I secretly enjoy reading . . .

oh, I can’t say . . .

Well, I’ve got to admit it . . .

I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that of all the genres I read, of all the authors I respect and sometimes try to emulate, of all the literary, historical, suspense and contemporary fiction I read, what I most enjoy is . . .

Women’s Fiction.

I fought this knowledge for a long time.

Even when I, myself, published two books that can be categorized as “women’s fiction.”

Instead, I call the genre of my novels “romantic suspense,” both words being true.

But basically, I write women’s fiction.

Why should that be embarrassing or shameful? How horrible, that I have been sucked into the male-dominated literary power structure of believing that books written for, by, and about women are somehow… LESS.

A close friend recently attended…