I have a confession: This is my maiden blog.
It’s not that I didn’t have any opinions to share before this. (As anyone who knows me will confirm, I’m seldom without an opinion about something.) It’s not that I haven’t had opportunities before this. I’ve been saving myself for this moment.
So, here I am to introduce myself as a storyteller who also gardens, and is bemused to discover that I garden much the way I tell stories. As time goes on and I post more about my approach to writing stories and planting gardens, you’ll see exactly what I mean. I hope you’ll be kind and not laugh at me as hard as my husband does. (Then again, I laugh at him when he can’t find something because it’s A. under something else, or B. behind something else.)
When people ask me what I write, I usually say “romantic fiction” rather than “romance.” (And if they make the mistake of sneering, I launch into an explanation of the importance of pair-bonding to the survival of the species.) Why “romantic fiction”? Well, the romance genre has done some creative pair-bonding with just about every other genre you can name, including literary fiction. And while the romance is always the heart of my stories, there are all sorts of other things – mystery, suspense, fantasy – going on, too.
I wrote my Master’s thesis on British detective stories of the 1920s and 1930s, the “Golden Age.” I’m a long-time member of Sisters in Crime. I love reading mysteries and pride myself on figuring out who dunnit; you should see the pie chart I did for my thesis! But when I decided to buckle down and put my childhood dream of being “an author” to the test, I turned to the romance genre, not to the mystery genre. Why?
Simple, really. Everyone I know is either in, or wants to be in, a romantic relationship, or was in one that didn’t work out. On the other hand, I’ve never tripped over a dead body and ended up helping the cops solve the crime.