I discovered the joy of writing around four years ago, by accident really, and it sort of stuck. Now I write most days and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
I’m not that surprised that I write romance. I’m a woman, of a certain age, and I’ve read a fair amount of it in my time (although it’s still only a small proportion of my total reading). But where the stories about gay men come from is a mystery to me.
There I was, writing what I thought would be a thriller or an adventure story. Then two of my characters made it very clear that they liked each other (you know, liked liked each other). After that, all these men started appearing in my head, asking me to tell the story of how they met and fell in love.
So there I am, four years down the line, writing gay romance. I’ve learnt a lot in that time. Some of it has been eye opening, some shocking (and I thought I couldn’t be shocked, shows how wrong I was), and some just making me go awwww.
Other than the writing? I read. I read a lot. I volunteer with Distributed Proofreaders to help with making electronic copies of old, public domain books for upload to Project Gutenberg, which makes them available to anyone with an internet connection. I also volunteer with Zooniverse, contributing to real science projects from home. I’m a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society, and spend a lot of time with my head in the clouds.
Maybe one day I’ll come out to my family as a writer. One of the benefits of living over 300 miles away from them is that they have no idea. Probably a good thing. I know enough of them to know that they’d never understand why I write what I do.