The "I'm Clean/Condom" Scene

Okay, be forewarned.  This is going to be a frank discussion about my opinions on condom-use during sex and how it's depicted in romance novels.

Anyone who reads romance has seen variations of the scene I'm about to describe.  It usually doesn't happen with the first sex scene, but there are good odds of it happening later on.  The couple is ready to make love when they realize they don't have a condom (because they're on the run, or they've gone through the original pack).  There's a brief discussion that includes some or all of the following:

- I haven't been with anyone for <X length of time>
- I've been tested recently and I'm clean
- I'm on the pill/shots/am infertile so we don't have to worry about pregnancy

I'm not casting stones at any other authors.  I've adored and recommended books where this exchange happens.  But it has begun to bother me, especially when the main characters haven't known one another very long.  Pushing someone to have unprotected sex is not an expression of love and caring.  Blindly accepting someone's word on their sexual habits is not a sign of a secure relationship.  And I'm not even going to get into how it sets up an implied hierarchy of intimacy where unprotected sex is higher than sex with a condom.  Or how it implies condom use is a transitory phase in a relationship.

What really throws me out of the story is that I've only rarely seen a character even mentally question the other character's declaration of non-risk.  No one seems to ask "could this person be lying to me in order to have sex?"  It makes me want to shout at the characters: Look, **I** know everything is fine because he's a romantic hero who will be worthy of you before we reach the last page, but you can't possibly know that yet!  Have some self-protective instincts!  He's a hero, he'll support and protect you if you just ask him to!

I may have occasionally said these things out loud, leading to a number of awkward conversations and at least one incident where I was asked to leave that particular coffee shop.  A true hero will never do anything to put his partner at risk, so when I see those statements in a romance novel, I know they are intended to be true.  But without the protective framing of Once upon a time and happily ever after, that's not always a guaranteed thing.  Sadly, there are still a depressingly large number of real life men who will push their partners into unprotected sex and who are often not honest about their relative health or sexual history.

Another aspect of this exchange that I find troubling is that this discussion usually takes place when the couple is in the middle of a clinch.  One of the things we've become aware of is how sexual arousal affects decision-making.  Studies have shown that horniness impairs a person's ability to make rational and well-reasoned decisions.  The level of impairment is similar to being drunk.  Like, impulse buying a bunch of commemorative plates online at three a.m. level drunk.

This led me to a chain of thoughts: individuals cannot give consent to sexual activity when they're drunk, which means they also can't give consent if their mental processes are scrambled because they were in the middle of hot foreplay.  Particularly they shouldn't be expected to give consent to riskier sexual encounters than were initially agreed to.  Especially when the relationship is still in the getting-to-know you phase when the couple don't yet know about the secret agreement to sell her vineyard or the mysterious tragic backstory that keeps him awake at night.

As you can see, I have strong opinions about this topic.  I'm hoping that more romance authors are starting to think about this particular dynamic.  Consent is becoming a bigger part of sex scenes and frequent check-ins to make sure that all partners are good with what's happening are being modeled more and more on the page.  I'm really pleased to see that, but as a reader and author, I'm ready to take the next step.

Because of my strong opinions about condom use and consent, the sex scenes in my upcoming release, Division, are structured a little differently.  In one encounter, Vincent realizes he doesn't have a condom.  Annika is waiting for him to pressure her into unprotected sex (at which point she plans to reveal that she has already bought condoms and has them ready), but instead, he calls a halt and tells her that he will go out and get some before they have sex.

To me, that is a wonderful expression of caring for and respecting your partner.  There's no implied "if you really loved and trusted me, you would be okay with proceeding without protection."  Condom use is taken as a given and my hero will do what is needed to protect her, even when that action requires a lot of willpower on his part.

I also included a scene where Vincent waits until after he's given Annika an orgasm before he pauses to make sure she's still willing to have penetrative sex.  He wants her to choose to be with him without any distractions from her body or mind.  He wants her to choose him, not just be willing to proceed with any reasonably attractive guy.

In both of these scenes, the determination to protect his partner is part of demonstrating the increasing emotional connection between the characters.  They are falling in love and discovering the intensity of having a physical and emotional bond with another person.  It's honestly the best feeling in the entire world and I wish everyone had the option of feeling it every day.  It's why I write romance.  It's why I read romance.  I believe in the power behind those feelings.

Division is up for pre-order now and will be releasing in July.  My Lalassu series is set up so that every book is a stand-alone story, but there's also a overall story arc that runs through the series.  If Division appeals to you, feel free to jump right in.  But if you'd like to start at the beginning, you can pick up the first book of the series, Revelations, for less than two dollars.

Previous post: Reclaiming My HEA: Hunkering Down (Sadly, Without Hunks)

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The Despair Moment in Romance (My Favourite Part)

This may seem contradictory, since I've long said that the main reason why I read romance is for the reminder that no matter how bleak things seem, there is always a spark of hope waiting to ignite a happily ever after, but my favourite part of any romance novel is the despair moment (also known as the black moment).


This is the moment when everything seems impossible.  When there are huge, seemingly impenetrable barriers between the love interests.  (To cite a few movie examples, in While You Were Sleeping, it's when Sandra Bullock's character decides to marry coma guy instead of his brother, whom she has fallen in love with, because he won't tell her how he feels; or in The American President, when Michael Douglas torpedoes Annette Bening's environmental legislation in a Washington Hill deal.)

