Romancing the Blog | Romance Authors and Readers Who Blog

There’s been a lot of ink shed lately over the flagging state of mass-market paperback sales and a lot of theorizing on the part of publishers and distributors on how to fix the problem. The solution that’s been proposed is creating a new size of softcover novels, called upperbacks, which are larger than mass-market books but smaller than trade paperbacks. Quite frankly, this idea stinks. Here’s why:

Even though I have the tremendous good fortune to get a lot of free books at my job (full disclosure: I’m the managing editor of Romantic Times BOOKclub magazine), I STILL go out and buy books. I’m often too impatient (or busy) to get books at my library. And since publishing jobs are not all that lucrative, I usually buy books on sale. Fancy fonts, hard covers or soft–none of this matters to me. I care about the story on the pages. Thus (brace yourselves here, authors), I buy–or have bought–used copies or deeply discounted new copies at BJ’s, Sam’s Club, Wal*Mart and on Overstock.com. Many readers (like myself, before I was told differently) don’t realize that used book sales equal no royalties for the authors. Brace yourselves again, authors, because most readers…wouldn’t care if they knew anyway. (Call it the Napster phenomenon of the publishing world.)

So let’s do a little easy math. If my monthly book budget is $60, and mass-market books are generally about $6 a pop, I can buy 10 books. With the same $60, I can only buy 6 of these new cutely coined “upperbacks” (which are retailing at about $10 each), 5 trade paperbacks (at $12 each) and 3 hardcovers (assuming I use my frequent reader bookstore card and they’re only $20 each). Of course, 10 is better than 5 or 6, and WAY better than 3. By my admittedly one-sided theorizing, mass-market sales should be booming.

Alas, my copy of Publishers Weekly tells me they are not. Call me a cynic, but I don’t think upperbacks are the answer to publishing’s prayers. Though the publishers who’ve jumped on this bandwagon (so far: Penguin/Putnam, Pocket and Harlequin) claim this new format is easier to read with larger fonts, the only thing noticeably bigger in the upperback I peeked at recently was the margins. And, of course, the price tag.

Mass-market readers are genre readers. Genre readers are, in my experience, the most diehard of readers. They read widely and frequently and they’re often on a budget. They definitely don’t want to buy 6 books when they could buy 10. So I don’t understand the logic here. I’m worried these supposedly savvy publishing executives are going to price many people completely out of reading. At the very least, higher-priced books are going to enable the really voracious readers to read less.

Strike that. It will enable them to BUY less. And go to their libraries more, borrow from friends more and–what’s most worrisome for the industry–turn to the Walmarts and the Overstock.coms more. Which means less royalties for authors and less authors able to live comfortably on a writer’s salary. Which means the gradual extinction of genre writers…which means… you get the idea.

The publishers may have the upper hand with these upperbacks, but where does that leave readers and authors?
(Here’s a hint: check out the title of this entry.)

It’s 1995, maybe 1996. I’m a senior editor at Silhouette Books, a division of Harlequin. A high-powered literary agent informs me that her client, one of my long-time authors, is in tears over the art for her upcoming Silhouette Desire cover: “She says the horse is in pain.”

The horse is in pain? What? I go find the transparency in her file. It’s a Man of The Month shot. A very hot guy in a cowboy hat is standing next to a horse. The horse doesn’t necessarily look happy, but do horses look happy?

I confer with a few colleagues. We want to make this author happy. She’s a top seller. Her agent is a big deal. But is the author completely off her rocker? We have no idea. We live in New York City and the only horses we ever see pull hansom cabs along Central Park. They always look miserable. Changing art at this point is very expensive. So the upshot is (as it always is): Will this book sell? The answer in this case is a huge yes. A hot hero! A horse! A corral! A Westerny title! The author’s name!

I call the author and explain that we can’t change the art at this point, but I assure her the book will sell like hotcakes. She’s not appeased. In fact, she’s so upset that she can’t continue the conversation. We hang up, and I feel like dog doo. My colleagues try to console me with the same: “Don’t worry, the book will sell like hotcakes!”

