Writing Romance
I originally wrote this article for a writing forum, but it’s relevant to part of what this blog was originally about, and it bears some relation to a few recent posts I’ve made, too.
Writing Romance
Romance. The very word makes some writers cringe in terror (and more than a few readers for that matter). It’s seen as the sort of pulp staple of writing, the cheap, tacky romance with the big hairless shirtless guy on the cover and titles like “Their Passion Wept” and “In the light of the silver moon”, the best-seller amongst age 39 to 55 women (and 15 year-old boys looking for something more descriptive than the Encyclopedia Britannica’s entry for “sexual intercourse”). Almost universally these stories have at least one sex scene romantic interlude with heavy, purple prose that lovingly describes every last inch of the protagonist’s “true love” and his massive manmeat as he has his wicked way with her.
Generally you can tell which ones are written by men and which written by women. I won’t explain; it’s obvious when you get down to reading them. And yes, I must confess, I have read a couple of these romances just to see what the fuss was about. It’s still hard to look at them on the shelves without bursting out laughing. This is by no means to say that all “romance” books are that bad. There are probably at least a dozen published in any particular decade that are half-way decent. Out of thousands…
The whole romance genre is so clichéd and formulaic, and so oversubscribed with new authors who think that it’s the only way to write, that it seems impossible to avoid doing something that’s been done before. In fact it is, in many ways. Taking the genre as a whole it seems there’s about three plots out there in; the woman who did bad/is suicidal/gets stuck in a generic rescue situation and gets redeemed by her knight in shining armour (metaphorically speaking - at least most of the time), who gives her a good dose of lovin to cure what ails her; the woman who cures the fallen man from his “masculine” rogering of everything that moves and makes him a confirmed monogamist with a good dose of lovin; and the “true love” plot, where one or other partner is with the wrong lover and eventually ends up bedding the “right” woman, or man, at the end of the story after a long and supposedly romantic struggle with his feelings. Most of what we call “romance” these days is just pornography with more plot than usual.
It doesn’t have to be that way, of course. Ignoring the pre-renaissance Romance, which would probably fit into a sub-genre of high fantasy these days, romance used to concern itself with themes such as faithfulness in adversity, chivalry and the pursuit of lofty, ideal and often unattainable goals. This is somehow still evident in modern romance writing, though so attenuated by the cheap porny bits and the rigid plotting outlined above as to be almost unrecognisable. I would argue that part of the passion for romance is that the human mind desires stories of that noble pursuit, and the voracious appetite for modern romance stems from the fact that it is, by and large, almost entirely devoid of the noble emotion that its readers are seeking. But that’s me.
The question that has to be asked, though, is: what is romance? What exactly is romantic about two people getting their rocks off at the end of the story (And often several times beforehand). Romance, modern romance, concerns itself with building a relationship between people who are obviously in love, which harks back to the elder idea of pursuit as I just mentioned, but it becomes formulaic. The story of their romance takes centre stage so that little things like logical plotting, non-sexual relationships and physics, to name a few, fall by the wayside never to rise again. This idea of romance, by itself, just isn’t enough.
The early romances, those post-renaissance beasties that emerged before the modern version, dealt as often as not with themes of friendship and support. They based their plot on the survival or formation of friendships through the adversity of a wider life, rather than making that wider life revolve around the friendship. The plot becomes the driver of the romance as much as the actions of the individuals concerned, and actions within that plot can make or break the relationship. A world-war two tommy might choose to desert to be with his love, and end up being taken away; or he might choose to stay at the front out of loyalty to his country and to protect her, and die in the process. Both of these outcomes are “romantic”, but they aren’t considered to be Romance in the modern idiom.
As often as not, old romances dealt with a theme that many people actively avoid these days. They dealt with failure. Romances can fail, but in the end that makes them all the more romantic in some ways, as the romance of the eternal pursuit appeals to some part of the human condition. The idea that someone will always try no matter how often they fail is, not to put too fine a point on it, romantic in the classical sense. It also makes for good adventure. The idea of failure doesn’t appeal to people who are looking for a quick fix of “romance” - like popcorn - and who don’t necessarily consider what failure might actually mean.
So, what is failure? At the abstract level it’s the lack of success. A simplistic thinker might take that and assume that a failed relationship will result in a permanent split, but this isn’t the usual case. Failure in romance can also mean that, to take the example of the “right lover” from above, the protagonist in the “wrong” relationship chooses to remain in that relationship, knowing that they may not be happy but risking that possibility for a chance to make it better. In doing so they choose a classic romantic conclusion of loyalty in adversity. The eternally separated “right” lovers become as unto the mythical lovers of greek and roman myth, never able to consummate their love and consequently always remaining at a distance. This sort of romance can be very uncomfortable as it brings the idea of responsibility and selflessness into the genre, something my limited experience has found to be severely lacking.
This modern view of romance colours everything. Anything that is perceived as a romantic story is immediately prejudged by this modern standard of Romance and often rejected on that notion alone, by readers and writers both. This is a shame, for which the “Romance industry”, in books and in film, bears a great deal of responsibility. All of it, in fact… but, as I said, it doesn’t have to be this way. As a writer you shouldn’t reject the idea of romance simply because it’s been done so badly by so many people. Incorporating romance into a story can immeasurably improve it if you are willing to consider what romance really is. One of my most recent short stories is actually incredibly romantic (others opinions on this will naturally differ on this point), yet it incorporates almost none of the plot elements that most people would claim make up a Romance. It isn’t “shippy” in the parlance, but instead focuses on loyalty and friendship in the face over overwhelming odds. There is a romantic subplot, with an attraction that is unacknowledged, and there is even the idea of the failure; the relationship between the lead characters remains platonic and unconsummated despite their feelings toward each other.
The largest part of a “classic” romance is not the consummation but the pursuit of that goal, which is why the “failure” can still be romantic; the pursuit is still ongoing in some form even when a failure has apparently ended that pursuit. The journey has to be hard or the romance isn’t worth it; there has to be risk in taking the steps to form that relationship in the first place and, if it’s based on a pre-existing relationship, there has to be a real risk of that relationship being broken or damaged by the pursuit. The pitfalls and pleasures of the journey to that realisation, whatever the end result, are what make the romance into something more than wish fulfillment with big pecs. The single best way to achieve this is to weave the romance into another, larger story rather than build the story around the romance. This can make a much more satisfying experience for both the writer and the reader, who will feel that there was a genuine achievement in the romance, no matter what the outcome.
I have deliberately chosen not to talk in great detail about how to write romance in this article; rather I have outlined what romance can be. Romance doesn’t need to be stuck in its little box and can play role in a much wider story. It can be much more than just two people getting together - indeed it should be, otherwise it will fall into the same old traps mentioned at the very start. With all of this in mind it should be possible to produce a much more fulfilling and emotionally engaging story, one that people might actually read more than once and from which they might even learn something about love.
