Why I choose to be a multi-genre author

One thing I’ve realized as I move forward as an author is that I don’t like feeling boxed in.

While I would consider Written on Vinyl to be contemporary romance, it isn’t the only kind of story I want to tell. I have projects that lean into science fiction. Others that belong to fantasy. Some that edge into horror.

I don’t want my work to live neatly in one section of a library.

At the same time, I understand that readers have preferences. Someone who loves romance might not be looking for science fiction. A horror reader might not want a slow-burn love story. That’s okay. I don’t expect every book I write to be for every person. I trust readers to know what they’re in the mood for. I trust myself to write what feels urgent.

What connects my stories?

I read widely. Romance. Literary fiction. Fantasy. Horror. Science fiction. I’m drawn to atmosphere, voice, and emotional intensity more than category. So it feels natural that my writing moves that way too.

What connects my stories isn’t the genre. It’s the through-line: complicated women, power and devotion, identity and reinvention. Whether the setting is contemporary or speculative, grounded or strange, I’m chasing the same emotional questions.

I don’t want to be easy to shelve.

It would be safer to stay in one lane. It would probably be easier.

But I need to write the stories that won’t leave me alone.

Right now, the projects on my desk look very different from one another.

One is a piece of liminal horror — a very loose retelling of Snow White that leans into atmosphere, isolation, and the quiet terror of being watched in a space that feels almost familiar. It’s about identity stripped down to its most fragile form. About what happens when survival demands a version of you that isn’t entirely kind.

Another is something lighter on the surface: a romantic comedy wearing a science fiction costume. Think sharp banter and domestic tension set against interstellar politics and high-stakes missions. Beneath the humor, though, it’s about partnership and trust. About choosing someone not because it’s easy, but because it’s right.

And then there’s the five-book romantasy series that’s been living in my head the longest. Fae who bargain for memories. Enemies who become something far more complicated. It’s about power negotiated in whispers, and about the cost of reclaiming yourself after pieces of you have already been traded away.

Different shelves, maybe.

But the same question runs through all of them: who are you when the right choice is also the hardest one?

I’m less interested in perfect decisions than I am in honest ones. In people who choose deliberately, even when it hurts.

The genre may shift.

The obsession remains.

I’m still figuring out what I’m capable of writing.