It's not as if I don't have things to do. I could be doing laundry. Or cleaning the house. Or continuing my agent and publisher research. Or writing. Or answering e-mail. Or critting.

Speaking of critting, that's how my husband thinks all this got started. I have three critique partners, and he saw me constantly reading their work, making marks on their pages. He was unaware (as far as I know) that I, in turn, was sending my own work to these people.

I was afraid to tell him the truth.

It's not that I didn't think he'd be supportive. I know he would. That's just the way he's wired.

I was afraid he'd want to read what I've written. I still am.

But I did finally bite the bullet and tell him the truth. He hasn't asked to read anything, and I'm glad for that. I think I'd have a hard time dealing with him reading one of my books then looking up at me and asking, "Is this what you want?"

And the question wouldn't be referring to whether I want to write or not, but whether I want the things that happen in the story to happen to me.

Do I want romance? Yes.

Would I enjoy being swept off my feet? Absolutely.

Do I want my man to be just like the heroes in my stories? Not necessarily.

I write mostly Alpha males. I am working on one Beta, but he'll probably morph into an Alpha before I'm done. I'll just call him my token Gamma.

At any rate, in all honesty, I think a true blue, honest-to-goodness Alpha male would drive me absolutely bonkers.

In the synopsis for Irresistible Harmony, I mention that my heroine spends half her time wanting to comfort the hero, and the other half wanting to kick him in the shins.

That's putting things mildly, but that's me.

And my feelings aside, I don't think an Alpha would put up with me. I'm a little too mouthy. I'm not one to cow down and be submissive. Not all the time, anyway. And my ethnic background is such that when people find out, they shoot my husband a pitying look that says I'm so sorry you have to put up with such a volatile temper.

Let's just say I make life interesting. It's part of my charm. That's my excuse, anyway.