I’ve been asked a few times over the last several months why I want to write for Ellora’s Cave. So why do I?

I’ve spent the last three or so years targetting The Company. (If you know me, you know who that is. If not, you’ll figure it out. If you still don’t know by the end, I don’t know how you ended up here other than sticking ‘masturbation, horny, and pearly orb’ in your search engine, in which case your X-Box is getting cold). There are some really appealing things about The Company. No agent needed. No more promo than you’re comfortable with. Stability. I’m a fan of the books already.

BUT.

Say I’ve got this manuscript. 80,000 word romantic suspense with an Alpha hero and…a secret baby. Great. And my next manuscript is an 80,000 word romantic suspense with an Alpha hero and…a reunion. Well, what if the next thing my muse coughs up is a 55,000 word romantic comedy with an Alpha-ish hero who falls in love with an alien who’s never been allowed physical contact, but is handy with the toys?

******screeching halt*******

OMG! We can’t do that! Our scientifically-researched demographic target might not like that! Or they might, but we can’t take that chance because the monstrous retail giant that represents itself with the most annoying, bouncing happy face EVER might not like it. They might like a vampire, as long as he’s contrite about it. But we’ll pass on that menage in space, thanks.

I’d like to write for The Company. Still working toward that. But for the last year or so, writing stopped being fun for me. It became a chore that, like turning my husband’s dirty socks right side out or mopping the floor, was put off until…tomorrow. Too much worrying about being “in the box while not so in the box it’s not original, but not too original because our readers like and buy the box, even though they complain about the box.”

I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil–it was always my joy. Well, several years of seeing the inside of the industry and worrying and obsessing and trying to conform without conforming killed it.

And, dammit, I want my joy back.