I’m a rebel. Now, most people that see me would NOT think I’m a rebel. I don’t wear black from head to toe. I don’t run around with picket signs in my hand…not saying I haven’t, but usually I don’t. I don’t get in your face about my causes. I’m a quiet rebel.
But my rebellious side had a real problem with me writing romance. Can you believe the nerve?
I didn’t want to contribute to any young person’s false sense of reality. I couldn’t stand the thought of some girl tripping over herself, trying to find “Mr. Perfect” because she read my book, along with hundreds of other and got the notion fiction could be reality.
I’ve since reconciled my misgivings and here are a few of the reasons.
- There is nothing perfect about the characters I write…except their abs. I think the same goes for most romance these days. Characters have turned archatypes on their ears, becoming more flawed and therefore more interesting than ever.
- People aren’t that ignorant. Okay, a few are…but reading fiction wouldn’t change that one way or the other.
- Romance is real…and I’ll prove it to you.
The story begins with me, the lady at the top of the blog, and my glittering eyes on one hot piece of man. The man in question rescues this lady from the fiery burn of a misplaced rope which threatened to slice off her foot while simultaneously pulling her out of a moving boat to the depths of the Ross Barnett Resevior. (Boat safety tip: Disconnect the rope from an inter-tube and firmly secure it and stow the rope inside the boat before you take off!) After administering some TLC, including a liberal pouring of peroxide on open flesh wounds and dinner in bed with a bum foot on a pile of pillows, the man and woman have matching scars. His on his arm and hand. Hers on the ankle and hand. Then a bit of time passes and the couple sets out on an adventure, a 48-hour road trip, 27-miles of hiking in and around the Grand Canyon, and tent camping in a foot of snow at 7 degrees. They survived, even thrived through it all, forming a bond so real it rocked their respective worlds. The lady and hot piece of man got married and had a couple of kids, gorgeous, highly intelligent, wonderful kids. And they are committed to living happily ever after.
Though I’m the one in the relationship pursuing a writing career, I don’t doubt for a minute my husband would succeed at it, if he desired. Below is poem he wrote as part of my birthday present one year. I believe it perfectly sums up our real romance! Enjoy!
All the best,
Megan Mitcham, Author