My confession

I feel confident in making this very personal confession because there are only three people in the world who actually read my blog, and they already know this instinctively. I, however, did not. Again, this writing thing is bringing all sorts of personality defects and more to the surface.
Confession: I embarrass easily.
Discovery: I have tried my hand at writing all sorts of different books. In an attempt to really find my writing voice, I have written any sort of compelling thing that crossed my mind. Then, I realized that I had not tried to write a romance. I tweet, and there are editors on Twitter who open themselves up to market questions. they are mostly about romance. I read tons of agent bios, most accept romance. Romance is the leading market in books. It is steady, and in demand. Maybe that is how I should get my dream off of the ground. Write a romance.
So, I wrote a few chapters of several books which were intended to become romances, only to turn fuchsia when hands began to wander and thoughts began to plummet into carnal places. Those books were quickly rewritten minus the uh-hem, intimate details and they became YA.
Something about divulging my characters’ most intimate moments seems so rude. I cannot do it, in fact, I felt a little pervy for thinking it myself. So, as you can see, I am not able, as in physically and mentally incapable of becoming a romance writer. So, there it is. I admit it. I am a prude and a child in matters of an intimate nature. Even imaginary people need to have their privacy.

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