The despair moment has always been the part of the story which stands out in my memory.  If the story has been written well, when that moment hits I am living the experience with the characters.  I feel all of their pain because I am completely invested in them.

I am also strangely drawn to despair moments that include the apparent death of one of the main characters.  I'm not a fan of fridging (hurting/killing a female character to motivate a male character), but there is something primally powerful about a character who truly believes that they have lost the person who defined their existence.  (It counts as a faux death rather than fridging if the following criteria have been met: 1) the relationship between the characters has been an ongoing focus of the story so that the readers/audience are invested in both characters; and 2) the "death" is resolved to still give a happy ending.)

I think the reason this particular version of the despair moment resonates with me is because there is a brutal honesty to it.  When a character believes their love is gone, they no longer have any reason for fakery or coolness.  It's a vulnerable exposure of everything they've been too afraid to say.

One of the earliest narrative memories I have is from a Saturday morning cartoon.  I don't even remember which one it was, but I remember the scene vividly.  There had been hints of a romantic relationship between two characters (hints I always devoured because even as a child, I was a shipper).  One of them was poisoned and despite heroic efforts, died.  The other walked away from her bedside, ignoring all the others.  He went outside into the rain, fell to his knees and howled his anguish to the skies.  (It turned out that she was not dead though!  The poison mimicked death so that the bad guy could kidnap her for a reason which I no longer remember but the good guys rescued her and then they went back to the not-saying-anything-to-each-other holding pattern.)

In the TV show Fringe, a romantic relationship develops between Peter and Olivia, the two leads over the course of four seasons.  (Spoiler coming for those who haven't seen the show.)  At the end of season four, Peter's father shoots Olivia in the head to stop the world from ending.  The naked despair on Peter's face as he runs to her side and begs her to be okay is heartbreaking.  He is absolutely broken in this moment and I could see the regret for all the lost opportunities where he didn't have the courage to share his feelings.  (But it turns out that his father has a way to heal her, once the bad guys are convinced their plan has failed.)

Turning to a book example, in Kristen Ashley's Breathe, the heroine is buried alive with a cell phone to say goodbye to the hero.  She tells him that she loves him and she doesn't want him to be destroyed by her death, she wants him to live on and be happy.  He is tearing apart the entire town and crossing some serious moral lines in his search because he's realized he doesn't care about anything else, not his profession, not his reputation, nothing except her.  Because if he loses her, he loses everything.  (He does find her and she's okay.)

These moments don't happen easily.  It takes a lot of careful work to make certain the readers/audience are connecting with both characters and want them to succeed.  The despair situation needs to feel natural and not contrived, and hopefully it comes as something of a shock.  It should violate the happily-ever-after expectation (and then swoop in and make it even happier than expected), convincing the reader/audience that this time might actually be the last.

When it's done properly, it shows a truth that can't be revealed any other way.

Most of us will thankfully never have to experience this kind of pain.  Which is good because such deaths are rarely fakes in the real world.  But I think the appeal lies in knowing incontrovertibly how someone else feels.  If a person throws themselves on a grenade, or shelters you with their body, then that's an instinctive reaction which can't be faked.  Losing something makes us realize how much we truly value it and reveals our ego-protective excuses as meaningless.  It brings everything into clarity, and real life is rarely clear.  But in the stories we read or watch, that moment is priceless.

So it isn't contradictory that I love both the despair moment and romance's promise of hope.  The happily ever after is the reason why I love the despair moment because I can trust the author to take me from the pain into joy.  And that's what keeps me going.

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The Line Between Romantic and Creepy

Recently I read a comedy article about the awful relationship advice contained in romantic comedy films.  There were some very valid criticisms about the tropes in such films, such as the coercive implications when a boss pursues an employee, people who fall in love with their stalkers, people who throw over presumably satisfying relationships to pursue the thrill of a chance-met stranger, men remaking women into their dream woman, and the perennial issue that I find particularly challenging, the hero who just "knows" that a woman is into him despite her vocal and frequent protests to the contrary.

A hug or a restraint is all in the experience of the one being held.

A lot of these criticisms can be summed up in one simple issue: what does the object of the character's affection truly want?

The black moment is a standard point in the plot arc.  It's the point when it seems impossible that the characters can be together.  Most romances follow the black moment with the grand gesture, when one character (often the man) does something public and dramatic to demonstrate that he is committed to the relationship more than anything else in his life.  The grand gesture is often the apex of the hero's character arc.  And it's usually one of the most touching and emotional parts of the story.

And yet critics of rom-com films have rightfully pointed out that the grand gesture can often also be interpreted as creepy.  A guy standing on your driveway with a boom box, blocking you from leaving?  Breaking up a wedding to proclaim your love for the bride or the groom?  Grabbing a person to kiss or grope them without any sign of their consent?  In real life, these are behaviours more like to lead to restraining orders instead of true love.

In a film, the hero doesn't know if the heroine is still willing to consider a relationship with him.  That's part of his character development, he's gambling on happiness rather than playing it safe.  However that is exactly the opposite tactic that people should follow in real life.  Because the truth is, unless you ask, you don't know what the other person is thinking and if they are no longer interested in you (or were never interested in you in the first place) then you have crossed a very important social boundary.

When I was researching emotional expression, I came across an interesting interpretation of the purpose of disgust: it's a sign of belonging.  If we are both disgusted by the same things, then our mutual connection to a particular group is reinforced.  And in personal relationships, suspension of disgust is a sign of affection.  It doesn't take much to think of examples.  My personal favourite is French kissing, which sounds like it should be awful (you let someone else stick their tongue in your mouth!) but is actually pleasurable when done with someone you're attracted to.

