It’s that time of year, the holidays. A month of frenzied togetherness and it’s gotten me to thinking…
The best kind of friend and my Beta reader once said to me “I’d hate to be a mom in one of your stories.” I guess there is a theme that trends to negative. I can’t lie that’s easily some latent childhood, active adult, issues trying to resolve themselves. But even with each of those characters (and funny I have another mean mom in the Regency I’m writing) I also have my share of the decent humans trying their best parent characters. Its not easy. As a mom I know that. I’m pretty sure my teenager would write me as the meanest mom ever. I’m pretty sure my youngest would write me as Aphrodite. And I know that eventually that will flip flop, or not. Who knows? All I know is it’s not easy. I’m doing my best and I know most parents are.
Romance lets the writer embrace the caricature, the wicked stepmother, the sweet heroine. It feeds on that archetype and probably why I enjoy it so much. It’s simple but when done right, elegant. My life is pretty complicated and sometimes simple is good. It’s efficient. Daisy and Gatsby were epic. Maybe I’ll find the gumption to write my version of those characters someday. In the meantime, as my mom texts me in her semi passive aggressive way, I’ll enjoy the benefit of the cheap therapy that romance writing provides.
Happy Thanksgiving all!