Becky Flade, Author

Check out this article by Philly Voice magazine Some time ago, but not so long ago, my cousin’s wife sent me a copy of an ad she saw on craigslist – a couple were looking to unload their hand-crafted BDSM play room. This confused me. Why would she be sending me this? And that’s what I asked her. “I know you read the Fifty Shades books.” Was her answer, to which I replied, “I also read the Hannibal Lecter books. Want to come over for dinner Saturday?” She laughed.   And the awkward moment was over. But this interaction has lingered on the edges of my subconscious since. Why is there such a stigma on romance, especially erotic romance? No one assumes I’m a cannibal because I read Thomas Harris’ books. Or that I practice witchcraft since I’ve read the Harry Potters. That I abuse my children (I have every book by V.C. Andrews); or intend to kill all my neighbors in a televised fight to the death (Hunger Games). I have eclectic taste in books, as evidenced by ...