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I don’t usually publish series posts on Sundays, but we still have a lot to cover in this discussion!

Last week, we looked at Billy Mernit’s seven beats of the romance storyline, first with his definitions, then with examples of the first five. Let’s round out the discussion with the two final beats, the ones that seemed to generate the most confusion/comments last week.

6. The Dark Moment/Crisis

Wherein the consequences of the swivel decision yield disaster; generally, the humiliating scene where private motivations are revealed, and either the relationship and/or the protagonist’s goal is seemingly lost forever. (115)

When we talk about the general structure of the romance novel, this is the “boy loses girl, seemingly forever” part. This is when the conflict between them rises to such a crescendo that it seems insurmountable.

Continuing the illustration with Jude Deveraux’s historical romance The Velvet Promise, the dark moment comes when—after Gavin and Judith have reunited, forgiven each other for everything that’s come before, and admitted they love each other—Judith is kidnapped by Gavin’s former lover, Alice (remember the one who created the first and second turning points [steps 3 & 5]). Now crazed because Gavin has given her up, Alice threatens to pour boiling oil on Judith’s face to steal her beauty and, she believes, regain Gavin’s love (kind of a “who’s the fairest of them all” scenario). Gavin arrives—his only thought of saving Judith, yet still not wanting to believe that Alice is the deceitful, manipulative woman of loose morals everyone has been trying to tell him she is. When Alice greets him, he finally sees her for what she is—an obsessed, crazed woman. For Gavin, his dark moment comes when he realizes how foolish he’s been in always defending Alice, in always believing she was as close to an angel as a human could get, and that because of this, he stands a very real chance of losing the woman he truly loves, Judith. For Judith, the dark moment comes when Alice drags her up onto the rooftop to try to get away from Gavin (Judith is terrified of heights). She believes she is about to die.

7. Joyful Defeat/Resolution

A reconciliation that reaffirms the primal importance of the relationship; usually a happy ending that implies marriage or a serious commitment, often at the cost of some personal sacrifice to the protagonist. (116)

This seems to be the point that generated the most questions/confusion. What did Mernit mean by “personal sacrifice”? Does that mean that to be together, the hero and/or heroine has to give something up in order for the romance to have a HEA ending? No, not necessarily.

Here is the step from The Velvet Promise (Jude Deveraux, published by Pocket Books, copyright 1981):

Alice fell backward, away from the edge, thanks to the sacrifice of her maid. But the pot of oil in her hand fell with her, spilling across her forehead and cheek. She began to scream horribly.

Gavin made one leap across the roof to where Judith still clung. Her extreme fear of heights and her resulting iron grip on the chimney had saved her life. . . .

“Look what you’ve done to me!” Alice screamed through her pain. . . .

“No,” Gavin answered, looking at Alice’s mutilated face with great pity. “It was not I nor Judith who has harmed you, but only yourself.” . . .

Gavin took Judith down the stairs to the room below. . . . “It’s over now, my love,” Gavin whispered. “You are safe now. She will harm you no more.” . . .

“What will happen to her now?” Judith asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I could give her to the courts, but I think perhaps she’s been punished enough. No longer will her beauty ensnare men.”

Judith looked up at him in surprise and studied his face.

“You look at me as if you’re seeing me for the first time,” he said.

“Maybe I am. You’re free of her.”

“I have told you before that I no longer loved her.”

“Yes, but there was always a part of you that was hers, a part I couldn’t touch. But now she no longer possesses you. You are mine—totally and completely mine.”

“And that pleases you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It pleases me greatly.”

The “personal sacrifice” Gavin has made here is that he saw his first love for what she really was. The rose-colored glasses were torn from his eyes and he was forced to see reality (and, as mentioned above in his dark moment, realize that his willful blindness to Alice’s faults put Judith’s life—and that of the child she lost—at risk). This book closes with a “commitment” HEA ending—because Judith and Gavin are already married. In arranged/forced-marriage stories, usually historicals, you’ll usually find this kind of an ending—a reconciliation of the couple and something that indicates their marriage will be happy. And both of these steps—from Judith’s kidnapping to the ending, quoted above—take place in the last nine pages of the book.

The “personal sacrifice” that Mernit mentions can be equated to whatever internal journey the characters have throughout the book. It’s the change they need to make in their lives—whether emotional, spiritual, or even physical (moving, changing jobs, etc.)—that will allow them to make that commitment to the other person. It can also be one of the characters facing his or her greatest fear (such as flying, heights, water, etc.), because the thought of losing the other is actually worse than the long-held fear.

