When I tell people I write romance novels, I get myriad responses. By far, the ones I find most offensive are those people who ask, Do you ever want to write real books? Yeah. I do want to write real books. That’s why I write romance novels.
Over the years, it’s come to my attention just how many hours a day I spend marketing, promoting, writing blogs, scheduling social, filing expenses, the whole nine. These are things I never even considered before I got started, and now they occupy my days and nights, taking up far more time than they deserve, and cutting into the hours I really should be writing.
Romance is for the women of the world who don’t get to hear their stories told nearly enough. It’s for all people whose stories are silenced, it’s a beacon of hope and optimism when things seem really, really bad.
Just because the writer, reader and general populous know how the book is going to end doesn’t mean it’s not a book worth reading – or writing. In fact, I have discovered that writing the books with a required ending is more challenging than writing ones without.
But the one thing that a book must have to count as a romance novel at all is either a Happily Ever After or Happily For Now. The reader goes into the story knowing that everything is going to turn out all right in the end, better than all right, no matter how dire the circumstances may seem.
Every writer has their own style and approach to a story. Some research first, others outline and plan, and some dive right in with nothing more than a name and a vague idea for where their novel might end up. As you can probably guess, I’m not one of those people.
Crying at books has always been a staple. But what I wasn’t expecting, on that sunny Saturday morning in May, late into my junior year of high school, was to fear them.