But is that the entire point? Is that all we’re supposed to care about? “Yes!” Publishing is a business!” say some colleagues. “No!” say others, but they’re editors, in the business of publishing books, so the discussion sort of ends.

Fast forward ten years. It’s March 2005. I’ve long since said goodbye to my career as an editor. (I worked at Silhouette from 1988-1998 and then in YA publishing for another two years). I changed hats when I sold my first book in 2000, and ever since, I’ve been a full-time author for Red Dress Ink, a Harlequin imprint. I’m hard at work on the final chapters of my upcoming book when my editor emails me a mock-up of the cover. I burst into tears. I hate the cover. It doesn’t represent what’s inside at all. I switch hats and tell myself to look at it again later; maybe it isn’t as bad as I first thought (though isn’t a first impression how a sale is often made?). I look later. I burst into tears again. I email my agent. I email my editor. I sob to my husband and to my trusty writer friends. My editor (who I adore) emails back: “I don’t share your strong feelings, but we’ll try to persuade people to your point of view.” I decide this is code speak for: the book will sell.

Until I became an author myself—and I don’t mean until I sold, I mean until I actually tried my hand at writing my own book—I had NO IDEA what it felt like to create something with your heart, mind and soul and then have it trampled on, whether by perception, rejection, a stinging review or a cruddy cover (or a great cover, except for that huge animal whose agony is not reflective of your blood, sweat and tears in any conceivable way).

Okay: I have written at least ten different last paragraphs to this post and I keep deleting them all. There was the “trampling hurts” ending. But that led me to think, “oh, boo-hoo, publishing is a business!” Which led me to the “count your blessings” ending. But that made me fidget. Then I had the “is the book will sell the point?” ending. But I know that’s not the point of this post. Maybe there is no great point. Maybe I’m just sharing a story and saying, “I now understand how it feels from this side of fence.”

“I detest vampire books, for instance, and Scottish historicals bore me to tears. But I could fairly judge those books on their technical merits. I could also judge (and, in fact, have read quite a few) books that espouse different religions from mine. Erotica is a different matter. I will not betray my moral standards by reading it.”–Brenda Coulter

“I don’t like being told that what I write doesn’t belong in a romance. That the words I use are inappropriate for the genre. Says who? (In one case, a long time published and RITA award winning category author, that’s who!)–Alison Kent (Emphasis Shannon’s.)

Objectivity and professionalism.

That’s what we expect of published authors in their RITA award judging. In theory, a professional writer should be able to set aside her personal feelings about a book and judge it on merit, right? In practice, there’s a good possibility the erotic romances entered this year were judged as fairly as Canadian skaters in the 2002 Olympics.

Why? Sex and religion.

A reader may resist suspending her disbelief enough to really enjoy a paranormal romance. Or she may not care to read Scottish historicals if she’s aggravated by consistent historical inaccuracies. Some people scoop up every secret baby they can find, while others want to put it out with the garbage. There will always be settings or premises which will rub some people the wrong way. But they’re irritants, and probably something a professional writer could overcome for judging purposes.

But sex and religion are different. They tap into childhood issues, values, and one’s own idea of morality. Family, love, sex, religion, money and politics. The basis of one’s value system–something we are each passionate about. Why are sex, religion and politics taboo subjects on email loops and message boards? Because objectivity always goes right out the window.

A reader’s spirituality and sexuality are not a matter of taste. They are a matter of self. They are a part of our belief systems, a part of our daily living, and not something we are objective about–not something we can–or should–be objective about.

I can’t think of anybody I know who hasn’t given at least some thought to religion. Therefore, readers who don’t subscribe to the teachings of Christianity chose not to for a reason. To ask that reader to objectively read a romance in which the faith of the characters is a fundamental part of the story is an exercise in futility.

