Ah, L'Amour

Romance.

Something of a dirty word in literary circles, not just because so much of what's published today under the category of "romance" is, well, smut. (Personally, I have a great deal more respect for those that publish graphically described sex under the unabashed title "erotica" but that's a separate point).

And that's a pity, because love, as a theme, has been popular since time immemorial, not just in women's literature but in legends, in mainstream novels and making some inroads in every other genre. I, personally, love romance, which is why I hate most romance novels I've been exposed to my last twenty years.

Why? Well, first there's the caliber of much of the writing. Just because the plot is basically pre-defined with only a few details to provide, doesn't mean everything else should be throwaway. Cardboard characters, substandard writing, implausible connections and plot devices make many of the assembly-line quality romances available as appealing as cleaning the bathroom the day after a major night of binge drinking. Nor is the caliber of such writing improved by use of a thesaurus (please, I'm begging you). If you don't know what the word means, the nuances of a word, don't bloody well use it. When I see someone riding over the "emerald verdant green grass" on the first page, it's the last page I'll be reading.

But the caliber of the writing is only part of the pain, because, as I've explained a few times in the past, what passes for romance tend to be three different things: (a) [least offensive but least interesting] two forgettable people thrown together in implausible circumstances who show no connection whatsoever but somehow end up as a couple, (b) two people who hate each other all the time, but who heat up the sheets like no one's business (a recipe for romantic disaster in my opinion) or (c) a variation on a or b where we "liven things up" by having the "hero" rape the heroine for spurious reasons. I find all of these the opposite of romance, with the last especially unadulterated misogyny, inflicted on women by other women.

It doesn't have to be that way. Georgette Heyer, still called the Queen of Regency Romance though she's been dead for forty years (and her books are still mostly in print, I might add) wrote engaging, historically believable, entertaining, hilarious love stories with characters of surpassing depth (yes, even her stock characters). Love stories because the people the heroes (and heroines) cared about were more important than themselves, were worth sacrifices, were precious and treated as such. Sex, naturally, was not much a part of these romances, in keeping with the times and the care with which our heroes guarded the virtue of their ladies - because that was one sign of respect and adoration. After all, if a girl was ruined, she suffered far more than the ruiner. I have to add that there's a sophistication to these stories, an appeal that's hard to describe but let me just say I've hooked more than one male friend on these books.

More recently, I've discovered Nora Roberts (who also writes under the name of J.D. Robb for some futuristic thrillers) who manages (at least in all the books I've read) to avoid falling into the trap of lifeless characters and hateful or raping protagonists. She's also quite humorous. However, from what I've been exposed to (and I haven't had the stomach the past decade or so to try many new romance authors for this very reason), she is very much the exception and not the rule.

That's how pervasive these attitudes are in our culture, not just men, but also women. So, why bring it up? I read something today that really got my mind thinking, something that surprised me. Now, as most of you who know me know, I tend toward liberal/feministic thinking. Not going to apologize, just a reminder for those of you who somehow missed that. Most of my friends on Facebook tend the same direction.

So, imagine my surprise when someone posts a link to an article about a young woman who chooses to stay celibate until marriage and how difficult this is to communicate with potential dating partners and how difficult it was to maintain a relationship. Among other things, she struggled with having the convey this message early enough in the relationship but not weird out potential partners on the first date. She even dated a very conservative Christian who not only was the women-should-be-seen-and-not-heard type she found hard to stomach, but also put more sexual pressure on her than her other dating partners.

If you're confused why I was surprised, let me explain that I wasn't surprised this was posted. What surprised me were the attitudes of my liberal, anti-rape, pro-feminism friends who described her as a "fundamentally an extremely dishonest, disingenuous and manipulative individual" because she didn't tell guys on the first date. And not just one person or one gender piped in with more along the same lines: that "Physical intimacy is a normal and healthy expectation of romantic dating" or that she should limit her choices to those on a "Christian website" because "she should stop trying to date men that aren't part of her pretty circumscribed social set." She was categorized as a "conservative right-wing Republican" (not sure why that had to be so) and "drama queen." 

