By: Jackie Ashenden
Hi everyone and thanks for having me on the blog today. What I want to talk to you about today is why I love writing romance. Cos I reckon it's important.
I've been writing since I was twelve years old and most of my friends and family knew I loved to write. But when I finally 'came out' that I was writing romance and that I intended to try getting published as a romance author, one of the first questions they asked was 'but are you ever going to write anything else?'
And the answer to that is: Never say never but chances are I probably won't.
Romance is what I love to write. Human relationships are the glue that holds society together and I'm fascinated by them, especially romantic relationships. Love is an awesome thing and it has a lot of power, and exploring the pain and heartache and joy that goes along with falling in love is an amazing thing for an author.
Let's face it, real life can suck so hard sometimes. And part of what I adore most about being a writer is the fact that I can take two broken people who have had bad things happen to them, and give them the happy ending they deserve. Because there really aren't enough happy endings in this world.
I guess this is why I find writing romance an honour and a privilege. It's like I'm putting a little more love out there in the world. Giving people a little more of the happy, a little more of the optimism. The sense that bad things can happen but you'll be okay and that happiness is possible. In fact, it's not only possible but necessary and deserved.
Romance isn't fluff and nonsense. It's powerful and amazing. Yes, sometimes the characters are larger than life and sometimes so are the situations, but the heart of every great romance novel deals with something everyone single person in the whole world can relate to – we all want love and a happy ending (even though we won't admit it).
So yeah, I'm pretty happy with writing romance thank you very much. And I'm thoroughly stoked that another two of my broken people – Luke and Marisa – are now out in the world and have the happy ending they deserved.
What about you guys? What is it about reading romance that you love? Do you shout about it or is it a guilty pleasure? And what's your favourite kind to read?
He glanced down at her again, his expression all intense glare and stern mouth. And she had the insane urge to pull his bow tie. Mess him up. Rumple him in some way.
“I’m leading,” he said in a tone that suggested the conversation was over. “So unless you want your foot to be stepped on again, I suggest you keep quiet and let me count. At least until this is over.” A pause. “Please.”
The please did nothing for her temper. She didn’t want to stay dancing with him, pressed up against him. His hand on her back. Hers on his chest. Touching.
This attraction was already making her breathless, and the longer she stayed like this, the more uncomfortable it was going to get. When it came to men, she preferred to be the one in control because there was only one end to chemistry like this. She’d been there before and it was bad. Very bad. Attractive, womanizing men were right at the top of her list of things to avoid like the plague. Especially attractive, womanizing men who were also her uptight boss.
Marisa stared at his shirt, contemplating her options.
The cotton was very white. Snowy, it could be said. Her gaze followed the line of buttons to his throat, where his bow tie rested, straight and begging to be tweaked.
She slid her hand up his chest. Took one end of the tie in her fingers. Pulled.
Luke instantly looked down. “What are you doing?”
Maris ignored the demand in his tone. Slowly she flicked open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing smooth, brown skin.
Oh yeah. Hot. So hot.
He’d come to a dead stop. “Marisa? What are you—”
She rose up on her tiptoes, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss onto the lapel of his shirt. Her signature deep red contrasted beautifully with the white cotton.
Abruptly, Luke let her go, and she wasn’t slightly disappointed
at the loss. Oh no, she wasn’t. “What the hell?” He was staring down at the mark her mouth had left, growing horror on his face.
Ah, finally, signs of life. “I’m making sure you look like someone’s been playing with you.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “You put lipstick on my goddamn shirt.”