Likewise with sex. Women who are uncomfortable with explicit sexuality in romances, or who are offended by explicit language feel that way because of their belief system–a system that has been developed over the course of her life. And it’s probably not something she even gives much conscious thought to. It can be as mild an aversion as “It’s not ladylike” to a strong aversion based on one’s religious beliefs. And I simply can’t believe a person can objectively judge a book that contains something in direct opposition to that belief system, no matter how hard she tries. Assuming she’s even willing to try.

It will be a while before we start hearing about RITA scoresheets, and how the entered erotic romances fared. I hope I’m wrong, but I think the proof will be in the discrepancy scoring. I think you’ll be able to spot the judges who were offended by the content–if they even read them. And I believe the only way to get a fair, objective judging is by forming a Best Erotic Romance category and giving it, as well as Inspirational, an opt-out choice.

The RWA has long recognized the need for an individual category for inspirational romance. Isn’t it time for them to do the same for romances with explicit sexual content?

When I was a kid, I was convinced there were monsters in my closet. Those shadows on the wall were actually the scary beasts coming to take me away. These weren’t the happy Maurice Sendak kind of monsters, either, and definitely not interested in friendship.

Then I grew up and realized monsters didn’t really exist in my closet. Or maybe they moved out after I became a teenager and filled every available inch in there with clothes and shoes

As a writer, however, I have noticed that I still battle monsters in my closet. This time, the closet is my mind and the monsters can be far more destructive. They sit there, just waiting for a moment of vulnerability, and then they pounce, determined to eat my creativity and my career. I’ve met a few of them; perhaps you have, too:

The Doubt Devil: This is the guy who comes out to whisper that you can’t do it. That the last book you wrote was the only good one you’re ever going to produce, that no one really reads your book; they’re all pity buys. He tells you that you can’t do it, that you’re crazy for thinking you can be a success when there are people out there who have more talent in their left eyebrow, that you should just give up and whip out the classifieds because he heard Wal-Mart was hiring.

Little Eddie Envy: Let’s face it. Though we might not admit it in polite company, all of us feel that envy. Someone else sells more copies or comes up with a cooler idea, or wins a contest or gets a better cover. Or, simply, they write a better book, one you can’t ever hope of writing. Envy takes on many forms, and can leak into everything you do. It’s hard to push that monster away, especially when you’re own career seems to going downhill faster than Picabo Street.

The Procrastination Pygmy: This is that little guy who sits on your desk, waving your list of Things to Do just out of your reach. When you go to grab it, to get to work, he substitutes a game of Solitaire or a TV Guide. He’s fast, this guy, and he can plant the idea of delaying faster than you can spit. He’s small enough to fit in your pocket and go everywhere you go so that if you think of whipping out that AlphaSmart to write at the park, he can bound over with a great view or a reminder that you haven’t called Aunt Millie in a week.

There are other monsters in my closet, too, who sometimes join in with the other three and gang up on me, knowing their is strength in numbers. They like to hit me at my most vulnerable–when a scene isn’t going well or an editor is taking WAY too long to read a proposal. Then they fill my mind with all kinds of impending disasters and worst-case scenarios.

While there are a lot of times when I am able to ignore those monsters (or better yet, use them to my advantage, by taking Eddie Envy and making him tell me exactly WHAT I wish I was doing better, so that I can work on that in the current project), there are other times when they creep out of my closet nonetheless. I’m a writer; it’s my job to imagine the worst

So, I’ve taken to learning to work with them. To accept them as residents of my mental closet and to form an alliance of sorts. When I end up procrastinating, I know there’s a reason why I was vulnerable to that pygmy. The scene isn’t right or I’m not working on the right project or I’m worried about something else. Or sometimes, I just need a break. When Envy steps in, I try to use it as a teaching tool so I can improve and reach those levels, too. Or I’ll volley back with reminders of my best own contest wins, great covers and fan letters. As for that Doubt Dragon, I often have to get firmer with him and simply tell him somedays to shut up and leave me alone.

