Lucky in Love

Some days, it just hits me how lucky I am.

A year ago, I was finally recovering from one of the worst relationships of my life. Now, I’m in one of the best relationships I’ve ever had.

But tonight, I am marathoning Catfish and if there is anything that can make a woman feel lucky in love, it’s watching this show. Especially after having tried the “online dating” thing and having one pretty miserable experience.

I think some of these situations are just absolutely crazy. I was totally shocked to see in one episode that Marcus is a real person. He’s really who he says he is!

But then he said something along the lines of “you can’t commit to just one kind of pizza.”

Ooookay?

And I feel like Daisy and Marcus had one of the better experiences. This is one of only a couple of times that I can remember the mystery person being who they said they were. Most of the time, it’s someone enacting a fantasy to, at best, deal with negatives of their own lives, or, at worst, to intentionally manipulate and take advantage of someone else they’ve met on the internet.

I am one of the lucky ones, I think while watching. Not necessarily for avoiding a catfish scenario, but because I am in love.

Real, true, genuine love.

And that is such a good feeling. Even in the sucky moments. Even when I’m upset the TTP is so far away. Even when I feel sad, lonely, and discouraged: I. Am. So. In. Love.

And that makes me one lucky lady.

Can Romance Novels be Feminist?

I feel like I run into a snag every time I try working on romance writing: I end up really, really hating my characters. And I noticed this when I read romance, too, especially when it’s set in a contemporary time period.

Why?

They just all feel so anti-woman to me.

Perhaps this is projecting. Perhaps this is really my own issues with being viewed as an “object,” rather than any characters actually objectifying other characters. But can’t the male lead think about something other than how sexually stimulating the female lead is? Can’t he be turned on by something other than her “ample bosom” or “thick backside” or “juicy bits” or whatever ridiculous turn of phrase an author has decided to call the lady’s body parts?

In some ways, I get it. TTP and I have had this conversation recently, while doing the dishes. The target demographic for romance novels, historically, seems to be “housewives,” those domestic women who care for home and children if they have any, who are looking for some sort of escape from their every day. This, of course, is overly generalizing. For example, I am not at all a housewife, but I do enjoy a good romance novel from time to time (that is, when I’m not critiquing them, clearly). The romance novel cliche is that the woman needs a man to save her, and sometimes she helps out in that rescuing, but mostly it’s the guy that rushes in and changes her life, by making her more caring/compassionate/open to love or by literally saving her or protecting her from some malevolent force.

In short, most women don’t read romance novels to feel empowered.

But can that be changed?

My main concern, I think, is what does a feminist romance heroine look like? Can this character still fit some of the molds that I have encountered in my reading of romance novels? Am I missing out on a vital market? Is there some feminist romance novels out there that I am simply missing out on?

“Sometimes you just wanna kiss the girl. . .”

If someone had told me, back in the early days of college, that I’d be standing in the school corporation parking lot late on a Sunday night, making out with my new college friend’s exboyfriend, I probably would have laughed in their face. Even if that someone had been the future me.

But that’s exactly where I was last night. 

“Just Tell Him You Like Him!”

Haha, BFF. This is advice my best friend gave me today, after hearing me fawn over The Cop for most of last night and then again today via text. By 9:17 this morning, I was already being told to just tell him I like him because I was talking about him that much.

“Riiiiiight. Like that would ever happen.”

What is my problem? I am totally, 100% against exposing my feelings directly to someone whom I have known for years. Maybe it’s the fact that we haven’t talked in a few years. Maybe it’s because there’s been a sudden shift in my point of view and ideas about him. Maybe it’s because I’m left wondering, “why did I never see The Cop this way before? Or did I, and I just didn’t know it?”

So while I’m dealing with those thoughts, I’m also thinking about how The Cop is leaving town soon to be un-see-able but not totally un-reachable while also being so busy. For four months.

FOUR MONTHS.

We all know I’m going to be sitting at my desk, twirling my hair, thinking about his arms.

This fact of life is leaving me being a little irrational–like, really, if he’s off doing his cop things is he really going to be meeting and falling for some other girl? No. Probably not, unless she is also at the police academy and then maybe that would be a good fit for him? I don’t know.

But instead of just being like “listen, I think you are swell and I’d like to stay in touch while you’re gone and I hope that I don’t annoy you and then maybe we can hang out again when you’re back,” I’m having quiet, internal freak outs about whether or not he realized I like him or if he thinks I’m just weird?

While I Was Out

All’s been quiet on the blog front for me. I took ten-day family vacation to the Rocky Mountains, and I’m feeling very refreshed (if a bit stressed) now that I’m back. The mountains were beautiful and there was so much delicious wine.

But a week without any real responsibilities means that my mind has been on overdrive, thinking mostly about my romantic and sexual health.

The Devil’s Own Desperado

The Devil’s Own Desperado

I recently picked up The Devil’s Own Desperado by Lynda J. Cox on my Kindle (does it still count as “picking it up” if it’s not even a physical copy?). I’ve been working on my own novel and I needed something romantic to read that was different enough from my own contemporary romance ideas. This did just the trick.

I don’t think Cox knows me, but we have a few mutual friends and that makes me feel a sort of kinship with her. I was excited to read a book by someone I knew, at least through the grapevine.