I’m coming out of the closet, but maybe not the one you think. Okay, I’m going to admit it–I’m a romance reader, yeah, I know–not surprising since I write romance. But still, not an easy admission since people hunched over the romance section at the book store often engender scorn and ridicule. I’ve come out of the closet before. When I was twenty and in my very first long term relationship (I’m talking two months), my then boyfriend and I began a lively discussion on what was our preferred reading material. His was nonfiction historical, mine historical romance. I had no qualms admitting I was completely addicted to Kathleen Woodiwiss—after all, this guy really liked me!! And, well, there was definitely a common bond there, right? Both genres were of the  historical nature (not hysterical). But, alas, my  boyfriend made me hysterical when he became outright derisive that I read trivial trash (his words,  not mine). And, yup, that was the beginning of the end. I knew he wasn’t right for me. If you’re wondering about my now husband (and even if you’re not), he smiled and nodded happily when I eventually worked up the nerve to tell him about my secret addiction. No wonder I like him so much.