Whoa, wait, what? Since when is it wrong for a woman to decide when and to whom she wants to have sex? Or that she has to give her sexual history to guys (on the first date no less)? Or that she has to justify her position in any way? That sounded to me (and still does) like the "expectation" that dating involved sex was somehow an obligation on her part. And that many, otherwise liberal pro-women people considered the onus entirely on her to warn away potential partners from the get-go. My response (which I'll repeat here) is, why shouldn't someone who feels sex is an expectation say it on the first date: "If you don't put out in a reasonable time frame, I'm walking. I'm only interested in dating people willing to be my sexual partner." (I'm sure that would go over well)

Why is the freedom we've all fought for (and I also defend) for women to share their bodies as they choose to (for any reason they want) not apply to women who, hey, don't want to share their bodies with just anyone?

To be honest, I was appalled, not only that this attitude was so pervasive (both men and women: "I think physical intimacy is a near given in romantic dating, otherwise it is a platonic friendship"), but how insulting it was to both men and women.  Men can't be passionate about someone, love someone without sex? Women can't find someone precious and charming, can't love to spend time and do things with someone she isn't copulating with? That argues that the freedom to have sex for pleasure mandates you must or you are somehow an aberration. And, even if that's the prevailing attitude, I think "majority rules" should have no bearing on what an individual wants to do with his or her body. Talk about the opposite of romance!

(What if your partner is parapalegic or otherwise physically incapable? Going to toss him/her to the scrap heap? Very "passionate!" Great love story!)

Now, don't get me wrong. I love sex. I also, however, see it inextricably linked to love. For me. I don't tell anyone else what motivation they have to have, but that's my motivation. I've had two sexual partners (total) who were also my two husbands. That's not a coincidence. I don't regret having sex with either (even the psycho) and I don't regret NOT having sex with all those people I chose not to have sex with. Someday, I'd like to have sex again, but I'd only be interested with someone I cared deeply about, someone who cared about me. For me, if someone told me they'd drop me if I didn't put out, I'd wave goodbye with a smile. I'm worth more than that. 

Here's the thing, guys (and girls), when people talk about removing the rape culture, we don't just mean brute force, we mean coercing girls into thinking they have to have sex to be loved. Girls (or guys, for that matter) pushed into sex before they're ready or for the wrong reasons often live with a crushed sense of self-worth every bit as painful as a rape victim's. And we need to stop pushing it if we want it to get better. 

I'm all for romance, real romance, where people learn to love each other and, when they're ready, when they both want it, finding love culminated in each others arms. 

But that's just my opinion (repeatedly documented in my own books, I might add). I'm open to hearing what you think. Feel free to chime in.

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Learning from Love - part one

So the word on my Rocket Scientist blog is, though I truly thought I had found my soulmate and loved him, heart and soul, only to be left with a shrug on his part for someone else (two days before my birthday, I might add, with no warning), I'm still qualified to write about love in my novels.

Which is good because it's a big part of all the books I've written and all the books I'd planned to write. But I can learn from this rather humiliating episode in my life to make my books better, more realistic, more powerful, even more romantic (without, I hope, being corny)?

Not sure yet. Hard to write at the moment which is why my blogs have been largely languishing.But can't let that go indefinitely, so here's today's questions, inspired by my having to deal with an "other" woman, for anyone who'd care to comment.

Jealousy is a big thing in many romantic stories, considered proof of caring. On the other hand, loving someone (by my own definition), puts their needs beyond your own. I have not done romantic triangles (or any other geometric shape) to date, but that might come not too far in the future. So, at what point does jealousy stop being about love and start being about ownership? Should you give away the one you love without protest if they truly love someone else? Are the two perspectives mutually incompatible?

