“To write only about love makes you a bit of a one-trick pony, yes?” he asked.

She laughed.

“What makes you think my writing is a trick?” she asked.

He laughed.

“I didn’t mean like a magician. I meant that you should expand into other genres of writing,” he said.

“There is no other genre of writing,” she replied.

He frowned.

“That’s just not true. There’s much more to life than Romantic Fiction,” he said.

Regret began descending into her mind, over the decision to ask him to read all she’d written.

“There is. There is Romantic Non-Fiction, but outside of that, there’s nothing else but what people call by other names. What you call a genre, I call marketing. Everything written is sourced from Love’s heartbeat, and the world might call it History, Science Fiction, Self-Help, Philosophy, Renaissance Art or anything else, but it’s just Love, Sections A through Z,” she answered stoically.

Still frowning at her, he said, “I guess we’ll agree to disagree.”

“Guess again. I feel like you’ve given yourself the right to insult me and then use my reasoning to close the discussion because you aren’t willing to present anything other than cliche’s or colloquialisms for consideration,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

“I was seeking neither compliment nor criticism, yet value that each brings perspective. However, you’ve shown me that purposed exposure is best served by active seeking, rather than passive stumbling. I am not offended. I am grateful.” she replied.

Just as questions require discernment, so too must the seeker identify the source of his answers. It’s often true, that he who smelt it, dealt it.