In Catherine Marshall’s Christy (not technically a romance, but a women’s fiction with a strong romantic thread), it is Dr. McNeil’s prayer at Christy’s sickbed, when he gives up the tight control he’s always tried to hold over his life to God. In The Wedding Planner, it is Steve realizing he’s making a mistake if he marries Fran and going on a mad rush to try to find Mary, because he finally realizes he chose to marry Fran for the wrong reasons. In You’ve Got Mail, it’s when Kathleen goes to the park to meet her online beau only to discover it’s Joe Fox—and she realizes that, even though she’s railed against him and tried to keep from falling for him, she really loves him.

For Discussion:
Is your dark moment dark enough? What about some that are too dark so that they become melodramatic? How long are these two steps in your WIP or last completed manuscript? If you haven’t gotten that far, pick out a favorite book and see how many pages it takes to complete these two steps.

Since there haven’t been a lot of responses, I’m hoping that y’all are out there just taking it all in and anxiously awaiting the next post. So let’s look at the next three beats:

3. The Turning Point

Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 1, a new development that raises story stakes and clearly defines the protagonist’s goal; most successful when it sets man and woman at cross-purposes and/or their inner emotions at odds with the goal. (112)

In the last post, I asked if the inciting incident in The Wedding Planner was when Mary and Steve meet or when Mary learns Steve is the groom in the big-ticket wedding she’s just signed on as the planner for. As Eileen commented, the inciting incident (step 2) is when they meet. The turning point (this step) is when Mary discovers Steve is the groom. Why? Because it completely changes their relationship—from growing attraction to conflict because they can’t be together because she’s planning his wedding to someone else. In You’ve Got Mail, the inciting incident (the meet) occurs when Joe takes his “aunt” and little brother into Kathleen’s bookstore and they like each other. The turning point is when Kathleen and Joe meet again face to face as adversaries, because Kathleen knows he’s the owner of the super-bookstore that’s putting her shop out of business. Even though they’ve known each other online for awhile before the story starts, it isn’t until they meet face to face that we get our inciting incident and first turning point.

The turning point is the main conflict between your hero and heroine that will contrive to keep them apart for most of the story, even as they’re falling in love with each other. It’s usually the setup for the plot—a wedding planner tasked with planning a wedding for a man she’s falling in love with (whether he’s the real groom, as in The Wedding Planner, or he’s just pretending to be the groom, as in Stand-In Groom); a woman whose former flame returns and is resentful toward her for turning down his proposal years before—she must watch while he flirts with and seems to build a new relationship with someone she’s close to (Persuasion); the woman who’s falling in love, unbeknownst to her, with the man putting her out of business (You’ve Got Mail); this is the shotgun wedding, the arrival of the mailorder bride, the wedding day when the arranged bride and groom meet for the first time, and so on. The turning point is the realization that this isn’t going to be a smooth path to romance—it’s the first (major) bump in the road. 

4. The Midpoint/Raising the Stakes

A situation that irrevocably binds the protagonist with the antagonist (often while tweaking sexual tensions) and has further implications for the outcome of the relationship. (113)

This is taking the conflict you’ve just raised at the turning point and continuing to raise the stakes—throwing as many twists and turns and conflicts as you can at the characters to keep them apart as long as possible. In Jude Deveraux’s Velvet Promise, the turning point is just after Judith and Gavin’s arranged wedding, when Judith comes upon Gavin and his lover in the garden—the lover is threatening to kill herself if Gavin falls in love with his new wife. Because there had been an immediate attraction between Judith and Gavin, this is the first time Judith realizes she isn’t in for a happy marriage. The raising of the stakes is when Judith is captured by an enemy who believes he should have been given Judith as his wife. Even though Gavin rescues her, because he has been unfaithful to Judith, he believes the enemy’s story that Judith has been unfaithful to him as well and now bears the enemy’s child.

5. Swivel: Second Turning Point

Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 2, stakes reach their highest point as the romantic relationship’s importance jeopardizes the protagonist’s chance to succeed at his/her state goal—or vice versa—and his/her goal shifts. (115)

Let’s pause for a moment and consider the characters’ “goals” in a romance novel. In every work of fiction, each character must have a goal, motivation, and conflict for them to be believable to the reader. In Stand-In Groom, Anne’s goal is to plan the wedding she’s just been hired to plan to the best of her ability; George’s goal is to get through planning his employer’s wedding without anyone finding out he’s not the groom. When Anne and George begin falling for each other, both of their goals are jeopardized—if Anne falls in love with a client, her reputation as a wedding planner, and her business, would be ruined. As George falls in love with Anne, he risks revealing the truth to her, even though he’s signed a confidentiality addendum to his work contract; if he breaks the contract, he’ll have to return to England because he’ll lose his job, which means losing his work visa.

