Thwonk

This past month I've heard many people complain that their dating lives are not going well. "I know the kinds of guys I should like," one young woman told me. "The problem is I like the kind of guys who don't like me."

That made me think of my second novel, Thwonk, and the angst-ridden photographer protagonist, A.J. McCreary. Here she is, seriously, perilously in love with the absolute wrong guy:

I was in my makeshift darkroom above the garage developing my umpteenth print of Peter Terris, an individual of full-orbed gorgeousness who needs absolutely no retouching, an individual oozing with classic tones and highlights who barely knew that I was alive.

I had taken this shot in great diffused light in the Benjamin Franklin High School Student Center, catching Peter poised perfectly by the sainted statue of Big Ben himself. I had taken it from afar (distance being the basic glitch in our relationship), using my ace Nikon F2 and zoom lens while hiding behind fake marble pillar. I was hiding because if he knew I'd been secretly photographing him for all these months he would think I was immature, neurotic, and obsessive.

I'm not.

I'm an artist.

Artists are always misunderstood.

My red safelight shot a warm glow through my darkroom. I sloshed developer solution around the photographic paper (sloshing was a key developing technique) and rocked the tray gently as Peter's face filled the paper. At first it was hazy like a shadow, then the fine grains appeared and flowed into chiseled sensation. I dipped the paper in fixing solution to stop the process, rinsed it, ran a squeegee over it, and hung it on a clothesline to dry.

I studied the photograph and felt my kidneys curl. It was a surprising shot that caught you off guard, like seeing an old friend unexpectedly. My father, who taught me everything he knew about photography, would call it "a decisive moment." It dripped emotion like a great photograph should.

I pushed back my swivel chair and sighed deeply.

I have spent the last five months trying not to love him.

I sneezed with emotion, being a chronic allergy sufferer, whipped out my nasal inhaler, and gave each nostril a long, tormented squirt.

Falling in love is a massive pain.

"Joan Bauer is a very funny writer." Los Angeles Times

"This wacky ride through the affairs of the heart never grows predictable!" Kirkus Reviews

"Bauer's forcefully funny writing remains stylish from start to finish." Bulletin for the Center for Children's Books