I am so depressed

I ruined my journal layout which I've had for over two years and Nick made special for me. Ruined ruined ruined, and yes, I am BEING DRAMATIC THIS TIME!!!!

I am very disappointed.

And So I Yack Some More About Writing

Okay so do I owe apologies for yesterday's post? Probably. Sorry kids, really am. I didn't mean to alarm so many of you. I will answer those comments in a bit.

But can I also admit to the warm fuzzies for your concerns? Seriously. I'm so used to lolling behind somebody's shadow (a nice place to be, really--I like it here on the edge of things) that the sudden flurry of comments and emails made me grin? Y'all care! You do! You really really do! Sniff!

Silly C, huh.

Anyway. The point of that post was to express a light-bulb moment I had while nose-deep in a bunch of crossing closures; I don't want to write m/m fiction any more. I just don't want to.

I mean, really. I gotta look at this logically. If I am capable of garnering such nice responses first to my published mystery (dorky as it was) and then to Red, then I am capable of doing so with another story in a different genre. Something different and what I want to write. Not what others want me to write (no matter how lovely the requests for more more more--more of the same--are).

Red is basically a romance. Romantic suspense. I have never had a desire to be a romance author. I looked into it extensively back in the day, owe a lot (quite a lot frankly) to my time with the romance world (all those brilliant workshops) but I never belonged there. I've written a romance once, I did it well, I wrote the story of my heart when I needed to do it and I Just Do Not Want to do it again. Anything else would be a rehash of what I have already done and I put EVERYTHING (ideas and passions) I had for that particular genre into Red. I am getting NOTHING out of trying to do another. I am not striving, I am not pushing myself because there is nothing left to push.

( I am not having any fun with it at all )