And that brings up a side question. If we presume (and I do) that loving someone does not imply obligation on the someone's part, what does it say about an individual if they let the lack of return love (or falling out of love) corrupt the original love. Should anyone base one's love on what they wanted in return? Should it warp if the love is unrequited?

I will tell you how I see the answers to these questions in a later post, but, for now, I'd like to see your own responses. The floor is yours.


 

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Sensual Romance Part 2

Here, I'm just going to talk about guidelines I use when incorporating sensuality+romance in my books. These are things I bear in mind when I write it as well as features/aspects I like when I read a book. Use them only if it works for your own work: there are no hard and fast rules here.

Use all the senses. I've said this repeatedly but it's the one thing I see happen over and over again. Taste, smell, touch, sound and sight can all be used, but also physical reactions, how the individual(s) involved (depending on POV) are actually feeling, how they're reacting, sounds and movements they make. That's another thing...

Don't make it too static. Have the characters gasp and tremble and stroke and move, sweat and slide. Sensuality is to titillate the senses and get a reaction. If your character isn't reacting, your reader likely isn't either.

Get emotionally involved. Physical reactions, including lust, are all well and good but it's not romance unless you have something else as well. That doesn't mean that the emotions have to be in every scene (or even every sensual scene), but if you never tie the sensuality with the romance, the romance will likely fall flat and or the sensuality can seem impersonal. Or both.

Sex does not equal romance. Lust is often associated with romance for good reason and losing control has it's own appeal; however, romance (by my definition) requires a pointed interest in the other person's happiness, which means restraint of that lust or curbing one's own passion can be far more romantic than losing control entirely, particularly if one's partner is not in the same place yet. Or in love at all for that matter. Sexual/romantic tension, in fact, can be quite effective in involving the reader (one could make an argument that sexual/romantic tension is the primary draw for the Twilight series, but I digress). My point is you don't have to jump into sex over and over again in order to get the most from your sensuality+romance.

Leaven your use of sensuality+romance. Just like sensuality (non-romantic) lost it's punch if you use it all the time, same goes for the romantic kind. If your characters are spending every other page mooning, touching, breathing each other's air, etc, those scenes where you really want to draw the reader in or really move the relationship forward can be leeched of their impact. A healthy relationship is more than physical interaction. A successful romance is ideally between individuals that are both contributing to the relationship, people who can talk and interact and work together effectively. Hopefully, there's more going on in the book than just billing and cooing.

You don't have to describe everything. I know, I know, I talked about movement and senses, etc. But there are things that can be implied and, in general, every little movement and/or sexual act does not have to be described in detail. What you want is the reader involved. Once you've pulled them in, chances are they can fill in the blanks themselves. Let them. Part of the charm of books is that your imagination fills in between the lines, so sometimes less is best. Use your best judgement.

Mix it up. Don't make all the scenes sound the same. Using a formula for a romantically sensual scenes is a sure way to dilute them. In real life, people may be creatures of habit, but inflicting that kind of reality on a reader is a good way to send a reader looking elsewhere for entertainment.

Hmm. You know, I think I might just be done with this topic.

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Sensual Romance Part 1

Though sensuality can be used effectively for all kinds of things (suspense, action, grief, relief, etc), there's a reason why it's often thought of in conjunction with love and sex (not necessarily in that order). Romances, sneered at by much of the literary world, are routinely bestsellers (at least the better ones). That's not a fluke.

Writing sensuality well can bring a book or character to life. Combine it with an element of romance effectively portrayed, the reader can fall in love. And that's not limited to romance novels. I probably have 300-400 books on my "favorite, read over and over" shelves in my bedroom. I can probably count on my fingers (if not one hand) how many are completely devoid of romantic elements (note, in some cases, there are books in a series where several aren't romantic while the overall series has a strong element of romance). These are the books I pull down and read over and over, books I fell in love with years ago and still read with fresh eyes at almost every opportunity. There are historical novels (Clavell, Michener, Stewart), classics (Dumas, Brontë, Austin, Hugo), mystery (Sayers, Robb), action/thriller (Ludlum, King), tons of science fiction and fantasy and, yes, romance (Roberts, Heyer). It should be noted that, for those authors I'm passionate about, there are similar rabid fans out there as well. (That's not even counting the manga; ALL of my manga have strong streaks of romance).