And that's really the fine line that separates romantic from creepy.  If a gesture or action prompts disgust in it's intended target, then it's horrible.  The action becomes an attempt to dominate or an expression of disrespect.

If the exact same gesture is met with welcome and affection, then it's romantic.  It's an expression of the feelings between the gesturer and the target.

In a film or a story, the writers and the audience know that the target is secretly receptive.  That's the definition of romance after all, that the characters will fall in love and be happy ever after.  There's no chance of disgust.

Real life is trickier.  People might appear to be receptive, but that's due to fear of being able to express their true feelings without repercussions, such as being fired by their boss or hurt/killed by their stalker.  A person forced to completely change their look and demeanor in order to be part of a relationship is being abused, not wooed.  And a guy might want to grab a girl and just kiss her (or vice versa), but if she is not reciprocating then the kiss is an unwelcome assault.

There's often a great deal of discussion about how much art should reflect real life.  And I believe that there is great opportunity within art to create change in how we see things in our everyday world.  In the late eighties, early nineties, romance made a concerted effort to normalize condom use and reframe it from a gesture of distrust into a symbol of protection and caring.  I believe that it is possible to do the same with consent, teaching people to see checking in with a partner as evidence of a true hero or heroine.  Recognizing a potential power imbalance and ensuring that their partner is entirely comfortable with what's occurring is a sign of respect and, indeed, confidence.  A character who doesn't feel the need to rush because they have faith in their partner is a darn seductive romantic lead.

And those are the kinds of stories that I want to read and write.

Previous Blog Post: Hidden Diamond: Sally Brandle's extraordinary heroines and romantic suspense adventures.

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Alpha vs Alpha

I like alpha characters, by which I mean I like characters who are risk-takers, protectors, and are a little broody.  I like characters who don't hesitate to say what they mean and who also don't hesitate to throw themselves into the path of danger.  To be clear, being an alpha doesn't give a character the right to be a jerk and I've got no patience for domineering characters who are mean, dismissive and disrespectful.

I know alphas aren't everyone's cup of tea.  Some people prefer beta heroes and heroines, defined by their kindness, consideration and support of others.  And I like those as well, but there's something about a character who skirts the edge of darkness that I find appealing.  Maybe it's because I've had my own challenges with depression and I've had to find the energy to keep fighting.  Or maybe it's because I've felt like the outsider and needed to find my own path.  Or maybe I just enjoy reading about bad-asses who kick butt and take names.

But one thing I find frustrating is when those alpha characters cross lines and there's no character arc about consequences for those actions.  A few weeks ago, I mentioned on Twitter that I was frustrated with a series that I really enjoy reading, in part because both the hero and heroine tend to be alphas and the author generally does a good job of showing the challenges of two alphas learning to live with each other.  But as I was reading one of the books, I noticed that the compromises tended to be one-sided with one character acquiescing to the other and the other taking a "take what I say or leave it" approach.

That didn't sit well with me.  And not just because it was the heroine who was the one compromising.  Part of what I love about stories about alpha characters is that character learning that they can't stand alone.  That letting other people in is a risk, but it's a risk that is worth it because spending their lives alone and miserable isn't actually a sign of strength.  

If a character only sees their romantic partner as a liability, someone to rescue and be worried about, then that's not really kind of character arc that I want to read.  Even if the character makes the same decision to share their lives because they no longer want to be miserable and alone, if they're not compromising in other aspects of their lives then the happily ever after doesn't read true because I wonder how the partner will feel long term.  Even if the character is devoted to making sure that their partner is happy and has everything they want, I wonder how many fights they'll end up having because of the fundamental lack of respect.

I'd like to see a story where two alphas are getting together and there would be the initial "my way or the high way" arguments but then the character realizes the fundamental problem with treating a romantic partner as if their thoughts, opinions and reactions are unimportant.  Even if they are convinced that they are completely in the right, they realize that dismissing their partner will create a fundamentally flawed and unhealthy relationship.  And then that alpha character takes the time and effort to truly open themselves up to an equal partnership.

Previous post: Heroine Fix: Seizing the Day with Georgia Byrd from Last Holiday.

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Reconciling Rescue Fantasies and Feminism

For those who read this blog regularly, it's no secret that I love kickass heroines who are strong and take no crap.  I love reading about them because it counteracts the messages that women often get that they need to be quiet, unassuming and not cause trouble.  And because they're just fun and it's fun to fantasize about taking on any problem with amazing powers and a witty quip.

But as much as I enjoy my take-no-prisoners heroines, I also enjoy a good rescue fantasy.  There is something incredibly appealing about a hero who is willing to rip the world apart with his bare hands to rescue the person he loves.  However, it does leave me with something of an internal conflict.  Shouldn't a kickass heroine be able to rescue herself?

I believe that it's important to encourage women to see themselves as the powerful and strong individuals that they are.  They shouldn't be encouraged to wait for rescue like an old fashioned fairy tale princess.  Instead they should be encouraged to believe they can take on their challenges themselves and rescue themselves.  That belief runs counter to the idea of a rescuing hero fantasy and it meant that every time I enjoyed one, I wondered if I was celebrating something that was actually encouraging women to be passive and less than they could be.

Lately, I've wondered if I've been mistaken and allowed myself to get trapped into either/or, black/white thinking.  

