Soul Mates

I don’t believe in soul mates. I used to, when I was young and stupid. Now that I’m old and stupid, I know better. The idea that there’s one person – one perfect person who will love your quirks, embrace your flaws, and provide perfect balance to your otherwise topsy turvy life – in a world of like 7 billion people is too ridiculous to be true.  Not to mention mean spirited on the universe’s part. I prefer to think there’s a team of lets say like 5000 or so people with whom you could, under the right circumstances, have a happy life. A different happy life with each of them.

Of course that’s not what I write about. Soul mates are the bread and butter of the genre.  They’re what every romance novel I’ve ever read – whether the heroine spent her time twirling a parasol or swinging a sword – was ultimately about. In Inbetween, Tab Bennett, the heroine, has a soul mate (or Homecoming as the elvish call it). They belong together. Undeniably. Everlasting.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to get them to their happy ending.

 

 

work in progress

unlike inbetween, which was a talking book, its sequel, underneath, is about walking around. there’s adventure, several ambushes, torture, and knife throwing. there’s a dark forest to cross, a dungeon to escape, and bad guys to vanquish. all of which is a lot harder to write about than tab’s feelings about robbin or lust for alex.

just describing where everyone is standing during a fight is enough to drive a sane person to madness and i did not start out sane. here’s a little excerpt from the fight scene that’s going to be the death of me:

And strangely, although I stood there dotted with blood from a recent impaling and Daniel and Alex were locked in some kind of deadly, magical  pissing contest, I was okay. The old magic that filled the room embraced me, soothed the bite of Daniel’s attack and left me completely blissed out. Which is probably why I didn’t notice the fact that the serving girls were rushing from the shadows, their red eyes glowing in the darkness, ready to rescue their king – or die trying – until they were crouched down in front of him, daring us to move.

“Hello Finnegan,” the beautiful one snarled.

He nodded to her. “Serena.”

“You came back.”

He shrugged. “Said I would.”

With her pale skin and slight frame, it was hard to believe Serena was a threat. But I could tell by the casual, bored to tears tone of his voice, and by the way he kept me pinned to his side but slightly behind him, that Finn felt she was. Later he told me it was stupid to confuse an opponent’s size with their potential to kick your ass.  Second best piece of fighting advice I ever got.

“And this? Is this really what you want to do?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

The conversation was dense with subtext, leaving me on edge but in the dark about why.

“This is what I was born to do,” he replied.

That’s what set her off. Without warning, she leapt at him, growling, a fury of teeth and nails. He pushed me away, attempting to get me out of her reach. Unfortunately, I collided with the edge of the table then slammed into the tallest of the three girls. She rounded on me, punching me before I had a chance to find my balance.

I want to win, I thought. Got to stay on my feet.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I hit her back, hard, and she crumpled to the ground. When the middle girl left Daniel’s side to defend her sister, I picked up a crystal goblet and swung wide, snapping it neatly into her chin. She fell beside her sister and stayed down.

Tab Bennett 2, bad guys zip.

Love is Hard

You know how all this romance novel stuff got started? I read the Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries (which, by the way, are in no way mysterious) and thought “I can do that.” It seemed so easy, like a math problem  even I could solve. In my head, it went like this:

1 beautiful (but unassuming) woman
+ 2 gorgeous (and vastly different) men who want her
÷ circumstance
+ danger
+ grope, grind, squeeze
= instant bestseller

Easy, right? Nope. Wrong. It turns out love is hard. It’s hard to be in, hard to hold on to, and really hard to write about.

Would somebody please tell Charlaine Harris that I’m sorry for doubting her.

don’t judge me

i like romance novels. so what? i like the beautiful women, the even more beautiful men, and the boiling passion that spills over into unbridled, mind-blowing, sheet ruining sex; i like the coy words romance writer’s use to describe the female genitalia and their casual use of the word cock; i like the easily surmounted insurmountable differences that threaten to keep the hero from the heroine; and i like how after dealing with any lingering abusive ex-boyfriends / crushing  intimacy issues / vampires, everyone lives happily ever after.

what’s not to like?