Life is funny. Intentions are so much tissue paper when you're sick. My daughter, granddaughters and I had planned a glamour girls night last week on Super Bowl Sunday while the guys were down at my neighbors watching the game. Alas, both my daughter and I were suffering with sick bellyaches. So the normal waxing of chins/coloring of hair didn't happen.
Then I went off to the hospital and that's all she wrote. By the time I spent a week there I was beginning to look like a beatnik George Carlin. Just stop a moment and savor that image. Pony tail. Gray beard. Wonderful.
Nevertheless, when various people asked me what I did for a living I blurted out that I wrote erotic romances. That was usually a big conversation stopper. For a moment. And then there were the inevitable questions.
For real? How did you get started? How many books do you have? How long have you been writing?
One doctor--the cardiologist--came back to my room because he tried to Google me and couldn't find me. He was spelling my name with an "ie" instead of "y". I was on the phone with my neighbor at the time so heard her running commentary about selling books on my death bed while I found one of my cards to give to the good doctor.
Additional fascination came when flowers and a balloon bouquet arrived from various author friends--literally from around the world. You know in conversation your nurse or aide says something like "pretty flowers". You say they came from "so-and-so in Australia" or "so-and-so in Texas and Michigan" and you're off and running because there's intense interest right there. More than once I mentioned the bookcase I have on my website with links to my author friends.
Promo is where you are. I seldom worry about making an opportunity because people are naturally curious. If you mention that you write, they want to know about it.
Now having said that...I certainly imagine that all romance authors took a big hit on the glamour scale after they dealt with me! Tough to envision me in a pink feathered boa and high heels...