Romance

Ah, romance. Many women dream of it. Men scorn the very idea of reading about it. Kids gag at the thought of it. But what exactly is it?

If you stopped the next twenty people--or even a hundred--on the street and asked them to define romance, the answers would number as many as the participants. Everyone has a hazy idea of what romance is (or isn't), but there doesn't seem to be an agreed upon definition.

Is it kissing? Ewwww, say the little kids. Is it sex? A relationship? Lighted candles, flowers and perfume? How do we know romance when we find it?

And where do we go in search of it? Do we find it in a bar? Or church? Or in the midst of war and chaos? How do we know for sure we've found true romance instead of a one night stand?

Is longevity the test? What about the second-time-arounds?

I think we spend so much time and effort dreaming about romance that we miss the real thing. Maybe we even lose out on our best opportunity because we're chasing attractiveness or wealth or sex. Romance touches the heart. All that other stuff is fluffy icing on the cake.

Without love, there is no romance. It's just sugar and fat...and maybe a little food coloring and artificial flavor.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Back in the dark ages when I first started reading "grown up" books, a kiss was the climax of the hero/heroine relationship. It often was the last scene in the book. Everything else in the book--plot, description, bad guy, good guy--led to that one climatic moment. The kiss.

This was true for lot of books that weren't even classified as romances. Quite a few of Louis L'Amour's books end with that kiss. Mary Stewart's romantic suspense books often end with that kiss. Helen MacInnes' suspense books usually had the climatic kiss.

Now, a book with only one kiss is considered a YA--Young Adult book. A kiss isn't exciting. It's more like a get-acquainted handshake.

I think we've lost something along the way.

Does anyone remember the anticipation, the belly flutters, the breathless will-he-or-won't-he finally kiss the girl? Heck, the hero/heroine didn't even hold hands for weeks. Accidental touches were exciting. Then maybe he would take her hand in his, signaling his interest. Weeks later he might kiss her goodnight when he took her home. Maybe.

I miss the leisurely build up, the tip-toeing anticipation, the delayed gratification in those old stories. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that won't fly anymore in the grown-up world. Frankly, I don't want to go quite that far back. It's unrealistic and not very satisfying. There's some expression about putting the genie back in the bottle...

In the clamor created by that book--you know the Gray book--women are coming out of the closet, admitting they're curious and interested. And just a little scandalized, maybe.

There's always been a certain segment of the female readers that were willing, nay, enthusiastic about reading erotic romance with all that implies. That's what I write. And yep, I have fans who write to me demanding more. The difference now, is what I call the fence perchers. They feel a tad guilty about reading books with *sex* in them.

Surprisingly, this group is not the baby boomers. They know about sex. They know there's frequently a huge difference between fictional romance and real life. They're the original bra burners.

No, as far as I can tell from my observations, the most scandalized group is firmly in the thirty/forties. They're too young to remember the "old" days when there were no women's rights. They think they've always had the right to own property or have sex before marriage or buy birth control. And kissing? Phft.

They're stuck buying books about secret babies, gazillionaire CEOs, and SEALS. Their children are almost young adults and the middle-agers have suddenly been confronted with the sex lives and unplanned pregnancies of their children. I think they're also suffering a bit of guilt at their own secret, naughty desires. They're women, dammit, often caught between the wild, no holds barred lives of the young and what they perceive as the hopeless, dreary lives of the old. Too many are coping with the difficulties of single parenthood, careers they no longer want, but are stuck with, and a crashing economy. Where is that man who's going to sweep them away in a Calgon moment?

Is it any surprise they gravitate toward the romance of the climatic kiss? Or the implied promise of a strong, well-to-do man who will shoulder their burdens without presenting his own demands?

The publishing revolution is about more than just a new way to share the written word. I think it's about the clash of needs and desires. Women (and maybe even men) may want romantic fantasy in their books, but they want realistic fantasy. They want portrayals of real, caring men. Sexy men who can cook. Or braid their daughter's hair. Or, heck, even do a load of laundry. Plus, he finds them desirable and sexy.

I have one of those at my house. I call him the house hunk. And he even knows how to kiss...

anny

Romance

I finished my latest book. Spear of Retribution. In a discussion with a friend (about this book), the subject of romance was raised. It might not be as romantic as my other books.

"It has sex..."

"Romantic conflict was solved kinda early..."

"It has sex..."

But I pondered on the conundrum of sex vs. romance. What defines romance? It depends on our viewpoint, I believe. In our current culture we expect extravagant gestures. Jewelry, flowers, fancy dinners.

