It’s been suggested that I talk about how I got into writing erotic romance—a good idea, considering my sixteen published titles and the many more still waiting in the wings. But for the life of me, I can’t remember.
I do recall the first time I read a sex scene in a ‘serious’ novel. It was in between classes in a catholic school. I don’t recommend it. I also remember having to pick my jaw up off the floor. Suddenly there was a whole world beyond the fade-to-black I was used to. Heroes and heroines didn’t just go from timid first kiss to ‘Here Comes the Bride’. The downside, I soon realized, was that characters who had sex on the page were often punished—I suppose as a sort of comeuppance for daring to titillate the reader.
Between that literary tradition and my knee-jerk rejection of the romance genre as being exclusively geared toward straight women—which, I realized while at said catholic school, I am not—I spent quite a bit of time avoiding erotic novels. But as anyone who reads my blog posts on the TotallyBound.compublishing site can tell you, I’m one of those people who can’t leave well enough alone. When something bothers me, I tend to don my deerstalker cap and try to puzzle out why.