Author’s Note: This post is not intended to pass judgment on the books currently being marketed as romantasy or their readers. I support the incorporation of sex positive books into the fantasy market and have always been a huge proponent of this. It is, however, a reflection on the continued narrow mindset that we use to view and sell books and how that mindset continues to hurt marginalized communities.

This is simply my opinion and is not intended to represent the view of any individual or group besides myself. For ease of understanding, I write both YA and Adult Fantasy in the traditional publishing space and am agented but unpublished (as of yet). The following post is a reflection primarily on the Adult Fantasy space but does discuss how YA and Adult intertwine.

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Once upon a time, I would have said to you my adult fantasy books were “romantasy.” I would have said that because I believed it to be true. They were a blending of the fantasy and romance genres that still belonged primarily under the fantasy arm. I would also have said this because romantasy was, and continues to be, extremely popular.

Now, you’re more likely to find me calling my books fairytale retellings for grownups.

I’ve broken up with romantasy.

To be honest, I was always a little nervous about calling my books romantasy to begin with. When my agent and I first set this label to my fairytale retelling about a godmother who hated her job, the romantasy moniker was relatively new to the traditional publishing scene. It wasn’t well defined. It still isn’t well defined.

Is it a fantasy that has a strong romantic element or a romance that has a strong fantasy element? Does it require open door, on the page sex? How much? What heat level must it be to be considered romantasy? Is there a real difference between romantasy and fantasy romance? Or romantic fantasy? Where are the lines? What shelf does it go on?

As a neurodiverse individual who spends her days elbow-deep in contracts “not well defined” is not a thing I love.

However, somewhat arrogantly, I thought perhaps I could be one of the trailblazers to define this space.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t. I also have no track record to have ever thought that would be a real ambition. Still, I believed, as so many people do, that romantasy must mean what I wanted it to mean, and it made sense to throw my book into the ring even if it maybe didn’t belong there.

What I wanted romantasy to be was a fantasy-first story with a strong romantic subplot. A book with a pretty hardcover that sat next to Gaiman and Martin and Tolkien. A grown-up version of much of the young adult fantasy you see on the shelves today. Something dealing with grown-up problems (like hating your job and dastardly exes) in grown-up ways (rage quitting and revenge sex) while still maintaining the fantastic elements, fast pace, character-driven plots, and light worldbuiding of YA fantasy.

Like so many, I’d grown out of YA. Insta love and pining wasn’t doing it for me anymore. Nor were love interests who were minors. The days of messy childhood dramas were past. My friends are my allies, my foundation, not my competition. I’m a busy, Millennial woman working in software, usually between 60-80 hours a week. I have a mortgage, a family, responsibilities and appointments to run in and out of. The days of locking myself in my room for a week during spring break to read, only emerging for popcorn and soda, were gone. Now, my fingers ofen find the smallest book on my TBR, not the largest.

YA fantasy no longer offered what I wanted. But neither did adult fantasy, where the books were too long, too dark, too political, too sprawling. I hated maps, and countries, and a million languages and thirteen POVs I couldn’t remember, and flipping back and forth to try to remind myself who was who.

So I set out to write what I wanted. A grown up YA-esque fantasy fit for the adult fantasy shelf and the (now) adult fantasy reader craving something different.

Here’s where I guess I went sideways. Because I didn’t set out to write a romantasy as it existed. I set out to write a thing I personally wanted to read. Romantasy as it existed was a much sexier fantasy than I’ll likely ever write. It became even sexier as the subgenre evolved (and my book moved through submission).

I wasn’t writing for a genre, I was writing for something I thought was missing in the genre. A fantasy with sex in it, sure. A fantasy with a romantic subplot, but a fantasy first. I thought this would fit into the romantasy category, but what I received on submission was a lot of “this is great but it doesn’t fit… anywhere.”

My books aren’t about six pack abs and heat level. I don’t know how spicy they are. I’m touch averse. The fact they contain sex is a miracle in and of itself. The reason they do is a statement. Sex in my books is about reclaiming my power, about seizing female agency and saying, “This goes here, too. We go here, too.” It’s about showing things through a lens I never got to view sex. One that is not as fantastical as my favorite books once had me believe.

But at the end of the day, my books are more about friendship. And power. They’re about breaking down walls and rewriting problematic faves.

I write them because I believe fantasy deserves to have more than grim dark and sword and sworcery and urban darkness. I believe it deserves to have more lightness and simplicity in world building. But I believe romantasy now deserves more, too. Love deserves more. It deserves to be represented in more ways than heat level, and an endless run of tropes, and how many times you can have open door sex in 90,000 words. It deserves to be seen in friendships, and undiscovered sexuality, and self-love, and asexuality, and found family, and redemption, and parents trying and failing, and sex being a place of healing but never healed.

Romantasy deserves a definition. And a place on the FANTASY shelf that is as wide as the genre it’s named after.

Until then, though, I’m breaking up with it.

Until then, I write fairytales for grownups (and the occassional YA).