The rescue fantasy isn't about celebrating passiveness, it's about recognizing that no matter how powerful, competent or kickass someone is, life can have a way of dealing out more than that person can handle.  And it's taken me a depressingly long time to figure this out, but no one should have to go through life alone.

Partners come in all shapes and sizes and commitment levels.  Some partners will do anything to help the person that they love and others find it a challenge to do little things like take out the garbage before it gets picked up.  A lot of women are dealing with overwhelming situations, trying to balance work and family, trying to take care of both children and parents, trying to make money stretch, and dozens of other difficult scenarios.  And quite often, they're doing it without a lot of support from their partners or society in general.

Is it any surprise then that the idea of being helped can resonate so strongly with women?  The rescue fantasy is about someone who will do anything to help the person that they love.  They will risk injury and death, throwing aside everything else that has ever mattered to them because their highest priority is the health and happiness of their beloved.  It's not a farfetched assumption to believe that a person who is willing to charge through a hail of bullets would also be willing to put their glass in the dishwasher instead of beside the sink when asked.  

I still think it's important to encourage women to think of themselves as heroines and able to rescue themselves, but I also think they should be encouraged to believe they deserve a partner who will put them above all else and who will do what it takes to make sure they are happy and fulfilled.  So, for now, I'm comfortable with putting both the kickass heroine and the rescue fantasy on my shelf and not feeling guilty about either.

If you want to read about my kickass heroines and the men who would do anything for them, you can give Book One of my Lalassu series a try for less than the price of a cup of coffee.

Previous blog post: Heroine Fix: Be Anyone You Want to Be, a look at Aech and Art3mis from Ready Player One.

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Romance vs Reality: What Makes an HEA?

An HEA (Happily-Ever-After) is an intrinsic part of romance, one of the defining features of the genre.  Stories like Romeo and Juliet or The Notebook might feature a love story but their tragic endings mean they are not romances.  If a book is labeled as a romance, the reader can know from page one that no matter how dark and horrible things seem, there is light at the end of the tunnel.  It’s one of the reasons why romance appeals to me (and to many other readers).  We always get an HEA in romance, unlike in real life.

Romance view: mood lighting ; real life view: fire hazard

But not every HEA is created equal.  Every reader will have a slightly different opinion on what constitutes a satisfying HEA.  For some, they want evidence that the relationship survives its early turbulent days: i.e. an epilogue set a few years into the future.  For others, they want a wedding as a sign that the characters are committed to each other.  Some readers might want every aspect of the characters’ lives to be improved (great job, great relationship, all troubles resolved) while others are satisfied with knowing that the characters will be facing the difficulties ahead together.

It’s a tricky balance between what the author considers a satisfying HEA and what the readers demand.  I’ve heard of readers getting turned off of books because the HEA included a reconciliation gesture with an abusive family.  In their mind, the HEA would have been more satisfying if the characters had cut ties with people who had hurt them so deeply before, allowing them to be free of the ongoing pain.  Personally, I find a last minute wedding to be off-putting as part of an HEA.  If the characters have spent 90% of the book at odds with one another, then I’m not okay with them suddenly deciding that everything will be great once they’re legally bound.  (I do make an exception where the wedding is part of an epilogue and it’s clear that some time has passed and they’ve resolved their differences and are treating one another with respect.)

Romances are fantasies, and as such, they can explore scenarios which would be deeply problematic in real life.  For some readers, they want those fantasies untethered from the concerns of reality.  It’s okay for them if one character kisses another despite the second’s objections, because they know it’s all going to work out.  For other readers, that invalidates the HEA and destroys the illusion they were hoping to enjoy.  They want their romantic fantasy to be an attainable one, something that could happen in their own lives (werewolves, vampires, and superheroes notwithstanding). 

I tend to fall on the attainable fantasy side of the equation (and I will cling to my illusion that one day I might find out that superpowers are real).  If a hero or heroine does something that would be unacceptable to me in real life (like kissing someone who has said no, using insulting slurs against someone’s gender, race, or background, or going to an isolated location with a threatening stranger) then it no longer matters to me if everything is going to work out in the end.  Perhaps it’s overly judgmental of me, but in my mind, the character has no longer earned that HEA.  (Again, I can make exceptions if it turns out that the infraction is part of a character’s growth arc and they will learn why their actions are not okay and make amends.)

But even though I have strong feelings on what makes an HEA, you won’t find me telling someone else that they should find an HEA unsatisfying.  Because I don’t have the right to dictate what fantasy will or won’t work for someone else.  There are so many stories out there that everyone should be able to find HEAs that they can enjoy.

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Myth: High Maintenance vs Low Maintenance

Forgive me for a moment while I share something that has always bugged me.  In When Harry Met Sally, there is a scene where the two title characters are watching the end of Casablanca together over the phone and Harry comments that Ingrid Bergman is a "low-maintenance" woman and explains his theory about high-maintenance vs low-maintenance women.

Sally then asks which one she is and he casually tells her that she's the worst kind, a high-maintenance who thinks that she's low-maintenance.  Then as an example, he points out how she orders things on the side so that she can control her food.  Her response is "I want what I want, the way I want it."  And he accepts that as a confirmation that she is high-maintenance.

This scene stuck in my head when I first saw it and my takeaway from the scene was that it was not a good idea to be a high-maintenance woman, i.e., one who insisted on having things her way rather than going with the flow (even if the flow wasn't going somewhere that she wanted to be).  Now, granted, in the end, the two characters end up falling in love but I always got the sense that it was in spite of her high-maintenance rather than a genuine acceptance of it.

