Samhain Publishing

I don’t write about bad boys. In so many romances the heroine has to tame the bad boy. Suddenly he decides she’s the one, even though he might have been whoring around since he was a teenager. Something about her will make him change his ways. Yeah, right. It happens all the time. Just ask someone like Sandra Bullock.

I don’t find these scenarios believable, although there are wonderful authors out there who can suspend my disbelief long enough to make me enjoy reading about just such a fantasy. But I still can’t write one.

The truth about bad boys is, in my observations, they don’t change their ways. They don’t grow up. They don’t mature. They like the chase and after they’ve caught “the one,” possibly even married her, they’ll eventually get bored and start looking around for something new to chase. Hollywood and professional sports are rife with just such emotionally immature men. They’re everywhere. If you’re a woman and you find men like this attractive, you are not going to enjoy my books.

I’ve gone back to reading Debra Dixon’s book, Goal, Motivation and Conflict, because apparently, after all these years of writing, I don’t grasp what constitutes a goal in a work of fiction. I think I might have problems with motivation, also.

But Debra suggests using “dominant impressions” to describe your characters, so I tried to do that. So far I’ve tagged my heroine as an unenthusiastic cheerleader. Then I moved on to the hero to do the same for him and I wrote the following:
Maybe Ray is boring?
He’s steady.
Helpful
Kind
Intelligent

The heroine has an immediate zing when she first meets him, an almost visceral attraction to him, but why? Maybe because she was married to a bad boy who went back to his old ways when the going got tough in his life and their marriage?

Reliable charmer? Could that describe Ray?

Since she experienced that same sort of zing with her ex and since it ended badly the first time there’s nothing to make her think it won’t again.

I look at that list of traits describing Ray and I see those are things I find attractive in men. I’m not a starry-eyed twenty-something, so maybe that’s why. Can reliable sometimes be boring? Yes, but who needs the drama of trying to keep a bad boy in line on a daily basis? Seriously. I’d find it exhausting. Maybe some women need that ongoing conflict and excitement. Not me. Life’s hard enough. Give me Mr. Reliable. What I’ve learned is even Mr. Reliable can sometimes surprise you.

So what’s wrong with my manuscripts and why don’t they sell? My heroes are too nice. Too normal. Too everyday. Not flashy. You’d think in this world of partner–swapping, baby daddies and sky-high divorce rates, that’d be the new romance novel women are looking for. One about a guy who sticks around, who doesn’t pull the rug out from under you at the first opportunity or takes off when the going gets tough. Why can’t reliability be sexy? Argghh, I make him sound like a Ford truck.

How about “reliable hottie?”

Isn’t it more difficult to make the ordinary interesting? To take the everyday kind of people you and I are or are likely to meet and create a story that while it might not be exciting or adventurous, entertains the reader?

Let’s face it, I’m not likely to run across an undercover spy (or if I did, I wouldn’t know it), a racecar driver or a pirate. I’m average, born and raised in the Midwest. I like a good romantic fantasy as much as the next person, but I also want to think, hmmm, now I can see that happening in the actual world I live in. It probably won’t, but it’s the possibility that makes it a more likely fantasy.

While walking the beach today I thought of “fearless hottie next door” to describe Ray. Fearless in that he’s not afraid to get involved with a woman even after he got his heart tromped on by his now deceased wife. Fearless in protecting a woman and a child, even when it puts his own life in danger. Fearless in trusting the heroine to eventually see what’s right in front of her: A guy who will stick by her forever.

And what’s so wrong with that? Maybe it isn’t exciting. Maybe sticking with one person for 30 or 50 years means you’re boring and unadventurous. Then why are people so impressed by it? Why is it so hard for the twenty-somethings these days to imagine such a thing could happen?

This is where real life clashes with romantic fiction. It’d be nice to bridge that gap. That might be why I wrote A Forever Kind of Guy. Let’s hope an editor sees the same possibilities.