Arctic Char on a cedar plank with a brown sugar-mustard glaze (and Pumpking in the background!) (at Beelow’s Steakhouse)
on tumblr: http://ift.tt/1LPQ57u
I never really thought I lived a sheltered life. I mean, I’ve been involved in various fannish activities in different genres, I’ve read science fiction and fantasy all my life, fanfiction (both good and awful), and nonfiction of all stripes. I generally have a good idea of what is available to the modern reader. Apparently there is one genre I overlooked: romances. Specifically, gay romances written by women. So that’s a thing.
I have always thought of romances as bits of puffery that one reads while lounging at the beach, half paying attention. Perhaps the literary equivalent of a Twinkie. A few months ago, one of my favorite podcasts, NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour, devoted an entire show to romance novels. It’s not something I normally would listen to, but I do adore all of the people on the show and enjoy listening to them chat. An offhanded reference to gay romances caught my attention. “Huh.” I though. “I wonder if that’s worth looking into.”