Yes, Virginia, there are monsters in the closet. But you can learn to live with them and even make them work for you. The best part? These guys work for free

Shirley

“I know she’s in the building / I can feel it in my guts / Somewhere within these four walls / is the woman that I love”

In response to recent news that the Romance genre is losing a significant number of readers, a fellow reader stated, “It’s those graphic sex scenes that did it. It’s all sex, sex, sex these days!”

Maybe. Maybe not.

Years ago, one poster said that there is a new but growing trend that will one day cripple the Romance genre. I didn’t take her observation seriously, but I think I’m starting to.

Last year I stumbled across Lisa Gregory’s The Rainbow Season and I remembered how steamy that scene was where Luke and Sarah get together, so I flipped through pages to re-read the scene to, I suppose, relive that sense of … boom! in Technicolor®.

I was startled to discover the scene lasts one paragraph. Just one bloody paragraph! How had this one paragraph managed to leave such a huge deposit on my memory bank that lasted all these years? What is there to do but re-read the book? The “one paragraph” scene still managed to blow me away. It got me thinking about others books.

Like all readers, I enjoy well-developed characterisations, solid plots, fantastical storytelling, vivid descriptions and – my favourite – dialogue. But all genres have those. So, what is that thing that separates the Romance genre from other genres?

I think it’s sexual tension. The kind when – from the moment you realise that there’s something about this man that gets you – he walks into a room and all your senses come alive. Imagine that in a romance novel. More aware the h/h are of each other, tighter this spiral of tension. When it gets really wound up, how will it end? Boom! in Technicolor®.

That’s what happened with The Rainbow Season. It has only 2 brief sex scenes, yet from Luke and Sarah’s first meeting to that ‘moment’, Lisa Gregory took time to build and maintain sexual tension between them to ensure that my emotional investment will be paid off when the moment arrives. That’s what makes romance reading such an enjoyable pastime all these years. *serene smile*

Lately, it’s not the case. I blamed it on being a romance reader for too long, but having read The Rainbow Season and a couple of books I read recently, I don’t think that any more. Especially after I had that realisation, I took a closer look at new releases I read.

Many romance and erotic romance authors – established and new – of those books don’t seem to regard sexual tension important enough to nurture, let alone making it the spine of their stories. It seems that everything but sexual tension comes first. I think this is a mistake because, IMO, sexual tension is the heart of a romance novel.

There’s been some discussions about why is there an increasing number of readers demanding something different, such as more complicated plots, complex or unusual heroes/heroines, fewer genre restrictions, and more risks? It’s been said that there’s a move away from historical romance novels for other sub-genres, e.g. paranormal, futuristic, romantic suspense and such. Some go far enough to go out with the Romance genre.

Some readers reckon it’s because there is too much psychoanalysing going on between the h/h, and some think it’s a case of ‘Too much sex kills’. And those who blame it on lack of variety in types of hero and heroine, settings and time periods. I think it’s lack of sexual tension.

Granted, sexual tension is in the eye of the beholder, but — have you wondered why these days readers go wild for a small selection of romance novels but not other romance novels? My theory is, aside from the obvious, it has something to do with sexual tension.

As I’ve mentioned in my past column, one of the delights of being an author is the contact with readers. Last time I mentioned how my readers love to answer the questions I pose them, but many readers enjoy sharing so much, they don’t confine themselves to answering question. Instead, they send me fan mail.

Since I write humor, it goes without saying that my readers have a pretty well developed sense of humor, something that shows in their e-mails to me. Oh, I get e-mails that are concise and to the point (I like your books. The paper in them is really nice. My dog likes them too. She always licks the covers of them until they are limp and soggy.), but others…well, other people are a bit more creative.