My hero/heroine are in a survival situation. A long-term survival situation facing a series of unexpected dangers. And the story is circa 1820s in the wilderness. Different expectations.

What constitutes romance in those circumstances?

A fish for dinner. A hot pool for a bath. Guarding each others backs. Caring for each other when there are injuries. Sharing the last of the food. Taking time to explore the many avenues to sensual fulfillment. Arranging a shelter in the woods.

What constitutes romance at my house?

Fixing dinner for me. Arranging some time in a hot tub. Rubbing my back--or his--when it's sore. Sharing the last brownie. Taking time to explore the many avenues to sensual fulfillment. Paying the rent, the electric bill, the phone bill...

Hmmmm. Maybe everyday romance isn't so different from era to era. It could be that only our expections have changed. The thing is..."I love you," is still powerful. "I need you."

"I want you."

"You're my heart and soul."

"I caught a fish for dinner."

Yeah. That could do it.

anny 

WIP Teaser

She leaned back, looking at the plane over the tops of her sunglasses. “You know, that is one scary looking plane. I didn’t pay too much attention to it yesterday. But if I saw something like this, I might be hesitant to approach it, too.”

Max chuckled. “That’s Uncle Diarmid for you. Only he would have his plane painted like a giant Celtic dragon, complete with all that gorgeous intricate knotwork. The artist who designed and directed the painting owed him a favor of some type. One thing I’ll say—she’s a fabulous artist.” He pointed out the row of teeth that stretched from side to side under the cockpit windows. “Those look frightening enough from the air. Close up, they’re terrifying.”

“I just find the way she incorporated the dragon wings with the plane wings incredible. I’m not sure I would want to stumble on this plane in the middle of the night. I suspect that would be a nightmare in progress.” She settled her sun glasses on her nose and attempted an encouraging smile. “Well?”

“Well.” He leaned closer and kissed her nose. “Are you ready to go meet the neighbors, honey?”

“As I ever will be. Why do I have the feeling that they’re not going to help rescue us?” she asked as she slowly wiped her hands on her sweatpants.

“Probably for the same reason I feel that way. Something isn’t right.” He offered her his hand and led the way around the tail of the plane. He had his eyes on the ground, trying to avoid the muddiest spots so he wasn’t prepared when Russet stopped dead and frantically yanked on his arm.

He turned to see what her problem was.

She was making little whimpering squeaky noises and the terrified expression on her face raised the hair on the back of his neck. Whipping around, he peered over his shoulder as he instinctively nudged Russet back towards the plane door.

A line of young naked warriors brandishing spears was advancing across the field toward them. That was bad. Very bad, but not terrifying.

But the enormous tawny griffin leading them was enough to send Max tearing off across the field toward the trees lining the far edge. He had a firm grip on Russet’s arm and dragged her willy-nilly behind him, ignoring her protests and frequent stumbles as she struggled to keep up with him.

“What was that?” she yelled.

“Griffin!”

“What?”

“Keep running.” Max peered over his shoulder and immediately zig-zagged off to the right. The griffin was gaining on them. “Run!”

Max tripped over a hidden tree root as a mighty roar echoed across the meadow. Then a blinding white light pummeled his mind and he fell unconscious to the ground. 

Pickup lines...

Why do men need pickup lines? And how well do they work? I was introduced to the house hunk on a blind date so he didn't have to try out his repertoire, but I have to admit I've never been impressed by the lines I've seen in movies.

So how is a guy--or girl--supposed to develop that quick introduction that captures the target's attention? And why does it have to be clever? Why not just "Hello, I'm John. You're reasonably attractive and I would like to have sex with you." No?

It occurs to me such an approach would cut through all the baloney sausage but it probably doesn't meet the standards for the woman. Women want more romance. Even if it's fake. And then they complain that men are false. It seems to me they can't expect to have it both ways.

Romance is a female invention. Men just want to drag you off to their cave and mate. Romance is what they do because it's against the law to drag you off to their cave. Now they have to lure you to the cave.

So the pickup line is actually at the behest of the female. Hmmm.

What's the best pickup line you've ever heard?

anny

Romance? What's that?

You get dressed up. You know--makeup, stockings, etc. And the hunk meanders out of the bedroom dressed in jeans and tee-shirt. I didn't need some guy to write a book about how women and men are from different planets. By the time you live with a man for two days you already have that down.

I've been working hard on a new book, Phantom's Rest. It's always a fine line an female author walks when they portray a male character. The truth is our (mostly) female readers don't want to read about how the guys leave their dirty shorts on the floor or their whiskers in the sink. They don't want to know about how he left the toilet seat up so the heroine fell in the toilet in the middle of the night.

