For the past year or so I’ve been telling myself “I’ve not found my genre”. I’ve dabbled at crime, paranormal, psychological, and whatever the hell this newest attempt at writing is. None of which get past a chapter or two. 3,000 words is usually the max, although “Murder at Meadowview” did reach 45,000 (ish). Still, it’s not a full-length novel. Then I read FSOG. And tried romance. And since then I’ve written three full length romance novels. Contemporary, erotic, provocative, whatever the sub-genre is, they are all romance. SEVEN DIRTY WORDS was the first to be published, and its sequel, FOUR LETTER WORDS, is currently under submission. Does this make me a romance author? Possibly… But no! I didn’t want to fall into that category! Romance authors are slushy, and frothy, and cheesy aren’t they? Think “romance” and you think flowers and hearts. I am not a flowers and hearts…