Romance, in fact, makes a fine pairing with books that have other strong emotional elements, like thrillers or horror, action-heavy novels, science fiction/fantasy (given that interracial/intercultural elements are often best portrayed through romance) or dramatic fiction (depending on the topic). Thrillers, in particular, do well with romance because there is something particularly compelling about people in fear for someone else as opposed to merely concerned about their own safety. Ditto for people putting themselves in harm's way for love of someone else. Swashbuckling rescuing types never entirely go out of style, though venue and gender can vary a great deal more than it used to. People like to identify with people they can admire and it's a great deal easier to admire someone striving to save someone else, than someone cowering in fear for him or herself (even if that fear is completely justified). Romance readily provides a motive acceptable to most. Fighting might be cool; fighting for somethingor someone is compelling.

My point is that, just because you're not writing romances, doesn't mean you can't take advantage of the sensuality+romance power. I don't think it's a coincidence that James Cameron (director of the far and away most financially successful movies world-wide) almost always injects a key romantic element, even in such hard-core stories like Terminator. I'm not saying that's the only reason he's successful (not hardly), but I think he thinks he believes in romance on his resume (if not his marriage record).

Which doesn't mean a writer has to have it. I do, but clearly I like romance (even if I'm not a fan of most romance novels). What I'm saying is that romance can be a compelling part of any kind of novel. But, as was the case for sensuality and romance as stand alone elements, skill is required to use it effectively. Clumsy "sensual romance" is about as appealing as homemade pudding you find in your fridge six months later. Which is why I don't read most romance novels. Ironic, no?

True, not everyone is as picky as I am, but on this blog, it's all about my efforts to write the best I can write and my personal guidelines (that other writers might or might not like). Half-assed or ineffective sensual romance doesn't interest me in the slightest. That means, when I talk romance, I'm talking about my own view on what romance is (described here) so you might have to adapt it to your own view on romance if you want to use my advice.

More next time...

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Sensuality and Romance: Part Four

So. let's say you get the concept (I'm sure you do) that sensuality is all about pulling on the senses and tugging reactions from the characters. While it's not just about sex, it is about passion, being involved emotionally and physically in what is going on.

My "sensual" scene last time, as you probably noted, was not about sex or romance in any way, and you can inject a great deal of sensuality in any kind of literature without having to have a love interest or even a sexual partner. Scenes, for example, like where Sully is exploring the surface of Pandora, facing off against the bulky herbivore and then the clearly carnivorous panther analog lend themselves well to sense description and emotional reactions. Those are scenes that lend themselves well to sensuality, sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. Hearts race, fear engulfs or minds wonder.

A scene like that is far more effective when given the immediacy that sensuality can provide. In fact any scene where the character in question is struggling with the extremes of emotion can generally be served well with a dose of sensuality: the pain of being left broken after a beating, and the hatred or determination that's required to get back up and face your attacker, the sense of wonder as a small child greets the tiny creature his parents tell him is his new sister, the heartbreak when our hero breaks in only to find he's too late as he picks up the shattered body of his wife. Sensuality breathes life into scenes like this and can brand them indelibly on a reader's mind, quickening heartbeats, inducing tears. Really, isn't that a little bit why we all do this?

