One of my favorite holiday books stars Opus the penguin. It is called, “A Wish For Wings That Work.” I spotted the title while on a basement scouting quest to locate decoration boxes, and it reminded me of another impractical wish, one that I throw at stars now and then.
I want a label.
I write fantastic stories about heroic people dealing with weird shit.
Some of these characters live in a dystopian future (Stories of the Restoration) others inhabit an alternate present filled with magic that humanity treats like science. (Rough Passages ) My protagonists are all broken people, most are marginalized, and many are not traditionally sympathetic. They fight circumstance and inner demons as often as villains, and they don’t always win.
Name that genre!
No? Yeah, it stumps me, too.
I know what my stories are not. They are not “military fiction” despite the number of times that phrase comes up in reviews. Sweet jeepers, how I hate that label. Characters in uniform do not make a tale military any more than female characters make one “women’s fiction.”
My stories are also not exactly thrillers, nor suspense. They aren’t even science fiction except in the broadest speculative sense.
I will cop to penning two romances. The rest are what they are. They’re mine, and they make me proud. I just wish I knew what to call them.
That is all.