My first romance novel
Glanced at a tweet this afternoon while in the middle of a tedious work document that no one will read anyway, and told myself I’d try and remember my first romance novel, droopy-eyed and struggling as I am this evening…
Do you remember your very first romance novel? I really had to rack my brains over this one, but I think it has to be P.S. I love you, from Sweet Dream romances. I think I was eleven. It was actually a brilliant introduction to the genre, because [SPOILER!]
Sleepless in Seattle, Sleepy in Australia
Oh lord. Make them stop.
I am struggling to keep awake. I don’t think I can do much else tonight apart from checking what’s new on Twitter, reading another chapter of Janet Evanovich, and then snuggling into my husband’s neck, breathing him in like a drug, and sleeping till the dawn.
Sleepless in Seattle is on, and I just can’t take the mush anymore. How did all of us get so suckered in when it was first released? It’s sentimentalism caked in mush, topped with soppiness. Or have I shrivelled into a calloused, bitter old thing over time? Have all our palettes gone all sophisticated? Will we look back on the romances of today in 20 years’ time, and snort with derision?
Probably.
Anyhoo – writing group tomorrow, and I think one of the writers will be giving a short presentation on her recent experience at a writers retreat. And then hopefully I can knuckle down and actually get some work done.
