Darlings, it's time I come clean. You see, I've been lying to you, just a little bit. Not outright, of course, and certainly not about anything all that important, but it's a lie nonetheless. Or at least a misleading lack of information.
I don't read erotica.
Well, I don't read a lot of erotica. It's not, in any way, my most-read genre. And I feel like that's the impression myself, as well as other erotica/erotic romance authors, put out front. But I'm here to put things straight: I don't read all that much erotica.
That's not to say I never touch the stuff. My erotica reading habits are mainly focused on anthologies (Shane Allison is far and away my favorite anthologist in the genre) and the few authors I've really fallen in love with (Rob Rosen, Katey Hawthorne, Cecilia Tan, and a handful of others). But even the authors and such I love, I don't spend a lot of time with.
Well, sit down and pick your jaw up off the floor, darlings. I still read books. Currently, I'm reading 'The Cities of Coin and Spice' by Catherynne M. Valente, who is one of my solid favorites for short fantasy. I devour Poe and Shakespeare. YA, like Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, The Looking Glass Wars. Classics like Alice's Adventures in Wonderland or The Odyssey. Chick lit giants like The Devil Wears Prada and The First Wives' Club.
So, perhaps the truth isn't that I don't read erotica, after all. Perhaps it's just that erotica takes up an equal place in my heart and on my shelf as everything else, not a greater spot, as I may have led you all to believe. Well, you can still drink of my wine and be merry with that thought.