Looking back at it from a more aware distance, it was only one of a wide variety of messages encouraging girls (and the women they would become) to not make a fuss, and as a side-effect (or underlying purpose, depending on how cynical you are), it also encouraged them not to seek out what they wanted.  To put aside their desires and needs in favour of not inconveniencing others.

I've heard other men citing the high vs low maintenance distinction and it's made me want to share a little jolt of reality.  The distinction is a myth.  All women have their own wants and dreams.  And bluntly, it's time that, as a society, we stopped pretending that's a bad thing.

Insisting on getting what we want, the way we want it, is a perfectly good way of going about life.  And I cannot see why that would be a deterrent to any partner who genuinely cared about the person in question.  Being with a person who is open about what he or she desires is much easier than one who hides behind a mask of what they think the partner wants.  "High-maintenance" should be the preferred choice because everything is out in the open and there are no games being played.

There is still an undercurrent of "don't get greedy" in a lot of media today.  I'm particularly sensitive to it when it comes to the current rush of superhero movies, which have chosen to perpetuate the comic books' "happiness is only a prelude to disaster" approach to relationships and dreams.  If someone is happy in a healthy relationship, or has achieved a dream, it's a safe bet that it will all be undermined later.  

If a heroine falls in love (and it's not a romance), there's a good chance that her partner will either leave or die, leaving the relationship as an idyllic interlude.  If she gets her dream job or career, she will likely discover that it isn't what she wanted anyway.  Women who are demanding are cast in the role of villains.  Even romance isn't entirely free of this bias.  There are a number of stories where the heroine stumbles into her heart's desire without any intention or idea of what it was in the first place.  Or the heroine is working hard at achieving a dream only to discover it isn't what she really wanted.  There aren't many where a woman is working hard to achieve her dreams and ends up achieving them, plus a bonus round of things she didn't think she was going to get and also wants.

At least romances do end with a happily ever after which implies that the heroines have gotten what they wanted and are satisfied.  That means a lot and is infinitely better than the bravely going forward and learning to live with lesser dreams approach that dominates outside romance.

But I also think that maybe it's time to start celebrating the high-maintenance heroine and her open desires, whatever they may be.  It's time to start believing that what we want is worth pursuing and definitely worth a little outsourced inconvenience.  And even more importantly, that we have every right to have what we want, the way we want it.  And more.

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Let's Talk Consent

There's been a heck of a debate raging over the last month about how consent should work.  Should you accept a soft no from your partner?  Is an enthusiastic yes the only option that is acceptable?  Should details be worked out in advance?  Should we all start using safe-words?

Kumquat.

And more to the point, how does pop culture determine how we frame these debates?

Sex is one of the trickier social minefields to navigate.  Most of us want it but society isn't big on talking about it.  Our desire for sex is used to sell just about everything, but we aren't supposed to admit that we want it.  Sniggering, degrading talk about our partners is still somehow more acceptable than honest sharing of experiences.  We are supposed to be experts but we're not supposed to have practiced.  Let's be honest.  It's a mess.  And it's made even trickier by the effects of desire on our minds.  Our ability to predict consequences go down and we're more willing to engage in risky behaviour.

Add in the misleading messages from pop culture and it's no surprise that there are a lot of misconception about how and when to obtain consent.  There are dozens of examples where men are able to magically understand that a woman really wants to say yes when she's clearly saying no (Han Solo and James Bond to name a few).  Women are portrayed as constantly wanting men to pursue them but have to pretend not to be interested, thus men should see refusal as a coy trick instead of a genuine expression.  It's a sobering experience to look at many of the great love stories of my youth and see many troubling assumptions about how people should interact when entering a relationship.

So how is it possible to change the narrative to one that is safer and more respectful of both parties?  First and foremost, by encouraging more voices to share their stories.  Those who have been on the wrong end of these assumptions are going to be faster to identify the problems.

Second step: use pop culture to change the narrative.  The biggest weapons in the arsenal for changing our views in society are novels, television, and movies.  I'm biased, but I think romance novels are particularly well placed to change the script of how we pursue relationships.  But it's not just the romance genre, any story that has a subplot of people connecting on a romantic, emotional, or physical level needs to be aware of what messages they're sending.

In the eighties, asking for consent was seen as weak.  I recall Oprah saying on air that if a man has to ask if he can kiss you, the answer will always be no.  (That statement now makes me cringe.)  Using a condom was seen as a sign of distrust and as a total mood-killer.  Go back a few decades earlier and a woman who enjoyed and actively wanted sex was considered morally flawed.

These attitudes were all changed through pop culture, specifically romance novels.  It was a gradual shift, starting with women enjoying sex even if they didn't actively seek it out (hence the "ravish" plotlines) but then more and more authors found an audience who wanted heroines who took an active role.  Authors deliberately took on the challenge of making condom-use a standard part of love-making.  They reframed using a condom as a way to protect and care for your partner (rather than a sign of protecting oneself), and finding ways to make it part of the erotic process.

Now there are calls to do the same with making enthusiastic consent into a similar default.  There are still plenty of authors who see asking for consent as an interruption of the flow, but more and more, we're finding ways to make it sexy and exciting, the sign of a hero or heroine who is attuned to his or her partner and cares about their experience.  I believe that we can make a real difference by providing alternate scripts to the magical thinking approach.