I’ve heard from other authors that they get e-mails from readers raving about their books. My readers tend not so much to rave as to give me orders (Write faster!), or demand stories (You should write Sebastian’s story next. Like, right now!), or to tell me what they didn’t like (Pepper’s cousin sucked! Can I vote her out of the book?). Some of them even give me pointers (Have you ever been with a guy who used [unnamed sexual aid]? It’s mindblowing! You could put one in a sex scene and really spice it up. If you didn’t want to try it out with your husband, I can tell you what it feels like with my boyfriend so you can write accurately about it.) But mostly they keep me humble (Have you ever read Christine Feehan? She writes really good vampire books.).

Today, I thought we’d take a peek into my inbox and pick out a couple of excerpts that show why I love my readers so very much. I can always count on them to cheer me up when I need it most.

Show and Tell #1—I share your pain

Dear Katie,
I read on your diary that you have allergies. I have allergies, too, to all sorts of things, but the worst is pollen. When I get around pollen my eyes and nose swell up until my face looks like bread dough that’s risen one too many times, and my throat swells up and closes so I cough a lot trying to get it open. Then there’s the runny nose! My husband jokes that I should pop corks in my nose to stop Niagara Falls (as he calls it).

Show and Tell #2—George Carlin is funnier than you

Dear Katie,
I tried to find Improper English but none of the book stores had it, so instead I got books by Dave Barry and George Carlin. I really liked the GC one. He’s funny funny funny! You should try reading the book. It might give you some pointers.

Show and Tell #3—Um…looking for the Teen-to-English dictionary…

Dear Katie,
Heyz! Aii waz juss wonderin wat age do gurlz usually lyke boyz becuz aii
think dat aii kinda hav a problem becuz aii m 12 alredy n aii dont lyke
lyke boyz. N all uv my fwens n stuf lyke boyz n sometimes aii feel kinda
left out becuz they sey lyke o hes so qute n stuf but aii m juss left
out since aii dont even lyke boyz n stuf. So yea, aii waz juss wonderin.

Show and Tell #4—If only I had so much power…

Dear Katie,
I saw in the back of the book that you are a Sims fan. I really want to play the Sims (my friend Jessica has it and it rawks!) but my dad, Ed won’t let me have it because he says it takes up too much room on the computer. Can you write him and tell him it’s OK for me to have it? He’d listen to you because you’re an author.

I’ve been watching a client struggle with something that I went through myself a few years ago. She can’t currently read for pleasure. Or at least, not just for pleasure. I remember when I woke up one morning (figuratively) and realized it had happened to me. It had been some weeks since I’d actually attempted to read something that was already published, and, you know, sporting an actual cover designed to snare my attention. In that moment, I realized that somehow I had fallen away from myself. I panicked.

I had always been a reader. As long as I could remember, I’d been snitching time with a flashlight beneath the covers, or hiding my paperbacks inside textbooks during dull classes. All so I could get a few more minutes or hours with favorite characters on adventures that left algebra in the dust. But there I was actually dreading picking up a book that I’d been saving for when I felt I was caught up enough to savor it. Because I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to turn off that part of my brain that was now constantly picking away at what made a story work. Looking for how to sort out the saleable from those that weren’t quite there. Or finding things that I could use to help my own clients improve their work and increase their sales. The worst part was that it turned out I was right. And for a couple of years, reading stopped being an escape – a journey – and became simply another part of my job. The sense of discovery was gone, and I didn’t know what to do.

For a while, I gave up and just pushed through. I read very little published fiction and kept to the manuscripts that needed replies and editorial feedback. But I knew I just wasn’t myself. Eventually, the Inner Reader (perhaps, something of an Inner Child at times) threw a tantrum. I began to look for a way to soothe her pain and to maybe take back a little of my self. The first thing I actually did was try non-fiction. I figured it would be different enough from the day job (ironic, isn’t it?) that it would get me back into the habit of reading on my own time. It didn’t quite work, but it put a chink in the wall. A little bit of light must have shown through, and I found myself studying the piles of books with a speculative gleam in my eye. Because – of course – even though I’d stopped reading them, I hadn’t stopped accumulating them. But I wasn’t quite sure where to start. So I drafted someone to help; or perhaps they volunteered. I’m no longer sure which it was. My best friend went through some of the books, and chose one, bought a second copy, and we read it together. And then we read another and another. It’s been going on for about four years now. I don’t think I’m cured. Or at least, not entirely. I may never be; it could just be a hazard of the position. But I have, in that time, read books until 3am, swearing it would just be one more chapter and then lights out. So, I feel better.

