How To Do Anything Better: Writing a Romance Novel

Writing a good romance novel is difficult because, by definition, romance novels suck. If I had a vacuum cleaner that sucked as thoroughly and efficiently as most romance novels, I would not at this moment have a carpet bedecked with bits of lint and cookie crumble. They are crimes against humanity in paperback form. They are appalling trite, eye-jabbingly melodramatic, and perhaps worst of all, the sex scenes are full of so many euphemisms that Lord Dirk and his bosomy scullery maid, Bettina (she’s actually the Earl of Northopshire’s illegimate daughter!), could be practicing calligraphy together for all we know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve found a book on my mother’s nightstand with a title such as “Love’s Forbidden Passions,” and cracked open the flower-festooned cover only to discover that it was 250 pages of Bettina swooning while Lord Dirk converses with the stable boys about stag-hunting and rides bare-back, gripping the stallion with his muscular thighs. Like, what the fuck are you doing, Dirk? If you want to write a romance novel that doesn’t make people want to volunteer for a lobotomy, you need to up the sex factor. After all, this is reason women have chosen to buy your book instead of War and Peace.

Once you’ve added in a couple trysts between Bettina and Countess Goodfeather, you might want to think about making something explode. This is good way to get rid of expendable characters that you created solely for the purpose of facilitating sex scenes. After the first fifty pages, all the manor’s unattractive menials should die in a fire, be sent to a penal colony or spontaneously combust. Otherwise, those lumpen deformities will just be clutter, getting in the way of the steamy action occurring between the sexy characters. Kill those toads quick before they pollute your narrative with their homespun homilies and icky poverty. An explosion is also a reliable way to get your main characters to have more sex, which is the sole purpose of your entire plot. After all, in the rubble of the once pristine manor, Countess Goodfeather will need some comforting and Dirk, I think you’re just the man to do it. Or, if not, I guess we’ll just have to settle for Gus the swarthy stable boy.Finally, a romance novel needs a fantastic ending. As a general rule, a good ending should not feature any marriage proposals, weddings, sunsets, sunrises, steeds rearing back on their hind-legs or small, blond and no doubt, precocious, children who have been reared to stand upon their hind-legs. A romance novel should end in a way that demonstrates what true love and lasting bliss are really all about. In case, there is any doubt about this, I will now leave you with an example of an exceptional romance novel ending. It may, indeed, be the most perfect romance novel ending of ALL TIME:

Lord Dirk slowly lifted his head from Countess Goodfeather’s well-formed crotch. His tongue was swollen with love.

“I coub gib you orl sx ab day!” quoth he.

“Pardon me, my plum?” Countess Goodfeather said, raising her head from the pillow to gaze into his azure eyes.

Her lord took a moment to compose himself before replying. “I said, my sweet sugar cube, that you are the most enchanting woman I have ever known and that it would be my pleasure to give you oral sex all day!”

Countess Goodfeather laughed, “Why, my darling, you already have. Would you like another slice of pizza? Maybe one slathered in barbecue sauce with some exceedingly large, greasy strips of bacon on it?”

“Yes, please,” her dearest Dirk replied. “And you could grab me another beer from the fridge?”

“Lakeport Honey Brown or Guinness?”

“How about one of each, you stingy bitch?” Dirk said, kissing her ivory hand.

Goodfeather smiled. “I’ll get you two of each, you greedy fucker!” And she did just that.

THE END.

La beauté de l'amour ! Il est trop parfait pour des mots.