And for those who enjoy a good alpha hero or heroine, I don't think they need to be worried.  Alphas don't need to be synonymous with jerks.  A character can be fierce, strong, protective, and take charge but also demonstrate caring about their partner.

The goal for all of us should be to want our partners to enjoy sex just as much as we do.  Mutual pleasure shouldn't ever be an option.  And the only way we can do that is by being honest and communicating, and then also be respectful and listen to what our partner is saying.  Maybe it takes a little longer, but it makes sure that we all have a lot more fun. 

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Happily Ever After: Goal to Strive For or Unrealistic Endings?

This week, two rather interesting articles have been making the rounds on social media.  The first is "How Romance Novels Imagine a World in Which Women Can Win", which looks at how the romance genre encourages women to want and believe they can have it all.  The second was "Sometimes I Want A Romance Without an HEA" which says that while romance novels can be inspiring, sometimes it can make one's real life situation feel worse.

I can certainly understand the latter's point.  I am one of those who find "inspiring" stories depressing.  Hearing about people overcoming worse odds than those I myself face makes me feel as if there must be something wrong with me if I continue to have problems.  If a woman can handle raising triplets after having her arms and legs amputated and still have time to earn her college degree, surely I should be able to handle the major and minor crises in my day to day life.

I could point out that I'm sure that triplet-mom has her good and bad days and there are days when she probably doesn't feel like she's been all that successful.  Just like I can point to a list of my own accomplishments and remind myself that it hasn't all been universal failure.

But it doesn't change the fact that I avoid "True Life" stories in magazines, newspapers and TV specials.  Because I invariably feel worse.  But I don't feel that way after reading a romance novel.  

If the story has grabbed me, then for a little while, I've lived through the plot along with the hero and heroine.  I've vicariously succeeded against the odds, found love, found success, found the missing jade statue... whatever the goal was, I've done it.  It's given me an escape from the day to day grind, a mental and emotional vacation.  And it's reminded me that success is always a possibility, even when trapped in the Black Moment of the plot.

Romance without a happily ever after (or at least, a happily for now) isn't a romance.  It can be a book dealing with romantic themes or exploring the darker side of relationships and love and those can be good and worthwhile stories.  Heck, I can even agree, since I usually intersperse my romance reads with non-fiction and other fiction.  

But the reason to read romance is to get that uplifting surge of hope, an inoculation against the challenges which take away our internal strength.  That's what romance is: it's hope.  Hope for the chance for mind-blowing sex, dreams coming true and eventual contentment in all (or almost all) aspects of life.

So as much as I can respect the drive behind Book Riot's plea, I must disagree.  I don't want a romance without a HEA.  Because it would be like having a burger without the buns or meat.  In other words, not a burger at all.

Contest Blues and Pride

This week, RWA announced the Rita and Golden Heart finalists for 2017.  My Twitter and Facebook feeds were buzzing as the judges called the finalists to let them know and the lucky excitedly shared the news.

Last year, I was waiting to discover whether or not I was one of those finalists.  Unfortunately, I didn't quite make the cut, although I came close.  The average score for a finalist in my category was an 8.1 and Revelations scored a 7.7.  A respectable placement, but not enough to join the circle of finalists and award winners.

This year, I find myself feeling a little blue even as I add a heart or like to each Twitter and Facebook post.  I wonder about all of the other hopefuls who will not receive a phone call, who will not be celebrated.  As much as I am truly pleased for the success of others, I'm also only human, and so I also feel sad and disappointed not to be among them.

But I'm proud of them as well and proud of how so many authors are celebrating the victories of others rather than tearing them down out of jealousy.  It makes me believe in a better side of humanity as they congratulate as well as compete.

So I want to offer my congratulations to every author who submitted a manuscript or book to either the Golden Heart or the Rita.  It takes courage to put your work out there and allow others to pass an opinion on it.  And you should all be proud, too.

Deal-Breakers and Wincers

How much of a book does a reader need to agree with in order to enjoy it?

It's a question that may not have occurred to you.  Certainly most people assume that if someone enjoys a book, they must have enjoyed all the parts in it.  But it's not necessarily true.

There are a number of authors whom I really enjoy but there are always moments in their books where I have to wince.  It's like the stab of an ice sliver in an otherwise delicious milkshake.  And then there are the books that sound promising but include one of my literary deal-breakers.  And that's more like finding a bug in the milkshake.  It doesn't matter how good it's been up to that point, now it's disgusting and there's no salvaging it.

Everyone has their own "not-great" and "deal-breaker" lists.  For me, one of my wincing moments is when a character uses woman as an insult.  Eg: "Do I look like a girl?" or referring to something as "girl shit" or similar things to that.  To me, it's misogynistic language and reinforces the idea of female as defective.  And yet there are series that I enjoy where the author clearly doesn't feel the same.  I end up having to brace myself when I'm reading and remind myself not to get too upset.  If the author wasn't incredibly talented, I wouldn't bother.  But it doesn't mean I'm okay with that kind of language.

On the deal-breaker side is anything involving coercion in the sexual relationship between the hero and heroine.  Frankly, coercion bothers me between any characters but it's an absolute deal-breaker in the main couple.  I recently read a book where the hero was blackmailing the heroine into having sex with him and once I read that, the book was done for me.  No second chance.

It's not always easy for an author to guess what will be a trigger to his or her readers.  Things which might seem innocuous or even daring to the author might end up being deal-breakers.  For example, I have a friend who had traumatic experiences with the church as a child and now anything that involves any kind of Christian imagery is a deal-breaker for her.  Even characters swearing can be enough to make her put a book down.

