Sucky Romance Novelists

Back in my salad days, a well-meaning family friend gave me two romance novels for my birthday. I think that this must have been because she assumed that that I was much more mature than I actually was. That or she just wanted to be rid of them, because I'm sure my life ambition at the time was to become Batman. Or a writer. The romance novels didn't sit too well with my parents. They forbade me to open a box set of "Anne of Green Gables", because, gasp, the blurb on the back indicated quite clearly that Rilla Blythe, Anne's plucky youngest daughter, experiences her first kiss. Horrors! I needed to be shielded from such scandalous matters for my own good.

Just look at that lusty little tramp.

Needless to say the romance novels vanished down the same hole as Anne. I forgot all about them until a few years later, when I received my first rejection slip from a magazine. I'd submitted a story titled, "The Best Present", about two hedgehogs named Prickle and Spike. The editor critiqued my story and suggested that, "depending on [my] age, [I] might want to read some Harlequin novels to get an ear for dialogue." By this time I was smart enough to head directly to the kitchen and climb up on the cabinets next to the refrigerator. I started feeling around the top of the fridge, and presently withdrew a dusty copy of:

written by Ms. Charlotte Maclay:

Thus, I was introduced to such literary stylings as, "creamy white flesh that cried out for a man's touch."

A professor of mine once mentioned in class that he knew a friend who made a great living on the side churning out romance novels. As a poor graduate student studying literature, he decided it would be a no-brainer. He was studying creative writing, after all! Throw in some ripped bodices and straining manhoods and he'd be able to stop eating ramen!

Wrong. He kept on getting sidetracked by having his characters expound on Blakeian mythology and never got around to the heaving bosoms.

And as more proof that I and my fellow writer friends are still horrible at romantic narrative:

Friend: Hey
Vi: Hey
Vi : What's up?
Friend : I got kissed!!
Vi : WHOA
Vi : DETAILS, please.
Friend : hahaha
Friend : so it was Saturday night
Friend : and we went to go see "The Last King of Scotland".
Vi : glad it was a good experience.
Vi : oh, fun romantic movie.
Friend : yeah its an awesome movie
Friend : we've both never seen it before
Friend : besides, we cuddled in the really scary scenes where I covered my eyes
Vi : awww.
Friend: So, after the movie
Friend : we were driving around in his car
Friend: and we parked by the playground next to my apartment
Vi : uh huh
Friend : we were talking in the car
Friend: for about half an hour
Friend : and then he leaned over and put his arm around me
Friend : and he started kissing all over my face

*beat*

Friend : Ok, it sounds less romantic than it really is.

*beat*

Vi : yeah. I'm picturing slobbery dogs.
Friend : okay, okay
Friend : he kissed along the line of my jaw
Friend : and he started from the back going towards my mouth
Vi : eek, eek, got it! Not too much!
Friend : Oh.
Friend : Well, I'm trying to make it sound like it wasn't a dog.