Boxed In

This is Frosty.

He likes boxes....big ones, small ones, mid-sized ones. It doesn't matter. If it's a box, he tries to fit himself inside it.

He's plump, and he has a lot of hair, too. Fitting inside some boxes, like this one, don't always work out so well for Mr. Frosty Cat.

I don't fit so well in boxes either. I'm plump and have a lot of hair, too. Ahem.

I generally avoid boxes of any kind.

I'm not usually down on my hands and knees, trying to squeeze myself into a box.

I'm talking about writing boxes. And not the kind where you write yourself into a corner and have to tear apart your whole manuscript for a way out.

I'm talking about romance writing boxes. I hate a lot of them. I loathe rules. Always have, always will. Boxes. I like to write outside those boxes.

One of my faves, younger men, has suddenly become a hot commodity. I've been doing it for years. Being outside the box has become ordinary. Usual. Not out of the parameters now.

In my current WIP, I have a teenage uncle and niece who are the same age and have just met. I'd like to have them fall in love, although nothing could come of it. It's been done in Regencies a few times, but I haven't seen it in contemporary category.

I'd like to go outside the box

I can hear the gasps of dismay now.

You can't do that.

Stay inside the box.

In Burn, I go way outside the box. I have a man (the villain) sexually abused by his mother. I have a heroine who is a funeral directer.

Oh, my.

Getting out of that box again.

Stay in?

Or push on the sides of boxes until I break out?