It is somewhat perplexing to be a Catholic fiction writer today. Many Catholic publishing companies simply don’t want to handle fiction, and the few who do take it on don’t promote it with as much gusto as their nonfiction books.

 

My first mystery was published by a small, Catholic publishing house. I was thrilled because I had never written fiction before, and having it accepted was a great compliment. 

 

Problem is, very small houses do little to market your work. They count largely on authors to buy books at a discount and then sell them however they can. This is all well and good, but just a step removed from self-publishing.

 

“And what’s wrong with that?” you may ask. Well, self-publishing means a lack of sharp editing, and it’s not just typos that slip by. With non-fiction, there are factual errors. And with fiction, there may be entire chapters that a good editor would have slashed.

 

Besides, publishing a book yourself is a bit like giving yourself an award for “best mother (or father) of the year” – or purchasing a bogus master’s degree on-line. Yes, you can brag about these accomplishments all you like, but you didn’t jump through the same hoops as everyone else.

 

My second mystery, “Death of a Liturgist,” was snapped up by a large Catholic publishing house. This was wonderful except this company mostly publishes books about the saints and the Church fathers – -and such works are marketed quite differently than mysteries. So my royalty checks are not exactly staggering. In truth, they allow me to treat my husband to lunch now and again.

 

I sent my third mystery, “Death of a Seminarian,” to an agent, hoping he might get it into the hands of a big, secular publishing house. He thought the writing was sparkling and enjoyed the characters, but didn’t think the book could compete with the many mysteries already out there.

 

He is probably right. You see, the book doesn’t have any steamy sex scenes, nor does it dwell on rotting corpses, entry wounds, or any of the gruesome forensics details that so many mysteries thrive on. The main character is a widow with a boyfriend, but she refuses to jump into bed with him. There are no vampires, witches, werewolves or zombies.

 

In time, the book may eventually find its way into the hands of some Catholic publishing house, but I know it won’t get the accolades that, say, Janet Evanovich’s mysteries do. She is quite a skilled writer, but she doesn’t flinch from having a lusty female protagonist who heads to the bedroom with various men. As for stomach-churning crime-scene events, Evanovich’s books are dripping with them.

 

The one thing in common with my books is that her protagonist, like mine, has a pet hamster. And perhaps if books with hamsters in them become as popular as zombie romances in the future, my royalty checks will skyrocket –and readers will be clamoring for my next book. Yes, I can dream! 

 

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Lorraine’s latest books include “The Abbess of Andalusia,” a biography of Flannery O’Connor, and two mysteries, “Death in the Choir” and “Death of a Liturgist.” She lives in Decatur with her husband and a hamster named Ignatius.