Flirting with Romance
When I was young--probably around 12 years old--my father caught me in the romance aisle at the bookstore. I had grabbed a novel full of warriors and wizards from the fantasy section and plopped onto the gray carpet, happily turning pages, not realizing that I was facing an assortment of covers displaying buxom blonds leaning into the arms of Fabio-esque heroes.
When I realized where I was, I cringed. My father laughed at me and, when we got home, teased me in front of my mom. I was scandalized. Romance had no place on my bookshelves: those stories were beneath me.
And for a long time, I held onto that belief.
But then, chronic illness would teach me differently.
Guilty pleasures
Growing up, when I thought of romance novels, I conjured images of regency or harlequin book covers, with pastel, hazy, overdone covers like the ones I found myself in front of when my father found me. I held onto the belief that romance novels are cheesy, salacious in the worst possible way, and poorly written.
I don't know where I got this impression from. I didn't know anyone who read romance novels, nor had I ever peeked at the pages of one. I just knew that reading them was shameful, and would mean I wasn't smart or "serious."
Even though I started reading "grown-up" literature in my pre-teen years, the irony is that the young adult books I was drawn to could be qualified as romances. There was shelves upon shelves of melodramatic, tragic novels about teenagers falling in love against the backdrop of terminal illness, mysteries, or just garden-variety school drama.
If I had a guilty pleasure back then, it would be those stories.
Cracked wide open
Even though I thought of myself as a non-judgmental person, my prejudice against romance novels lasted well into my early 30s. I held onto the belief that romance novels are in poor taste and I didn't want that to affect who I wanted to be--a "real" writer.
My perspective began to shift, though, when I was diagnosed with chronic illness. I was suddenly put in a position where I realized how vital it is to find pockets of joy where I can. That meant releasing the tight chokehold I had on what I thought was appropriate given the misconceptions I had about what those things say about me.
This meant embracing my contradictions and even celebrating them. And this impacted my work significantly: I not only became more intentional about my writing, but also more open to new experiences, like my literary tastes.
And in doing so, I unknowingly opened myself to the romance genre.
Love stories
The first romance novel I read was in June 2018, with Helen Hoang's "The Kiss Quotient." I was drawn to the description of an Asian-American, autistic main character who wants to learn about love, sex, and romance. I remember tearing through that novel and being deeply moved. It defied what I thought romance novels were. Yes, it has its cheesy moments and steamy scenes, but it was a new perspective I hadn't yet encountered in my more "high-brow" reading.
Hoang's novel was a gateway. I started to pay more attention to contemporary romance novels, curious about this entire genre I had written off. When I saw that the brilliant Roxane Gay recommended Jasmine Guillory's "The Wedding Date," I purchased the paperback without a second thought and loved the feel-good, down-to-earth story of an interracial romance.
Not long after that, I discovered Talia HIbbert's "Get a Life, Chloe Brown," which caught my attention because the main character lives with chronic illness. This meant more to me than I can articulate. Since my diagnosis, I've been hungry for stories--real-life and fictional--of people who live with chronic illness. I wanted to see myself in those stories because I wanted to kindle genuine hope for what life could still be for me and others like me.
Hoang, Guillory, and Hibbert cracked me open and showed me that romance is so much more than predictable story lines and breathy love-making.
The best written romance novels are all about faith and hope.
Pandemic reading
When the COVID-19 pandemic wrapped its tentacles around the globe last year, I wanted to wrap myself in hygge, just like everyone else. Books have always been my happy place, so it's not surprising that I found comfort in books. I read 98 books last year and many were contemporary romance novels.
There is something intensely satisfying about diving into stories that you know will have ups and downs, but will end with a happily ever after. I didn't think that I was important to me, but I gobbled up these stories while so much felt too painful and uncertain in the outside world.
Reading as a writer
Reading so much romance has also taught me a lot as a reader and a writer. I knew a lot about many other genres, but not romance, so I had little idea of how many sub-genres there are. My curiosity has gotten the best of me and I've explored different ones, from delightful contemporary "own voices" romances to moody dark romances.
As a writer, I've learned that romance novels are great studies in dialogue. The best romance novels I've read have snappy, realistic dialogue that propels the story forward and makes you want more. Subconsciously, the wheels of my mind are constantly turning and questioning why some dialogue works for me and others don't. It's helped me rethink how I approach dialogue in my own creative writing projects.
Something I've grown to respect about romance novels is the sheer possibility. When I've reached a mental block in a writing project, I always am asking myself "what if." That helps me keep going, getting words down on the pages so I have something work with later.
With romance novels, I find that essential "what if" strand runs through the best ones. Some of those what-ifs are more intimate, while other strands have the scope and grandiosity of an otherworldly fantasy novel.
The perennial moral
An unexpected benefit of reading romance novels is understanding acceptance. This is something I wasn't at all prepared for. With each and every romance novel I've read in recent years, there's been the consistent moral of self- acceptance.
Accept yourself for who you are and accept others for who they are. Accept your desires--whatever they may be--and don't judge them. Allow yourself to be your real self.
No matter what package, these are important lessons to reiterate.
Reflection
In exploring the genre, I've realized that my taste for romance has been ever-present. My love for the likes of Jane Austen or young adult novels, for example, are romances in their own right. I've never scoffed at those books, but my ignorance and prejudice prevented me from embracing a set of stories that made me feel.
And as a writer, the highest compliment I could ever give--or receive--is that a piece of writing made me feel something. I know reading the lies of Hoang, Guillory, and Hibbert made me feel because I could see myself in them. I don't think it's a coincidence that what opened me to romance are diverse perspectives I could identify with in some way, shape, or form.
I'm no longer ashamed of flirting with romances--despite some of the truly cringe-worthy cover art. But that's the other moral too: don't judge a book by its cover. Romance novels can be a treasure trove of escapism just as they can be lessons in storytelling craft.
I'm grateful for that.
