It’s so confusing sometimes. I’ve been reaching out to other writers, exploring the internet to see how things have changed. (because I’m old), and I think I’m finding that it’s really, really changed.
Epub has made this a world I don’t entirely understand, but I really want to understand it all. Every morsel of it. Except for the tawdry parts. Those parts I wish I didn’t understand.
It feels like the Art (Big A) is leaving romance, and it’s being replace with Big B Business. I get that we all have to eat. I get it. I get that more people feel capable of writing books and churning them out in record time. As a writer, I get that pressure.
As a reader, it makes me a little sick and upset. Because there is nothing I love more than a good story, and they are getting hard to find. We’re turning out Bilionaire vampire BBWs and not love stories. It’s not that first blush of love where the boy meets the girl and says to himself, “That one.” It’s rape, abuse, darkness and pushing limits.
Those are mostly valid things. Not rape and abuse. I don’t really get that fetish, but I understand the need to push limits. I love the bad boy. Anti-heroes make me tremble in my slippers, but this … isn’t that. It’s lost the dream of romance. Almost like too many of us got our hearts broken all at the same time, and somewhere, somehow, the dream got lost. The idea that two people can love each other so completely that they function where they didn’t before they met. That was why I read this genre, because that a freaking beautiful dream. It’s why I write it.
It’s not that my heart didn’t get broken, it did. I just refuse to let that dream go. It’s still shiny and pretty. I keep reading book after book looking for that connection. It can even be well-written, technically correct, lovingly portrayed, and yet, it’s as if we don’t really believe it anymore. Not all of us.