Writing and Reading Romances in the Age of Relationships

So, this post isn’t exactly related to the craft, but it does have to do with how reading and writing romance affects our relationships, an issue that I have always wondered about.Like many of you, romance has been a part of my heart and soul for as long as I can remember. All of the stories I created, whether in my head or on paper, had some romantic element to them. It was the uumph, the glue, the substance of my story. Sure, I could write a mystery or a horror tale, but why not throw together a couple who yearns for each other to make things interesting.When I first started reading romances, I was a newlywed. I can still remember going to the bookstore, glancing around to make sure no was looking and then sneaking into the romance aisle like a wraith. I blushed like a school girl when I saw the bodice-ripping covers and half-naked men gracing some of the covers.Eventually, I got over my self-consciousness (obviously). Now, I stand proudly in the romance aisle, giving whomever dares challenge me the big ol’ hairy eyeball. Usually it’s all in my head, but it makes me feel tough anyway.What I noticed, when I began reading and writing romances, was that I started comparing the heroes in the stories to my own husband. My hubby is my center; he’s my rock. But, his idea of a romantic evening includes watching NASCAR. Sitting in my big armchair, my heart went pitter-pat as the hero professed his undying love to the heroine, all the while reciting a laundry list of all of the cute, wonderful things he loved about her. Then, I would turn to look at my husband, lying sprawled out on the couch, barely conscious, dirty from the garage, scratching himself. .lThere were so many times I almost brained him with the book. Or lamp. Whatever.It got to the point that when we argued, I would think, "Well, John Q. Hero wouldn’t say that to me!" Which is asinine and ridiculous, I know, but, hey, I was twenty. Cut me some slack.In my naivety, I considered ceasing the genre altogether. Of course, I couldn’t do that anymore than I could stop breathing. I mean, come on. Really?In the end, I came to this glaringly obvious realization: romance novels are, largely, written by women. Women who, largely, want their men to understand them in a profound way, to talk to them on a deep level, and last but certainly not least, knock their proverbial socks off in bed.I’m long since past the newlywed phase and I have come to an understanding and acceptance with my husband. When I write now, I can appreciate the differences and similarities between my heroes and my sweet hubby.