I have discovered something about my stories that is a bit surprising. I think I might be some kind of romance writer! Minus the Fabio hair and heaving bosoms, of course.
I have analyzed the premises around which each of my stories are built. An inventory of every recent story, finished, half-finished, or just at the jumble-of-notes stage. Here is what I have:
marriage love x 6
do anything for your child love x 1
psycho, obsessive, stalker love x 1
selfish or not-selfish self-love x 2
craving a parent’s love x 2
unrequited, pining love x 4
letting go of love x 2
taboo love x 1
first love x 1
not about love x 2 (noting that neither of these two stories are finished, so maybe I have yet to discover that these are about love too.)
So there you have it. I am sad and sappy to the very core. Or, are all the stories in the world about love?