I have fallen down the rabbit whole. I have always known that this whole exists for me. I have maybe sometimes not 100% admitted this to myself, but deep down, I knew who I was as a reader. And it is this. I. LOVE. ROMANCE!
Every single book I read, I am always interested to know who is hooking up with who. Who is falling in love with who? Who is kissing who? I want that emotional connectivity in my novels. Sure there can be space pirates, and high speed chases, and explosions, but who is kissing who? This is the truly important question.
Even if the book is not a kissing book, I’m still wondering if it could be. Example, The Story of Owen, and Prairie Fire by E.K. Johnston, are not inherently kissing books. I knew this after the first book. But did that stop me from wondering in the first book where the romantic liaisons might lie? Not at all. Even getting into the second book I knew who was with who, and yet, a small part of me was still shipping people who had no right to be shipped. I LOVED those books. They where awesome and amazing and funny and truly Canadian. But still, I am who I am.
So this winter, while in a fitful reading slump I took up some romantic erotica based on a book recommendation from a favorite author. Thank you twitter. And it was a snowball. I was like okay I should get back to my YA, I love that stuff, BUT they are not as sexually evocative. Which is cool, because while I am a women in her thirties, these books are not written for me, they are written for teenagers, I just happen to like reading them. Also they shouldn’t be as evocative. I’m not asking them to be. But there is a part of me that wants to mash up some of my favourite writers in YA and there style with edgier romance. (writer brains is starting to think that maybe she can do this. Writer brain lets first finish our WIP)
I am firmly entrenched in the romance genre right now. I keep thinking I might need to take a breather, get back to something else, and then I pick up another romance book. Heck right now I’m in the MC section of that, very sons of anarchy, and I don’t see that stopping. Heck I see myself rewatching sons of anarchy instead.
This is the truth I tried very hard not to admit, because someone who I grew up with was very judgy about romance novels. Very much called them trash. Garbage for the brain. And yet, I love that human connectivity element. I love falling in love with the characters. I like the warm fuzies. Those charged moments. All of it. And so screw you neigh sayers. Romance is my genre. I embrace. You are mine, and I am yours.