When you publish your first book, even just as an eBook, you experience all sorts of funny feelings. When you see it on sale on Amazon, or Barnes and Noble, or read your first review, it’s all new to you. When you see your book jump in and out of Amazon’s top 100 in political fiction, if only for brief moments, this is all great fun. I was even outselling a few Ayn Rand books for all of two or three minutes.
Then you hear something that troubles you. One of your relations is reading your book, and your mind starts racing through the book thinking “Oh Crap! What about that scene in the bathroom, or that other scene with the sex toy. Oh bugger.” These are your relatives. You didn’t get to pick them. See, your friends know what you’re like, so they’re not surprised. They know that you’re writing fiction and what your characters do, that’s them, not you. They know that Stephen King doesn’t really go about dressed as a clown hacking people to death, right?