She looked at me. "So, um, what do you write?"
I wanted to say: "Fantasy. Dark fiction. Black comedy. Mysteries. Thrillers. It depends... all sorts of genre." What I said was: "Horror."
Although I have submitted many things to many places, including a novel of black comedy called "Palpable Illusion", the only success I've had is as a horror writer. To date my published short stories have included a comic tale about a demon escaping Hell through the body of a little girl, a tale about a father taking a son on a fishing trip and using faeries as bait, a story about two young boys discovering the darker nature of God, and three Lovecraftian tales, one on the high seas, one set in the mountains in the west, and a third set in a New England college town.
And soon a novel--- The Ravening.
So, I'm a horror writer. I should point out that I am in good company as I look at some other authors who have written in the genre. Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Algernon Blackwood, Henry James, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Machen, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Robert Bloch, Charles Beaumont, Ray Bradbury, H.G. Wells, Arthur Conan Doyle, Joyce Carol Oates, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Ambrose Bierce, Richard Matheson, etc.
Okay, maybe I'm not quite in the same ballpark as these individuals, but I'll settle for a suburb and catch fly balls outside the stadium.
"You write horror?" she asked.
"Horror?" he seconded.
I nodded, growing more secure, feeling the niche and becoming comfortable in it. Even horror writers need love.
"Cool," they said. "Cool."