There is another, even more delightful element that comes along with the historical romance novels - beauty.
Sometimes I write about important things. This isn’t one of those times. This is one of those times where I stomp my feet and beat my chest and demand that our alpha He-Men are also capable polyglots with an eye for Baroque art and a surprisingly vast knowledge of the erotic language in the Decameron.
This house, specifically, called to my baser self for over a year. What does that have to do with writing? Everything.
In the great spectrum of history and the universe, my Bachelor’s degree does not hold up to the onslaught of information, facts, figures, and theories that make up all of humanity, nature, and what we do not know. And that’s awesome.
“A myth is a way of making sense in a senseless world. Myths are narrative patterns that give significance to our existence.” ― Rollo May
This idea of the muse, of some catch-all messenger of creativity is delightful and fantastical. It’s also completely made up.
It’s hard not to notice that one side of my family’s history is far more represented in the romance novel.