I grieve
My writing partner, my critic, my cousin, my closest friend. How could you leave this earth so suddenly? Who will regale me with exploits so wicked and wonderful and sparkling? Who will see me through the worst of my mistakes, stick by me when the world would otherwise walk out if it only knew half my secrets? Who will make me laugh now?
I have no other words. My heart is broken. I cannot believe I won’t grow old with you.
Why I want to write romance
Someone from my romance writing group just got approached to put together an article about our group for a writers’ mag, which resulted in a huge discussion about the stereotypes that romance writers are subjected to.
I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that romance writers are often looked upon by other novelists as the bimbos of authordom. Those who scoff – men AND women – are often guilty of oversimplifying the genre, imagining bodice-ripping models on paperback pink jacket covers.
Men in too-tight leather trousers nuzzling against a pair of heaving creamy breasts, heads thrown back in simultaneous throes of ecstasy.
And insipid inspired book titles like “Love’s Unending Embrace”, “The Rogue who loved me”, and “Doctor Carl wants my baby”. (I made these up. Any resemblance to real book titles are purely coincidentally. I’m not laughing at YOUR book per se. Seriously.)
Don’t get me wrong. The bodice-ripping exists. And yes, some of it’s really soft porn for women, designed to titillate and provide the reader a means of escape. Are they meant to be taken very seriously? I expect not. Are they meant to entertain? Absolutely. Do they educate? Perhaps. Men, pay attention. Pinning a (consenting) woman against the wall in an oh-so-masterful way and licking her senseless isn’t exactly bad advice.
But all that ain’t all there is to romance. Just as whodunits aren’t all about Sherlock Holmes and plaid coats with padded elbows. Just as biographies aren’t all about dead people that the near-dead people enjoy reading about. Just as historical fiction isn’t all about some war.
And just as all the world’s stories can be distilled into any of the 36 types of plots, so is any type of book – irrespective of genre – at risk of turning formulaic and predictable. Romance just happens to be a huge genre, spanning all kinds of sub-genres and even engulfing them. Romance, sex, love, lust… basically, we’re talking about fundamental human experiences so it’s no wonder that they’re arguably the biggest genre around.
As for me, I’ve submitted a summary of how I interpret Romance, and why I choose to write one.
Love is an emotion most universal, and romance is one of its sweetest and most idealistic languages. Romance transcends the sexual, governs the blood, and overrules the cerebral. I want to write romance because it speaks, arguably, the loudest to the most number of people. It’s also a means for me to escape and to remember, to pay tribute and perhaps to right the wrongs.
Most of all, I write romance because it’s a bloody lot of fun.
