re much better at this whole marketing and promotion thing than I am.”
Diana made a gruff sound. “Who would have thought when we decided we wanted to be writers that we would have to become graphic designers and marketing wizards and social media influencers?—”
“And accountants and salespeople?—”
“And tax experts and editors and everything else, too?” Diana finished.
The two of them laughed. It wasn’t particularly funny. It was damn hard work, actually. And yet, there were people out there who tried to claim self-publishing was an easy way out or something that you only did when you failed to land an agent and find a “real” publisher.
“I’m determined to make this work,” Lee said, clicking over to the window where his efforts to create catchy graphics for social media waited for him. “Not just for myself, but for Dan. The best thing I can do to honor his faith in me is to prove that it was all worth it by writing an amazing book.”
“Damn straight!” Diana said, focusing on something else on her computer screen, too. “And once you’re a huge success, I’ll ride on your coattails to my own greatness.”
“Hardly,” Lee laughed. “I’m going to need to ride on your coattails to launch this new genre.”
“I still think you’re incredibly brave to switch lanes right now,” Diana said, the sound of her keyboard tapping creating a soothing soundtrack behind their conversation.
“Yes, well, as much as I’ve done well writing gay fantasy romance, we all know the real money is in contemporary.”
Diana snorted. “Tell that to my bank account.”
“It’s true, though!” Lee defended his theory. “Just go onto any of the bestseller lists and you’ll see.”
“That’s why you want to start writing contemporary?” Diana asked, peeking at the camera like she could see straight into Lee’s soul.
Lee let out a breath and sat back in his chair. “Partially. I need a change, too. I love my dragons and wizards, but, I don’t know, after losing Dan, I feel like trying something new.”
“Good for you,” Diana smiled, focusing on work again.
“My only problem is that I sometimes feel like there are days when I relate more to those dragons, wizards, and mythical quests than I do to the real world,” Lee went on, staring at the half-completed graphic he’d been working on using images he’d taken from stock sites.
“I know this is a ridiculous thing to say to a fellow author, but maybe you need to get out there and experience the contemporary world so you can write about it,” Diana said with a smirk.