I’m not someone who lies about her age. I’m 37. (Why lie? In the Internet age, the truth always comes out anyway).

But the point is, that makes me about 20 years older than the male leads I am now writing in my novels, since my novels are about teens. Of course, when I was writing THE MOCKINGBIRDS, I didn’t actually think about the age gap between me and my boys, because, well, it is fiction. And maybe also because I wrote the book either in my house, on the airplane, or in the occasional coffee shop. Meaning, I didn’t write the book while hanging out at local high schools, or malls, or other spots where I could ogle teenage boys. Not that I would do that, of course! And, let me add that before I wrote THE MOCKINGBIRDS my three prior manuscripts were in the women’s fiction genre, so the male romantic leads were all in their thirties.

That’s why the age gap didn’t occur to me until I went to Hawaii last month. I was there with my husband and two kids so naturally we stayed at a family-friendly hotel. Translation: huge pool filled constantly with kids of all ages. Including teenagers. Especially teenage boys. Boys the same age as the boys my fictional girls are now falling for. And even though my novel isn’t a romance, there is definitely a strong romantic subplot. And I am writing such scenes about BOYS OF WHOM I COULD SAY: “I AM OLD ENOUGH TO BE HIS MOM.”

Yeah, sure, it’s fiction. I KNOW that none of the characters are actually real. But I still kind of feel like a dirty old woman.

But you know, I’m OK with that.