So I think we fall back on certain stereotypes when we write. The guys usually drink beer. They rarely do laundry or cook--unless the author is using one of those to engineer a meeting.

But for some reason they know how to be romantic. They know about flowers and candles and those things that are close to a woman's heart. And if they have to choose between watching the Superbowl game or taking their lady out to watch a chick flick, they always choose the chick flick.

I do not know a single guy, regardless of age, who would do that. Oh, they might do it because they're aware that's the way to get lucky when they bring the little wife home...but willingly choosing to skip the game? No.

Not too many heroes sweat. They work all day at some kind of manly job out in the sun but when they come home and wrap those damp arms around the little woman? She burrows her nose in his chest and hums with contentment because he smells so good. Seriously. Check it out.

And every guy character in the book knows exactly how to fix a car. Any kind of car. They know how to fix the plumbing. And how to install a garbage disposal.

I want a guy who can tell me how to fix artichoke dip. I want one who knows how to run a vacuum, the dishwasher, and how to make me chocolate chip cookies when I need a chocolate fix.

Yeah, I want a fantasy...

anny

Ah! Romance...

Occasionally when I'm bored or have some extra time on my hands, I'll go blog surfing. I came across a blog where there's a hot debate raging over what constitutes a romance. There were some interesting points brought up, but naturally, there was no consensus. It does seem to me that the definition of romance has been stretched out of shape entirely. It's easy enough to look at a story/movie and decide for yourself that it's not a romance. But the problem comes when you're trying to define what is a romance.

At one time, a romance was a male and female (one of each) who met, fell in love, got married, and had a family. That's what was popularly known as the HEA (happily ever after). Then romances stretched to include a widely varied population of vampires, weres of all descriptions, aliens, demons, angels, same-sex partners, multiple partners, and assorted kinky behaviors. Exactly where do you draw the line and say this is a romance and that isn't? What determines which kinky behaviors are too kinky to qualify? How many people is too many? Which non-human participants should be barred from the story?

I'm thinking that it has to do with terminology. Because "romance" comes with certain connotations, it's more and more difficult to make all those extra components fit. There is that narrowly defined required ending of an HEA that becomes increasingly difficult to manage. I wonder if we would do better to call them "love stories". Love stories don't have preconceived notions tied to them. Love encompasses a whole host of possibilities.

We're vaguely uncomfortable stating that a same-sex partnership has a romance. But feel easier about declaring that they've fallen in love. There may very well be very romantic elements in their relationship, but the primary component is that they fell in love. Same goes for the other host of possible contestants. Love is something that can forgive, compromise, cherish, has infinite patience, and fills the heart. With love, the reader feels that all things are possible. Love is a deeper, surer emotion than romance. Love understands that sometimes the deepest love means setting the love object free. Love speaks from the heart.

To me, romance just makes me feel impatient. That's not to say that I would turn down a chocolate bar if the house hunk happened to bring one home, but the picture of candles, flowers, candy and bling as the only worthy demonstration of romance sort of leaves me cold. If you want to ring my chimes, do the dishes. Or carry out the trash. Vacuum the apartment, walk the dog, or cook dinner. Now that's romantic.

I think somewhere along the line, we've gotten away from the true demonstrations of love, of cherishing, and settled for a perfunctory floral arrangement and some cheap candlelight before the participants jump into bed and do the deed. I'm all for hot sex. Anyone who's read my books can probably attest to that. But isn't there more? Shouldn't romances be more about commitment and less about who's doing what to whom?

Commitment implies that you're going to take care of all those nitty-gritty details in life like cooking and washing dishes and laundry and cleaning--all of the participants. That's what life is. Commitment is getting up with a sick child. Commitment is helping care for elderly parents. Commitment is both of you hunched under a car on an icy February night while you change the muffler. Commitment is waiting together in an Emergency Room while they stitch up your child. Commitment is having a funeral for the cat because it was hit by a car. Whatever flavor your love story is, it's nothing without commitment.

Without commitment, there is no romance. Without commitment, the participants can't be secure enough to tie each other up, or have a trio instead of a duo, or settle down with a same-sex partner, or leap into the unknown and embrace a vampire or werewolf. All of those require a commitment that only comes from opening the heart and falling in love. That kind of falling in love is the forever kind--not the "until something better comes along" kind. And in the end, isn't that a Happily Ever After?

Anny

Please drop by and see what Kelly has done to the Saga at www.kkirch.blogspot.com and then pop over and catch Amarinda's take on her day at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com Blessings on your day!