Of course, you can certainly use it for simple no-strings physical pleasure, too. Yes, sex. Nothing wrong with doing so, and any number of authors have characters that wend their way through their worlds enjoying the sins of the flesh without getting bogged down in anything so ridiculous as romance. But, be careful. Sensuality is partly about reaction, and sex where you don't feel much beyond the physical is going to be less powerful, in many ways, than sex where your emotions are more fully engaged (which is true in life, too, if my history is any example, but I digress). And you can rapidly lose sympathy with a character unless everyone involved leaves pretty much heart-whole. Start breaking the hearts of innocent maidens with your conquests and, pretty soon, you look like a schmuck (unless, of course, that's the kind of anti-hero you're going for). In any case, when using sensuality in this way, don't forget that you need multiple senses brought in and some form of reaction from your character in order to get the most impact.

A few other thoughts on sensuality in general (romance notwithstanding). While sensuality does great things for pivotal or powerful scenes and a little sensory description is good almost everywhere, try not to go too overboard with your sensuality for every scene. Two reasons for this recommendation:

(1) If every scene has our hero/heroine brought to the extremes of emotion, conflicted or anguished by emotion, the scenes start to all sound the same. I should not be as worked up over running out of toothpaste as I am that my daughter has run off with her boyfriend (whether he has piercings in his tongue or not). By making all the scenes emotionally charged, I take some of the power from the scenes where I need to make an impression, want to really feel a change is in works. Use the power of emotion and senses on those scenes that mean the most to the rest of the story, so that they are not diluted.

(2) Sensuality, done well, stops or slows action. If I'm spending a lot of time talking about what I'm seeing/hearing/tasting/smelling/feeling and my reaction to it, I'm not really doing much. Which doesn't mean you can't tie it with action, but you want to limit it to between action steps and not get carried away with three pages of descriptive ecstasy and two paragraphs of actual movement.

A light touch (lighter than I used yesterday) and a little judgement can do wonders for making the most of the senses, without slowing the story down or diffusing its power.

And, yes, I will eventually be putting sensuality and romance together.

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Sensuality and Romance: Part Three

I changed the title for those of you who were confused by the French. Also, warning, I'm going to talk about sex. Perhaps graphically. (No, RM, I don't know what I'm going to write here any more than I preplan what I'm writing when I do fiction).

I said one could do love, even deeply moving passionate romantic-type love, without expressing the sensuality inherent to that type of thing...but it was challenging to do so effectively.

Expressing sensuality without the romantic aspects is easy-peasy; however, in a way the same goes. Anyone can write about passion. Not everyone does it well. Not by a long shot.

One key reason for that, and the reason I chose sensuality in the title rather than passion, is that the descriptions of passion are frequently short on sensual description, which is fatal. Sensuality is all about titillating the senses, not just sight, but sound, touch, smell and taste as well. More than that, it's the reaction to those senses, what one feels. It's easy to lose sight of that, but sensuality is more than just sex, though it's frequently what comes to mind. It's the steeping of senses and the resulting emotions and actions.

For instance, for that picture that started all this, the story I wrote wasn't particularly sensual. If I'd wanted to focus on the sensuality of the picture, I could have limited myself to describing what was going on in the picture in terms of senses and emotions with no back story.

Pain pulsed through Lawrence as his finger ached to pull the trigger, kill the monster once and for all. Kilee was a demon, his sworn enemy. Untrustworthy, evil, bringing only devastation in his wake. Proof of that was the blood Lawrence shed in answer to Kilee's sharpened nails, warm sticky blood that stained his demon-hunter uniform. The radiating pain for those scores both tore at away at Lawrence's decency, demanding that he kill in response, and stayed his hand. As it was, Lawrence had already lost too much blood, could feel it pooling and cooling on his chest, could feel his heartbeat growing sluggish, starved of blood. His head swam and his hand shook, as his life flooded his front in a crimson wave, mocking him with its coppery smell. Death was inevitable. Unless.