It's important to have a wide variety of beta readers before a book is published.  They can help let an author know about any potential pitfalls.  With my most recent book, one of my readers warned me that in some groups, using food terms to describe skin tone is considered offensive.  I had described a character as having skin the colour of fresh-baked bread but changed it to tan.  It's a small change for me and if it avoids hurting or offending someone, that's an easy choice.

Obviously, it's important to respect your own voice as an author.  It's not going to be possible to please everyone.  But at the same time, it is also important to respect your readers.

Ink Tip: Dealing with Consent in Romance

I’ve heard a number of spirited debates about the responsibility of romance writers when it comes to portraying healthy relationships.  One of the trickiest to negotiate is the issue of consent.

At their heart, romance novels are fantasies.  Real world inconveniences don’t come up so going to bed with wet hair doesn’t lead to snarled rats’ nests and tables never break (unless for dramatic purposes) and kids don’t come down with the flu on date night.

But at the same time, romance novels also offer a chance to normalize certain behaviours in the courting process.  Because a romance reader will vicariously experience many more relationships through the books than in real life, the stories can subconsciously provide a pattern for how a relationship should proceed.

Many romance authors consciously decided to include condom use as part of love-making, hoping to make it more common.  They gave readers a number of different scripts to use in their own lives, transforming asking for and using the condom into a sexy experience.

But what about things like making sure both partners are okay with the level of contact, intimacy and kink?  By definition, nothing can occur in a fantasy which is against the fantasizer’s will.  Even if the fantasy involves the illusion of a lack of choice, nothing makes a fantasy dissolve faster than actually having something done against a person’s will. 

This is a tricky concept for most people to understand.  For example, if a person likes the Bad Sexy Cop fantasy or a multiple partner fantasy, then it can be harder to understand why he or she might not be a consensual partner during a real life scenario.  Some psychologists have said that disgust is the key to understanding the difference.

Suspending disgust is a sign of intimacy.  The idea of sharing a French kiss with a loved one is appealing.  The idea of an unwelcome stranger sticking their tongue in your mouth is disgusting.  The consent is what makes the difference.  So a person can engage in a perfectly consensual act but then be unwilling to engage in that same act at a later time or with another person and that is a perfectly human and natural thing.

BDSM romance has been something of a trend since 50 Shades of Grey sparked with the general public.  But what concerns actual practitioners is the fact that a large number of stories don’t show the negotiations which lead up to enacting the fantasies, the use of safewords and attention to both partners’ level of comfort during the scene and how to take care of both parties once the scene is completed.  

Romance has always been an opportunity to raise issues that concern women and a way to explore women’s sexuality.  This is why I think romance writers have a responsibility to making sure the fantasies presented contain enough reality to help their readers.

The stories that I enjoy make it clear that both hero and heroine (or hero and hero or heroine and heroine) are willing, eager participants in what occurs between them.  They give asking for a kiss a sensual buzz and make the conversation part of the anticipation.  And that lets me enjoy the fantasy.

Earning True Love

Recently, I've been reading a lot of romance novels that finish with a wedding.  It's a common romance trope.  Austen almost always ended with a wedding.  Fairy tales end with the prince and princess marrying and living happily ever after.  As my professor used to say: the wedding affirms the social order and the end of conflict, it shows that all is right with the world again after the difficulties in the plot.

That said, outside of historicals, it's a convention which usually bothers me.  The courtship process is a romance novel usually takes place in an accelerated timeline, usually only a few days.  And at least half of those days are spent with the hero and heroine fighting with each other or lying to each other.

If anyone I cared about came to me and said they were marrying someone after spending a few days together, most of it in very dramatic circumstances, I would try to get them to call off the wedding.  I would be afraid of the relationship imploding as reality hits.

Despite all that, I do believe in love and I believe in love at first sight.  But I think it's hard to tell infatuation from love at first sight and the only way to do that is time.  It takes time to know if you can live with someone (even if you love them).  Do they leave their socks all over the house?  Do they like to stay up until the wee hours of the morning and then sleep until noon?

Real love can handle life.  It can cope with stomach flu, bad days, misunderstandings and hurt feelings.  It can accept that the beloved has an insane need to listen to a Dolly Parton Christmas non-stop between November and January.  It is always ready to open negotiations because making both partners happy is a priority.

That is the part I love about romance novels.  Both the hero and the heroine have to earn real love.  They have to face the darkest side of their soul, the parts of themselves they would give almost anything not to have to examine.  Anything but their partner.  They prove that they will do whatever is necessary.

I'm terrified of spiders.  If I was a character in a romance novel, I would probably have to crawl through an infested tunnel to save the man I love.  Because that would be the ultimate test of what is bigger: my love or my fear.  Makes me a little grateful that I'm not a character because even the thought of having to do that is enough to give me the shivers.

Romance characters are thrown into a pressure cooker situation.  That proves their love but I still like to see them taking time to make sure they can live together when life and death isn't on the table.  That's why my books end with commitment, but not marriage.

A marriage takes time to make work, no matter how much two people love each other.  And I have a lot of respect for those who are willing to put in the time and effort.  That's real love.

Classy Ladies vs Bawdy Broads

I only had a costume for one of the theme dinners at RTC, the Cowboy one on Friday night.  On Saturday night, my 80's prom dress didn't quite fit and my crimper turned out to not have survived over 20 years in a box, so I went with a nice dress shirt and slacks.

