When I first started writing with the intention of public consumption, I never thought I’d end up in this genre. Finding m/m romance was kind of an accident, albeit a fun and thoroughly satisfying one. I was in the middle of a plot line, begging and pleading with my heroine to get her to behave, when I realized that the whole story would work better if she were a man. Two hours of pronoun replacement later, I had something far more interesting to work with.
And my new niche was discovered.
I love writing many types of fiction. Science fiction, fantasy, contemporary, horror, paranormal– you get the picture. I think the only genres I haven’t tried at some point in my life are mystery and detective (though I love reading them!). When I discovered that I could add an LGBT romance element into any one of these genres, I was elated. Adding an erotic element to my stories was another delightful challenge, since I was taught, as so many of the midwestern Bible-belt kids are, that sex is wrong. Utterly, terribly, horribly wrong. Dirty. Disgusting. Evil. Until, of course, we get married to a member of the opposite sex. Then it’s magically transformed into a wonderful thing, as long as it’s done in the most vanilla ways in a valiant attempt to spawn. Sometimes I think I still have a mental block when sex is involved. Writing an erotic scene has become a kind of therapy. Fun therapy. The kind that doesn’t make me cry.
So here I am, a soon-to-be-published author of gay romance. I think I’m still shellshocked that it’s actually happening. Wish me luck, all you ones and zeros. I just might need it.