He had enough strength left, physically, he could kill the demon who had deliberately killed him. Lawrence had Kilee where he wanted, in his grasp, his gun aimed at Kilee's head to kill him once and for all. But Kilee could say the same. Even with a gun to his head, Kilee knew Lawrence could hardly kill him when Kilee had the means for saving him. Kilee had cut his own throat and let his blood, the sweet verdant blood of the demons, trickle free to tempt Lawrence, an elixir that would heal Lawrence for this and all future ills. The smell of Kilee's blood overpowered the salty scent of his own blood with its seductive fragrance, the blood a drug so that Lawrence could not pull the trigger and kill this demons once and for all.

Kilee knew, of course, and there was no fear for himself when he spoke, "You need only one sip."

"Never," Lawrence gasped, his slowing heart beat echoing in his ears. His own voice sounded weak and distant.

Kilee laughed and touched his finger to his own blood. "Liar," he said. He touched the bloody finger to Lawrence's lips. Lawrence shuddered, not in disgust so much as ecstasy as he tasted the ambrosia of demon blood. The next instant, his mouth was pressed desperately against Kilee's throat, drinking deeply of that most hated blood, tasting its savory sweetness fill his mouth, hearing himself gulp it greedily, feeling it's healing warmth relieve his heart's burden and bring warmth to his cooling extremities. His fogging mind took on a sharp clarity it had never before known.

Pulling the trigger now would accomplish nothing. Kilee had already won, making Lawrence a demon with the sacrifice of Kilee's own blood. Kilee had proven his point as Lawrence had saved his own life at the expense of his soul.

No bullet would ever change that.

(Yes, I know there's story in that, too. Can't help it, as I explained at the time). Even without understanding the ins and outs of the characters or the real aspect of demons, this is a very powerful scene. Sensual description changes a pivotal occurrence into an an event that stirs emotions and drag the reader into picture. Describing it plainly wouldn't change the actual significance to the story, but it would not be as compelling or powerful without feeling Lawrence's pain and conflict. It makes the characters stronger, more sympathetic, more powerful. It helps weave that magic that lets a reader lose themselves in another world.

Compare that to something like this:

He needed the money she held in her hand. Somewhere, his wife coughed away, caught by the horrific disease that killed within days. The cure, quick and effective, was available only to those with money, money like this woman was offering so casually.

"What do you want from me?"

She licked her lips. "You know what I want." Yeah, he did. A woman looks like this, she wants a man in her. If he hadn't known, her fingers at her buttons, removing her shirt would have told him.

It's not like she wasn't beautiful. Her eyes might be hard, but her body was as curvy and appealing as only money could buy. When she unfastened her belt and let her pants slip down to the ground, he could see her ass was just as round and perfect, the kind of body that made a man's mouth water. Of course he wanted her. Who wouldn't?

He cleared his throat, but didn't move his eyes from her body. "I'm married."

"So am I. I'm not asking for a wedding ring, loverboy. I just want a little of your body temporarily."

His body was responding, his fingers already pulling at his clothes. "I'm not a gigolo."

"Sure you're not," she purred as she slid her body next to him, and kissed his neck. "Take me."

He said nothing more, just lifted her perfect body and buried himself in it, grunting as the passion over took him, blinding himself to anything and everything but this act. This woman. This feeling. This need.

When it was over, he felt drained, but not satisfied. "Thanks, loverboy," she offered, leaving the money on the counter where her ass had been seconds before. She was dressed and back to looking slick and perfect within minutes. "Feel free to leave the money if you don't really think you're a gigolo. We both know you wanted me, too."

His fingers scooped up the money as if she would change her mind. She just laughed as she left. He could save his wife now, he told himself. That was the important thing. But she'd never forgive him if she knew where he'd gotten the money, how he'd gotten it. She'd never believe he hadn't wanted to do it for his own sake.

And she'd be right.

Can you see the difference in that? How little power this pivotal event has comparatively? How much harder it is to sympathize with the man, even though, on the surface, his motivation is more noble. The act has far less power, not as much because it meant nothing, but because his involvement is ambiguous. We don't really see or feel the conflict. We're told he wanted her, but we don't feel it or get dragged in. It was actually really really hard to write that without putting in more sensuality and conflict. Writing that way is habit-forming, yet I've seen many key passages in published books as cold and flavorless as this...or worse.

