It occurred to me today what a twilight world I inhabit at the moment. I spend as much of my time as I can writing about gay men, reading about gay men, and looking at pictures of men (gay or otherwise). If I follow news stories, it's as likely to be some form of homophobia in America as the latest political news at home. I talk to other authors about the same world... guys, I'm sorry about the 'dick' thread, I was bored... and my kids wonder if I'll ever write a book with a man and a woman. Um, no, kids, sorry. No puppies or dinosaurs either.
In a way it's like having a baby. Your world is totally subsumed by the small, poopy, squalling creature that wakes you up at night and needs feeding constantly. Yes, writing is just like that.
I sometimes wish that I inhabited the world of serial killers rather than gay romance. I have a feeling my real life suburban friends wouldn't make such a face when I try to discuss it. But I have learnt so much more about me, I have made friends all around the world and even met some of them. I have discovered I have a small skill doing something I love and I get paid for it. I can't complain really.