As I continue to putter through the edits of The Hushing Days (and may
I say “putter” is a whole out exaggeration these last few days), I continue to
discover bad habits about my authorial self.
Yippee.
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.
*sighs*
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