In Velvet Promise, the second turning point occurs when Judith and Gavin go to London to attend court. Through the contrivance of the king and queen, Gavin and Judith realize they’re in love with each other, and Judith is able to convince him the child is really his, that she didn’t have an affair with the enemy. But Gavin’s paramour isn’t giving up quite so easily. One night, after Gavin and his brother get rip-roaring drunk, Gavin falls into the nearest bed to sleep it off. The paramour climbs into the bed under his inert form and sends one of her servants to fetch Judith to help her husband back to their room. When Judith sees her husband in what she believes is an intimate position with his lover, she falls down the stairs and begins to miscarry the child, putting her life in jeopardy. Though Gavin is miserable at what happened and fears for Judith’s life, he will not abide anyone’s saying anything ill against his paramour. Judith, on the other hand, believes he’ll never change and blames him for the loss of the child, barely tolerating his presence. Because her goal was to have a happy home and a loving marriage, this second turning point has now jeopardized her chance at succeeding. And it seems like nothing will ever be able to bring them back together again.

For Discussion:
From your own work, a published novel, or a romantic film, identify the Turning Point, the rising stakes in the Midpoint, and the Second Turning Point. Is there a way that you can make the conflicts even bigger/worse?

Yesterday, I gave you the seven basic beats of the romance storyline, as defined by Billy Mernit in Writing the Romantic Comedy. Let’s look at the first two beats and see if we can start clearing up exactly what they mean as far as writing and structuring a romance novel.

1. The Setup/Hook

A scene or sequence identifying the exterior and/or interior conflict (i.e., unfulfilled desire), the “what’s wrong with this picture” implied in the protagonist’s (and/or antagonist’s) current status quo. (Mernit, 110)

Because Mernit wrote his book for screenwriters, the first couple of steps may come across as slightly different than what we, as novelists, are used to seeing, but really, they’re the same. This is your introductory scene—the opening hook and introduction of your hero or heroine (whichever has the first POV scene). As with all opening scenes, this is the establishment of that character’s story goal, as well as hinting at the main conflict for the entire novel.

With your heroine—whether in third person or first person—there is something to keep in mind: a romance heroine wants to fall in love, even if she thinks she doesn’t. There has to be some part of her that is going to be open, receptive, to falling in love. It’s much easier to accept a hero who’s not at all interested in romantic entanglements or the emotional side of falling in love. But because we want to be able to put ourselves in the heroine’s place, there has to be some indication that she’s emotionally available and ready to fall in love. A romance heroine who has so much internal conflict and turmoil going on, combined with so much external conflict that she can hardly breathe or think would probably be a better main character of a chick lit or women’s fiction novel—the story would be more about her getting her life together than about her falling in love. There can still be a romantic interest in a story like that, even a happy ending, but it’s not necessarily a true romance novel if it’s more about her internal life and less about the relationship.

2. The Meet/Inciting Incident

The inciting incident brings man and woman together and into conflict; an inventive but credible contrivance, often amusing, which in some way sets the tone for the action to come. (111)

The inciting incident for a romance novel is when the hero and heroine meet. It doesn’t matter what other conflicts are going on in the story or with the characters. Since a romance novel is about the developing relationship between hero and heroine, it is the meet which sets the rest of the action of the story in motion. In a category-length romance (HeartSong, Love Inspired, Harlequin, Silhouettes, etc.), this is expected to happen in the first chapter. In trade/mass-market romances, this might not happen until the second chapter—so long as the hero and heroine are both introduced and it is shown as being inevitable they’ll meet by the end of the second chapter. In my historical romance, which includes two additional POVs other than just the hero and heroine, I don’t have them actually coming face to face until the end of the third chapter. The feedback I’ve gotten from an editor is that it’s much too late, so I’m trying to rework it so that the first chapter ends with the hero knocking on the front door, and they’ll come face to face in the beginning of the second chapter.

These two beats go hand-in-hand . . . the meet/inciting incident can be your opening hook. And in a romance, it is really the meet that is the hook—beyond your initial hook-sentence/paragraph at the beginning of the story. Romance readers want the hero and heroine to cross paths as soon as possible so that we can start to see the chemistry between them from the get-go. That’s the hook that keeps us reading.

When the hero and heroine meet, even if they initially seem to hate each other, you must show that there is some kind of attraction, something that will allow them to start seeing the good in each other—even if that side is only shown to the reader. Once again, I’ll reference the film You’ve Got Mail. If we didn’t see the softer sides of the two characters, we’d never believe there was any way they could ever fall in love with each other. They’re so hateful toward each other through the first half to two-thirds of the film, when they’re face to face, that we’d never buy it as a romance if we didn’t see their pain, their internal conflicts. That’s what makes us root for them to work it out in the end—because we know they’re meant to be together, even when they don’t.

For Discussion:
From a favorite movie or romance novel, what’s the opening hook that introduces the character(s) to the reader/viewer? Is the meet between h/hn the opening hook? If not, when does the inciting incident occur? In the movie The Wedding Planner, would you consider the inciting incident when Steve saves Mary from the run-away garbage bin or when Mary learns Steve is the groom of the wedding she’s been working so hard to land? Is it possible for the meet and the inciting incident to be separate?
 