I don’t know how many other people — whether writers, editors, or agents — have had a similar experience. I suspect that there are quite a few. And I don’t know if all of them could be lucky enough to have a best friend like mine. Or if having a reading partner would work for everyone. I’d certainly be interested to know if anyone else has ways of dealing with this. It can’t hurt to have another method in case it should happen again. At this point, I’ve only put a dent in the pile (and I’m still buying!), but now I’m looking forward to choosing the next book and to that sense that I’ve rediscovered myself and my joy in reading. And if I can’t have that, how would I make it in this business anyway?

I don’t watch soap operas. I used to. Avidly. I knew every character. Who they slept with, pined for, or vowed to see in hell. I understood their individual plights as well as the interconnecting relationships. I was/am in awe of the writers who juggle several sub-plots, weaving them into a one-hour adventure. To be continued the next day.

I’ve noticed a similar trend in romantic fiction. (Speaking single-title here since that’s what I primarily read.) Multiple heroes and heroines. Multiple love stories. Interconnecting relationships and sub-plots weaving into one adventure. And, if part of a series, to be continued in the next book.

Pulp Soap Opera.

Mostly, I’m hooked. In ‘Fast Women’, Jennifer Crusie wooed me with Gabe and Nell, and Suze and Riley, and heck for a nano-second, Nell and Suze! I also got a kick out of Jase and Lu, and Chloe. Oh, and poor Margie and that bastard Jack. Crusie introduced a lot of characters, but each one had a distinct personality and strong purpose to the overall story. The large cast and multiple points of view didn’t detract from the central romance. They enhanced.

Another example of stellar ensemble writing is Suzanne Brockmann’s ‘Out Of Control’. I found the romance between Molly and Jones as intriguing as the romance between the primary hero and heroine, Ken and Savannah. Then there were the sub-plots involving Jules, Max, Alyssa, and Sam—recurring characters of the series. All of the characters and storylines meshed beautifully into one compelling book.

Multiple love stories are not restricted to contemporaries. I recently read Lisa Kleypas’s ‘Again the Magic’, set in England, mid 1800s. I was equally fascinated with the central and secondary romances. Why? Because Livia and Shaw were as complex and interesting as Aline and John.

There it is, the key element, in my opinion, to writing satisfying romantic fiction involving sub-plots and multiple points-of-view. The secondary characters need to be as interesting as the primary hero and heroine. If you want me to root for these people, if you don’t want me to skim, then make me care. Deliver rich, well-rounded characters. If they’re nasty, I want to know why. If they’re traumatized or intent on saving the world, provide a little insight please.

Although I’m mostly hooked on ‘big’ romance, there is the occasional miss. I recently read a book that featured four evolving romances and a boatload of recurring characters. I felt cheated because I didn’t get to spend enough time with any one of the couples. Just when things heated up, the story cut to another personal drama. In addition, several minor characters were no more than cardboard cutouts. They did not enhance. They detracted.

I’m not casting stones. I just wrote my own pulp soap opera, and it wasn’t easy. Hats off to writers who do it, and do it well. As far as trends go, multiple love stories seem to be the current rage. Are you hooked?

I can remember the very first time I interviewed a romance author who said she didn’t read romance – and since then there have been many, each saying that she didn’t want to subconsciously "borrow" from other romance authors. But when Alison Kent wrote earlier this month in her RTB column that she no longer reads romance, she raised quite a ruckus – her reason for no longer reading them is that she can’t relate to most romance heroines. Personally I don’t want to read a heroine like me any more than I want to read a hero like my husband. Although he’s as handsome as any romance novel hero, he’d not make any better book material than I would. Like many readers I gravitate toward heroes and heroines who embody characteristics far unlike those I encounter (or like) in real life. If I met a man like many of my favorite romance heroes, I’d run for the hills, and I’m hardly in the habit of knowing women who are a cross between Maria von Trapp and Sex and the City’s Samantha.

