"Arsenic and Old Lace, Pt. II: Revenge of the Grannies"

I had an odd encounter yesterday at church. Ever since news of my book got out, the Christian Women's Fellowship (a lovely group of sweet old gals who meet weekly to crochet, needlepoint, and quilt), has been asking me to come and talk to them about my novel, Songs for the New Depression.. While I've put them off, repeatedly, one of them cornered me this morning, and mentioned that she was recommending my book, which she had not yet read, to her book club.Since then, all I've been able to picture is a string of elderly women falling dead, clutching their hearts in one hand and my book in the other.Prior to this juncture, I'd felt fortunate to attend such a progressive and inclusive church, where being gay has rarely been an issue. Now, though, the prospect of this particular group reading my book makes me feel a bit ill-at-ease.  While not erotica and clearly a work of literary fiction, there are still elements within that could easily be described as "racy" and in some cases "over the top."And while I'd always intended the book to find a wider audience outside the LGBT community, I find myself facing some unanticipated thoughts: Is my inherent uneasiness solely based on their age and gender? Am I stereotyping them? Does my own uncomfortableness have anything to do with feeling shameful of my sexuality?  Or am I simply equating them with my mother?While my parents are aware that I've finally published my novel, I am not encouraging them to read it.  Too often, growing up, I was left disappointed by them, as their critiques of my artistic endeavors were rarely supportive.  After seeing a play I directed which challenged religion and long-held stereotypes of women (which went on to win the American College Theatre Festival's Best Play award) my mother said, "I feel as if you've joined the Mafia."Clearly, if my mother disapproved of something as tame as that, I shudder to think what could happen if she actually read my novel.  And yet others have pointed out that many older women have far different world views and experiences than my own mother, and that their takeaways cannot be predicted.Ultimately, though, I didn't write the book for them.  While those who have read it tell me they feel the themes are universal, it was my job to try to create a specific world, which feels entirely authentic, through which the lead character can navigate.  And given that the lead is a gay man, living in West Hollywood, and struggling with issues around sex and love, to leave the sex part out would ultimately cheat both the character and the reader.Still, I cannot help but envision a legion of older women, coming at me with knives and pitchforks, cursing me for opening their eyes into an unfamiliar world such as the one I portray.And so, on this fine, cool, crisp morning, I find myself concocting a whole array of arsenal with which to battle the soon-coming marauding band of grannies.  I've got marbles to trip up their walkers, a fog machine to blind them, and wrapped hard candy with which to distract them.  And I'm telling you, they will not take me alive!