I'll continue with sensuality without romance next time since this post is long enough. See you later.

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Sensuality and L'Amour: Part Two

Shakespeare mentioned that she preferred sensuality to romance. Well, I'm not a big one for sensuality without romance, but I have to agree that romance without any sensuality generally doesn't do it for me either.

Love without any physicality, any contact, any sense of touch or scent or taste is, well, flavorless and bland unless the writer is very very good. Can it be done? Yes. Austen and Heyer, both writers I admire, even love, wrote about or during periods of time where discussing scent was probably a mistake and when touch was mostly taboo. Somehow, they managed to convey humor and affection, love, even passion, with dialog and with a few well-chosen descriptions (sight and sound).

But, it's a lot more work.

He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

****
"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

That's Pride and Prejudice and, I have to admit, especially taken out of context, it's hard to recreate the romance. Having said that, I know I'm not the only woman out there who still gets a thrill from the book, old-fashioned and chaste though it might be. If my imagination must provide the scenes left modestly out of the text, I am given characters and a sense of the emotional pull that drives them. For someone with an imagination like mine, that's enough.

But saying "XXX loves YYY" isn't enough, not even if you pull out your thesaurus and find a dozen synonyms for "love." Romance and non-romantic love has to be sold to the reader, demonstrated through word and deed. Can I tell you how to do it?

I can tell you how I do it, but not everyone sees love like I do. There are certain minimum parameters involved in love, in my mind, that include modicums of self-sacrifice, understanding, trust, protectiveness and friendliness. For romance, I usually add a measure of yearning, whether or not that desire is fulfilled.

That means that getting "it" is not more important than the happiness of the one you love. If "it" is, that's not my definition of romance. Oftimes, self-restraint is romantic. Love can mean protecting the one you love (and that's not gender specific to me). Love can mean being happy in each others company and dealing with your loved one as honestly as possible.

Nor is love limited to kisses and proposals. Love can mean doing things you'd never do for your own sake (up to and including protecting yourself). Love can mean believing something even when all the evidence argues against it. Love might be reflected in something as simple and meaningful as forgiveness or patience or gentleness.

That also means that love can be portrayed any number of ways quite effectively without contact like the hopeless empathy of the fictional Cyrano de Bergerac or the supreme sacrifice of Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities.

But that's how I see romance. If you want to inject romantic elements into your book, you have to decide what you see love as and make sure those elements are reflected in the work itself. Romance in a novel is one of those things that must be shown, not told, or it comes across as flat and colorless. Unless, of course, that's what you see love as. :)

Next time, sensuality without romance.

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Sensuality and L'Amour: Part One

So, that was some picture last time, right? My daughter (16) who reads the same manga, brought it in to me saying, "You know, I'm not into guy on guy, but this is like the sexiest picture ever." I agreed, which is quite ironic given that the two men in the picture are not only not romantically involved but hate each other profoundly, largely because they both love the same woman. And both are in this picture, in this posture, as a direct result of that love. Zero (the one with the gun) so he wouldn't be driven mad and Kaname (getting slurped) because the woman he love cherishes Zero and he wants Zero beholden to himself so he can protect the girl when Kaname can't do it himself.

Now, why am I talking about this? Because it occurred to me that I hadn't talked much about sensuality and romantic love with regards to writing, and I think it's important. Not just because I'm a hopeless romantic (though, I am), but because this kind of relationship is a common one, not just in romance novels but every other genre as well. Even if the romance isn't central to the story or the primary protagonist(s), it's quite likely to factor as part of the motivation behind one or more other characters. When I talked about relationships earlier as part of the recipe for making a good story, this was one of the key kinds of relationships I was talking about.

