...But you look so normal?

Not too long ago I was at a friend's framing shop. I had stopped in to say hello and catch up, but seeing as she was busy, I told her I would come back another time. Needless to say, she asked me to stay, saying she'd only be a minute finishing up with a client that had come in from New York City to have some custom work done.

We all got chatting, and my friend mentioned that I was an author, and had been successful with recent book signings at a few local Barnes & Nobles. The look on the client's face was nothing short of incredulous. It wasn't because she had read my work and couldn't believe I had scored book signings at such a big chain, nor was it because I was a small pubbed author...it was because she couldn't believe I was an author at all. And her reason?

"But you look SO normal!

She simply couldn't wrap her head around the idea that someone with talent could walk around without being pierced, tattooed, or sporting mutli-colored neon hair.

"That's certainly not what we see walking around the city?" she said staring at me like I was some sort of anomoly. I half expected her to turn me round and ask me to open my mouth so she could examine my teeth.

I politely told her that while those things may very well be the "costume de rigueur" of people who consider themselves creative, true creativity lies in how one dresses the mind, not the body. And while fashion choices may be an outward show of a creative mind, it certainly ISN'T a pre-requisite for one.

Now I'm no stranger to the stranger types...I hold an MFA from the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, and have my fair share of friends who choose to dress as such, but that doesn't automatically make them more creative or talented than anyone else. Sadly, in my opinion, it almost makes them cliché, a stereotype of just the thing they are trying to rage against.

For Romance Writer's the stereotype is even sadder. When most people think of us, it's usually the image of a lonely woman sitting in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, conjuring lovers and adventure in her imagination. In other words, one step away from being the neighborhood cat lady. If that description just made you go "eeewww", then you get it. Thankfully, for most of us that image is far from accurate, and the same goes for the people who read our work.

On one of the Amazon forums, a woman once described what we write as 'white noise', what she reads to dumb down her mind after a busy day. While I don't mind the idea of our genre being escapist, I do mind the stereotype that it's somehow less than, and to say that it's something one reads to "dumb down a mind' is insulting to those of us who work so hard at our craft.

Stereotypes are hurtful and wrong... especially when they bleed into your personal space.

Marianne Morea

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, I Am My Mother After All...

This past Saturday night, my darling husband and I attended a Cystic Fibrosis fundraiser for a family we know affected by the disease. It was a wonderful event. Good food, good music, great friends and a fabulous cause...and of course, lots and lots of pictures taken.

That's when I realized things were no longer the same... As we sat laughing and having a terrific time, cameras were busy snapping candids and all was right with the world...that is until I hit the back button. I started scrolling through the pictures and found myself staring at the small lcd screen, the words "Oh my God, is that what I really look like?" reverberating off the walls of my brain. Why is it that men always seem to get better looking with age, but as a woman approaches the most vital, most productive, most creative time in her life, everything else seems to go south along with her boobs? It's the ultimate betrayal. Mother Nature's practical joke on womankind. Sunday morning I got up and took inventory of my face. As I stared at myself in the mirror, it was the first time I saw shades of my mother's face looking back. The transformation isn't complete, but the outlines...along with the crowsfeet...are there. Squaring my shoulders, I realized I had a choice. I could either view my newly discovered signs of aging as badges of honor or signs of decay. Which was it going to be? Like with one of my stories, it became a matter of POV. Was I going to allow myself to wallow in what the world tells me is beautiful, or was I going to do some world building of my own and create my own definition? So, botox or battle scars? For my own sake, and for the sake of the two girls I am trying to raise till the day they find me staring back at them from some mirror, I decided to place my bets on my own definitions. After all, words are my weapons...and whether or not they are on the written page, or in the mantra I tell myself everyday...they are powerful. I am powerful. I am beautiful. I am woman. What's your definition?

It’s All About Emotion – or – Why Should I Care?

Over the years, I’ve worked with many writers, helping critique and edit their work. Some were newbies, some previously published. And many times, despite an interesting storyline and decent writing, I found myself either frustrated or bored. Why?

Simple. When it comes to romance stories, it’s all about the emotion. Let me hear an, “Amen, Sister!” or at least a “Duh!”.

As I’ve looked through these stories I’ve been asked to assist with, my most frequent comment has to be this: “But, how does it make her feel?”

Too often writers get caught up in explaining what’s going on, and forget that we’re supposed to be deeply inside someone’s body and mind. You have very different feelings from the same action.

For instance, when someone the heroine is attracted to brushes an errant lock of her hair away, and his fingers brush her cheek—she’s going to feel something. Does it make her shiver? Does it make her blush? Does her heart leap into her throat? Does she stutter over what she was saying?

On the other hand, perhaps the villain has her imprisoned, and does the same thing. When his fingers brush her cheek, again—she’s going to feel something. Does she flinch away in fear? Do tears spring to her eyes. Does she gag?

How does it make her feel?

Recently, I was reading through a love scene and the author very skillfully led us through the action. I knew exactly what was happening, but I was completely disinterested in what should have been an integral and defining moment. It read something like this:

He pulled her down onto the bed. She tugged at his T-shirt until he lifted his arms and she could slide it off. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a moist, hot kiss. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head even closer to hers.

And, on and on it went. Do you even know who’s POV we’re in? Do you care? I didn’t. I want to know how she feels (and, yes, we were in the heroine’s POV). How much opportunity was lost by this author to reel the reader in, to involve them in this moment? I don’t need to know where each various body part or article of clothing was. I know how it works. What I do want and need to know is whether his breath against her cheek made her quiver, or if the feel of his skin against her hands took her breath away. Did her lips linger over his for a moment in a kiss like none other she’d known?

How does it make her feel?

When her mother dies, or her dog is run over, or her sister tells her that she needs a kidney… don’t tell me what happens. Note the difference in this writing (mine, written on the spur of the moment right now, in case you wondered):

“Rover, no!” Jessie grasped for the leash a moment too late and watched as her nine year-old terrier dashed into the busy street. She looked both ways before following, one hand up to warn the drivers she was crossing in front of them. Horns honked and tires squealed, but she was focused only on the little body darting to and fro before her.

Are you drawn into this story? Do you care what happens to the dog or the heroine? Would you put this book down at this point, and not worry about when you picked it up again? I would.

Now, try this on for size:

“Rover, no!” Jessie tamped down her panic as she failed at a desperate attempt to hang on to the slippery leash when her nine year-old terrier dashed into the busy city street.

Without only a fleeting thought to her own safety, Jessie looked both ways before leaping into the traffic herself, holding up one hand to warn the drivers she was crossing in front of them. Horns honked and tires squealed, but she didn’t care.

Visions danced before her eyes—Rover as a three week-old puppy, rejected by her mother; Rover snuggling in the crook of Jessie’s neck every night for warmth and comfort; Rover licking the tears from Jessie’s face when David had walked out on them.

Nothing was more important in this moment than Rover’s safety. She was everything, the only thing, that kept Jessie sane. If Rover died, Jessie didn’t want to live.

Better? Do you care whether Rover lives or dies? Does this at least give you an idea WHY Jessie leaped into traffic after her dog? Do you know how she feels?

If I could give any one recommendation to romance writers (aside from proper grammar, which should be—but is often not—a given), it would be to take every advantage to show emotion. If your readers don’t care about your characters, if they don’t understand motivation, why will they bother to finish the book? Or worse, why will they ever pick up another one?

What about you? What helps you identify with the characters? What pulls you into a story and holds you? Why do you keep reading one book, but put down another?

Visit Marianne Arkins at her website or blog.