I suck at titles. It took me ages to get to a working title for my first book--which I'm not going to mention because it's awful. And which will not, as you may know, be the actual title of the book. The working title came directly from a line of dialogue that Brogan says to Embry, and I thought that it was fairly generic, as titles go, but far better than anything I’d come up with so far, so…done.
But the problem is that my editor and the marketing team were concerned that it sounded more romance-novel than romantic-suspense novel, and I was the first to agree with them. That does not mean that finding an email asking for five new titles was a welcome sight, because all I could think was but I couldn't even come up with ONE.
Which turned into me whining melodramatically to everyone and my mother about how hard my life is (not very. That's the answer. Not very hard) because I know when I ain’t got it. The problem is that everyone and my mother thought this was a hilarious task, not the Serious Bizness of Serious that it clearly was. So they were tossing out things that became rapidly more ludicrous.
You cannot imagine how bad some of these titles were.
My husband’s suggestions: Wild Justice (which he immediately vetoed of his own volition, claiming that he’d been thinking of a Western for some ridiculous reason), and then Sharp Seduction, which I immediately vetoed out of reader safety concerns, because it seems to encourage sex while holding scissors, never a good idea, and which he continued to yell about for nearly twenty minutes because he clearly does not care about readers the way I do, further proof that he is not as cool as me.
And finally, my mother’s suggestions (and beware, she’s a salty broad, God love her): Hot Impulse, Hot Man Impulsion, Pants on Fire (a title that works on two levels, she was proud to note) and my personal favorite, All Hands on Dick.
No, I do not think we have a winner.