I read romance novels precisely because I want to get away from reality, to escape into a world of people different than those I encounter in real life. Now, that doesn’t mean that their conduct should run counter to human behavior – I don’t know many people in real life who, when afraid of the bogey man, would go into the basement without turning on the lights, and that’s the equivalent of much tstl behavior I read – but if I, as a very independent woman, read a heroine who needs rescuing, I may very well love her. After all, escape fantasies often hearken back to our childhoods, when we dreamed of the knight in shining armor coming to rescue us on their white steed. Yes, even us feminists can love a good rescue story…provided we can also read romances wherein heroines do some rescuing too.

So while I may think Alison’s missing out on some great books, I cannot understand some of the strong negative feelings she’s since encountered. In many ways she’s simply saying something I hear every day from romance readers – she’s just saying "I wish authors would…", differently. Even so, though, why does it matter what she herself reads, who cares what she thinks about romance novels as a whole if she herself writes ones that you enjoy? Could she possibly have alienated some readers and/or authors because her column shows a lack of a wholehearted commitment to "the cause" that is Romance? I think that’s an underlying reason, and it baffles me.

Why should an author’s motivations, personal opinions, or even political values affect how you read their writing? All I want is that HEA ending…don’t you? Unless you are, say, an ultra-liberal Democrat reading a romance by an espoused ultra-conservative whose book puts the Republican platform in story form and whose hero is a better-looking Karl Rove, I’m not getting it. As I blogged earlier this month myself, I only care about an author’s writing. Unless they’ve pulled a Woody Allen or Roman Polanski, I can’t imagine what difference it makes whether or not they did or said anything – as long as I like their books.

What am I missing here?

TTFN, Laurie Likes Books

Since I’m one of the erotic romance writers here, I thought why not make my next column all about the hot stuff? If nothing else, it’s a really fun topic!

I like passion in my romance for many different reasons, but the biggest reason is that if I don’t see that these two people are seriously into each other, I won’t believe the happily ever after for a minute. “I give them a month,” I think as I close the book on Mr. and Ms. we’re-such-good-friends who are destined to break up the instant one of them meets somebody who turns them on.

Chemistry is an integral part of love. No, it’s not all there is, but it’s a big part of it. It’s a very powerful force.

But what makes a relationship passionate? Is it the bedroom gymnastics as they work their way through the entire Kama Sutra? Sorry, I think “slipped disc” and the comic possibilities seem endless. That’s not it.

Is it the increasingly exotic settings? Well, no, because if all I can think about is where they are, what’s happening has ceased to be the focus.

Passion is all about what’s going on between the two central characters. What they’re thinking and feeling. What’s at risk for them. Their resistance to change and the irresistible attraction that pushes them into a crisis.

I don’t just want to feel the heat. I want to feel the love. Every interaction between the hero and heroine can express those things. It’s the way they look at each other, the way they touch or don’t touch, and when it comes to the love scene they express everything they feel, including those tangled conflicting emotions, without pulling any punches or holding anything back. It’s sheer unadulterated honesty.

And it’s that honesty that’s the key to feeling the heat in an erotic romance. These two people are naked emotionally and left with no defenses and no place to hide. What they really want and what they really need comes out, not what’s polite or proper or socially acceptable. And in that place of total honesty they can find true acceptance and the basis for true and lasting love.

If showing me that involves swinging from the chandeliers, a weekend at a tropical island nudist resort, or Doing It in an alcove during a party, bring it on. But none of those things are the key to what’s hot and what’s not for me. The characters and what they really feel and need, that’s the key. Show me who they are and what they’d risk anything to have, and I’ll feel the heat.