I worked my way through the children’s library at warp speed, at which point that selfsame mommy discovered her adolescent daughter eyeing the adult bookshelves and standing a little too close to the likes of Mario Puzo and John Updike for maternal comfort. She quietly nudged me toward the gentler fiction of Francis Parkinson Keyes, Gene Stratton-Porter, Elswyth Thane and Victoria Holt, and ever since I have loved a love story.

It has always stood me in good stead. In high school it lured me into Shakespeare, and in university formed the basis of a life-long passion for the extraordinary novelists of the 19th century – not just Jane Austen and the Brontës, but Eliot, Hardy, Flaubert, Thackeray. Name a single Dickens novel, no matter how serious the subject, that is not leavened with at least one perfectly charming romance (go ahead, I dare you!).

A few years ago, burnt out from two stressful decades in the communications industry, I quit, cold turkey, to take what was supposed to be a quick breather before beginning a less frantic new career as a freelance writer. By chance, I picked up Holding the Dream by Nora Roberts – and loved it. Perfect therapy for a recovering workaholic. Delighted to discover it was the middle volume in a series, I rushed out and bought the other two and raced through them as well. Suddenly realizing that “well-written romance” was not necessarily an oxymoron I ventured into an unfamiliar section of the bookstore and picked up half a dozen books.

You can probably guess what happened. I’d lucked out big-time with the Dream trilogy, but the others were a mixed bag that ranged from pretty good to downright awful. I was on the verge of being hooked, but I needed help. Fortunately, an on-line search turned up The Romance Reader. Armed with a long list culled from both recent and archived reviews, I began to rummage through every new and used bookstore within an hour’s walk of my house (fortunately there are lots of both) and to haul books home by the armload. Six months later I lifted my head above the stacks and decided that, if I wanted to support my new habit, I needed to think about getting back to work.

Since then, in addition to lots more reading, I have built a small but satisfying freelance writing practice (I’m occasionally asked if I write fiction or non-fiction and, since I mostly get paid for public relations and ad copy, my standard answer is: “define fiction”).

Joining The Romance Reader is a wonderful new part of the adventure and, whether or not you agree with my opinions or share my taste, I’m delighted to be part of the conversation.

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