I bring up the picture from last time to start the discussion by making you aware of the difference I see between sensuality and romance. The picture I pointed out was very sensual, obviously touching on more than one sense. Yes, yes, I know a picture is visual, but there was a sense of touch (wet blood), taste and smell (same wet blood, possibly gunpowder), movement and emotion. It would not take much to imagine the sounds. The picture was provocative (I presume deliberately so) and sexy.

What it wasn't (without knowing the back story) was romantic.

I bring this up because, far too often in my opinion, many novels don't make the distinction and trot out relationships that are filled to bursting with lust and sensual description but no depth beyond that. Sadly, a frightening larger percentage of these novels are labeled "romances" but I digress.

Now, I'm not against sensuality by any means. I love it. Nor do I think a book can't have sensuality without romance. But, as a writer, I think you should know the difference and understand what your characters have and why. Then write accordingly. Why? Because clumsy sensual scenes are far less objectionable if you have a real romance on your hands. People who are in love are frequently stupid or nonsensical. But, if your book is filled with sensuality, but no real love, you need to make sure you're doing your sensuality well. Cause crappy sensuality with no love is basically bad porn.

I mean, if you're going to write pornography, make it good at least. Sheesh.

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Progress. Progress - What fun!

I'm updating my sidebar with the progress on the two projects I'm jumping into. Hopefully, this weekend, I'll be adding some info on the short stories. I've got to get off my duff and start marketing some of those. I have a few I think are good to go, or thereabouts.

I'm particularly pleased with my progress on Lee's. It will probably drag and leap as I'm able to incorporate this and that of the huge wealth of writing I'd already gathered, but this is a completely new beginning for it, so it's starting slow. On the other hand, I read the first chapter and Lee is thoroughly thrilled. Apparently, I have just the voice, just the aspect of the main character he wanted, so, if it's going slowly, it's going well.

I'm just as pleased that my old Regency Romance (in the Georgette Heyer style) was further along than I remembered. It's so completely different from the other, it gives me a great change of pace when I run aground. And, since I have nearly every Georgette Heyer the poor lady ever wrote (including nearly a dozen on my ereader), I can immerse myself in her world whenever I want. And that's pretty cool, too.

Damn, I LOVE writing!

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True Romance

A surprisingly large portion of my favorite books, from classics to all genres, involve a measure of romance. Not just romance, but romance the way that I define it.

Sadly, in my opinion, many romances, at least today, have lost sight of that same romance.

See, when I speak of romance, I mean loving someone more than yourself. Not letting yourself be destroyed by them, but willing to sacrifice yourself on their behalf, which is something different.

Most of today's romances have heroes that demonstrate their love by losing control of their lust, even raping, with a woman, no matter what the consequences to her and/or tossing her aside with prejudice at the first hint (however meager) of infidelity or betrayal. Female protagonists seem to either be a male version of such a scumbag or a limp doormat ready and willing to be kicked around by the hero because she's set on fire by his touch (no matter how intractable she is otherwise).

*Barf*

The notion, central in my opinion to true romance, of making sacrifices or adaptations for the well-being of another, including restraining one's own lustful urges if they will do harm (as they frequently do in romances) seem very much the exception and not the rule in today's romance...and more's the pity. Romance means trust. Romance means working for their happiness rather than obsessing on your own jealousy. Jealousy is not romantic. I will note that at least two of the most successful romance authors ever write true romance the way I see it.

That should say something, if only I'm not the only one out there who is more enchanted by love between partners, where sex is friendly, consensual, and even foregone if it will do the other harm than I am "love" that is basically unstoppable, even brutal, sex in graphic detail between two people who do nothing but hate each other when not in the sheets together (and sometimes there, too).

I love love, believe in it, live it. Nothing makes me fall in love with a character like being truly romantic (per my own definition). Nothing makes me shut a book faster than sacrificing your lover to your own selfish interests.

There, I said it.

Now I feel better.

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