When I went downstairs, my nine year old son asked me what my disguise was for that night and I explained that I was being a classy lady for tonight.  His reply:

"Oh, Mommy, that's not you."

Granted, he's right.  I am awkward at the best of times and social events intimidate me.  I will never be a graceful socialite prowling through a cocktail party with ease and sophistication.  And I got a lot of laughs about that bit of commentary through the evening.

I may not be a classy lady, or even get to play one on TV, but I am a bawdy broad.  As my group discovered during Dirty Talk, I have a dirty mind and very little filtering.  I came up with some great creative euphemisms for naughty bits.  My personal moment of pride, when coming up for alternatives for butt, I suggested "The Internet, because it's deep, dark and full of sh*t."

Women aren't generally encouraged to be sexually confident or aware.  It's still something of a social taboo, especially if a gal is married, has kids, is over 30 and not shaped like Sarah Jessica Parker.  Sometimes I think this is why we can go so wild when we're given the opportunity.  All the sensuality gets crammed down, so when there's a socially sanctioned event, we take advantage of it.

That's one of the things I love about romances.  Women in them are encouraged to embrace that part of themselves.  They're rewarded for it.  And that helps the men and women who read them be a little more accepting of women's sexuality in life.

It's okay that I'm not a classy lady.  I'm a bawdy broad.  And that's just fine by me.

Heroine Fix: Laura Ingalls Wilder

I first picked up my first Little House book in grade school through a Scholastic Order.  In the ultimate judging a book by its cover, I chose it because it had a horse on the cover and I was going through a horse stage.

 

In By the Shores of Silver Lake, I found the story of a pioneer family on the move, shifting from their grasshopper and scarlet fever plagued home in Plum Creek to the unsettled prairies of De Smet, South Dakota.  As a military brat who was constantly on the move myself, it spoke very strongly to me.  I could identify with Laura's constant struggle to find a balance between her internal drives and the demands of society.

 

I immediately demanded the complete series.  I was intrigued by the early books, such as Little House in the Big Woods, with its catalogues of food preparation and self-sufficient household management, and On the Banks of Plum Creek, where Laura faces the town bullies and her first experience of social shame.

 

But to me, the part of Laura's story which truly ensnared me were the stories from her years in De Smet and the slow courtship between herself and Almanzo Wilder.  Starting with his week twenty-four mile round trip sleigh rides to bring her home in Little Town on the Prairie, Almanzo always struck me as the epitome of a romantic gentleman. 

 

He never puts any pressure on Laura or implies that she "owes" him for his efforts.  At great risk and personal inconvenience, he makes a grand gesture simply because he wants to do something to make her happier.  Laura isn't certain how to react.  On the one hand, she desperately wants to go home on weekends and Almanzo is her best chance to do so.  On the other, she doesn't want to mislead him into believing that they are courting.  It's a difficult balancing act, especially considering that Laura is only fifteen and has spent most of her life interacting only with her family.

As an adult who adores a good love story, I'm disappointed that there never seems to be any moment where Laura shifts from seeing Almanzo as a friend to seeing him as a romantic partner.  But as a child and adolescent, they seemed to be one of the great couples of literature, and their love was as inevitable as the rising sun.

They get married and set up housekeeping on a claim of their own, in a small house which Almanzo built with his own hands.  It's a perfect happily ever after.

Except it wasn't.  I recall the moment when I first realized that Laura Ingalls Wilder wasn't merely the author of these stories.  It was the first time I read These Happy Golden Years and abruptly realized that the author's name was the same as the married name of the main character.  I was shocked and then began to wonder what happened after the wedding.  I read The First Four Years and was horribly disappointed to discover things did not go smoothly for Laura and Almanzo.  Their house catches on fire, they're always in debt and Almanzo gets sick with diphtheria and is permanently injured, needing a cane to walk for the rest of his life.  I cried when I realized that Laura had to leave the beautiful little house that she was so pleased with and board yet another westward wagon.

There are really two heroines to examine: the fictional Laura Ingalls and the real life Laura Ingalls Wilder.  The fictional Laura is the first one I got to know.  She doesn't quite fit in with the expectations she must live up to.  She's a tomboy, she's curious, she's fiercely protective and loyal to her family, and she's proud of being self-sufficient and beholden to no one.  As she grows up, she takes on the role of family provider, earning money to support the family and serving as a guide to her blind sister, Mary.  She's a strong young woman who refuses to back down and allow others to push her or her family around. 

There's a lot of that strength in the real life Laura as well.  She worked hard to keep her family going through famine, fire and disease.  She started her life over and over and over and, while I'm sure she must have gotten discouraged, she didn't give up.  Toward the end of her life, she decided to fictionalize her early life story.  Initially she wrote an autobiographical novel, Pioneer Girl, but then split it into the novels of the Little House series.  The books helped to keep her family going as she and Almanzo grew too frail to maintain the daily chores of the farm.

She's not a revolutionary or a progressive thinker.  She simply refuses to bend on her own internal principles.  She never quite seems to question that perhaps the expectations of her society are wrong or unfair.  Instead, she quietly finds her own compromises and happiness. 

Laura offers an interesting middle ground of rebellion.  She doesn't shrivel up and conform but she doesn't insist on anyone else following her example either or attempt to overthrow the authorities she disagrees with.

That's the element of Laura which I admire.  She found her path and committed to it, working hard to get where she wanted to go.