Anyhow, here’s the latest. Hope it consoles like-sufferers…
When writing a romance novel, I have the terrible affliction of romanticizing everyone.
I’m not talking about making every character gooey-brained with love. Hardly. If you’re looking for a bad guy, give me a day and I’ll sketch you out the orneriest son-of-a-bitch you’ve ever met. Nope, I can do bad.
And I can do good.
I can even do ambivalent, ambiguous, grey-hearted characters who straddle the line between good and bad with dexterity and style.
However, when it comes to the genuinely unkind, heartless blokes that wouldn’t offer a tissue if you were bleeding out at their kitchen table, I falter.
In my romance novels, everybody has a heart. Be it a foul, blackened ticker or a sugar-encrusted thumper, all my people have one… But, alas, not all people in the world have hearts. Sad truth, that. So when I pen a romance, I can’t help but give every poor bloke a bleeding center.
Whether this speaks ill or well of my stories, my muse and I, I have no idea.