In Writing the Romantic Comedy, Billy Mernit breaks the romance storyline into “seven basic” pieces, or “beats.” Most of us have heard that we should structure novels like plays or movies: in three acts. In a romance, the three acts can be broken down by the plot points we’ve already looked at: the meet, the lose, and the get. But Mernit breaks it down even further into these seven elements that are important to every romance:

1. The Setup/Hook

A scene or sequence identifying the exterior and/or interior conflict (i.e., unfulfilled desire), the “what’s wrong with this picture” implied in the protagonist’s (and/or antagonist’s) current status quo. (Mernit, 110)

2. The Meet/Inciting Incident

The inciting incident brings man and woman together and into conflict; an inventive but credible contrivance, often amusing, which in some way sets the tone for the action to come. (111)

3. The Turning Point

Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 1, a new development that raises story stakes and clearly defines the protagonist’s goal; most successful when it sets man and woman at cross-purposes and/or their inner emotions at odds with the goal. (112)

4. The Midpoint/Raising the Stakes

A situation that irrevocably binds the protagonist with the antagonist (often while tweaking sexual tensions) and has further implications for the outcome of the relationship. (113)

5. Swivel: Second Turning Point

Traditionally occurring at the end of Act 2, stakes reach their highest point as the romantic relationship’s importance jeopardizes the protagonist’s chance to succeed at his/her state goal—or vice versa—and his/her goal shifts. (115)

6. The Dark Moment/Crisis

Wherein the consequences of the swivel decision yield disaster; generally, the humaliating scene where private motivations are revealed, and either the relationshio and/or the protagonist’s goal is seemingly lost forever. (115)

7. Joyful Defeat/Resolution

A reconciliation that reaffirms the primal importance of the relationship; usually a happy ending that implies marriage or a serious commitment, often at the cost of some personal sacrifice to the protagonist. (116)

Okay, now I know this is a short post, and that beyond giving the definitions straight from the book, I haven’t really explained what any of them are. But I want you to formulate questions about them for us to discuss for the rest of the week. I want to get into all of these points, but I don’t want to belabor one of them if it’s something that everyone understands. So re-read these and post a comment with all of your questions about each point and let’s start exploring the structure of the romance!

Though this is coming under much more debate these days, with all of the editors and agents saying chick lit is dead, dead, dead (which they said about historicals several years ago, but I digress), the standard POV for romance is third-person limited, past-tense, featuring the viewpoints of the heroine and the hero. That is what the romance reader is looking for.

I have heard from several authors recently that their first-person/present-tense “romance” novels were rejected, because the editor felt they were too chick-litty; or the author was asked to rewrite the story in third-person/past-tense and include the hero’s POV. And, by way of full disclosure, I am extremely prejudiced against the first/present POV and have only read two authors whose first/present chick lit novels I’ve enjoyed: Georgiana Daniels and Laura Jensen Walker.

Yes, single viewpoint romances have been written, and yes, they can be done well. In fact, we could say that there is almost a subgenre of romance which is the “girl must choose between two boys” romance. Young adult romances use this setup a lot (such as the Sunfire romances I read as a teen), as does chick lit.

I just want you to be forewarned that selling a romance novel that isn’t third/past/dual POV might be a struggle. Not impossible. But a struggle. But, don’t just take my prejudiced word for it.

A writer should stick to one POV per scene. “Headhopping” is a definite no-no.

For category romance, a book should either contain just the heroine’s POV, or, optimally, the heroine’s and hero’s POV.

Multiple POVs [more than hero/heroine] should be reserved for single-title works only.

In general, third-person POV is the preferred viewpoint.

(Rebecca Vinyard, The Romance Writer’s Handbook)

What does she mean, no headhopping? What about Nora Roberts and Jude Deveraux and Julie Garwood and Lori Wick? They headhop all over the place! Yes, and they’re all multi-published authors whose books sell on the strength of their brand-name, not the strength of their craft. Honing the skill of writing in deep, third-limited POV will strengthen your writing like nothing else.

The most common point of view in Christian romance is third person limited, alternating the hero’s or heroine’s POV by scene or chapters. . . . This method allows readers to enjoy getting to know both the hero and heroine intimately by seeing their relationship through both characters’ thoughts.
(Gail Gaymer Martin, Writing the Christian Romance)

Let’s take, for example, the movie You’ve Got Mail. What if it only had Meg Ryan’s scenes and the scenes in which she and Tom Hanks are together? Take out all of the scenes of him apart from her. You’d lose a big chunk of what’s important to the development of Kathleen and Joe’s relationship: the conflicts he brings to the table because of his family. If the story were told only from Kathleen’s POV, we would probably never understand why she ends up falling in love with him—nor would we get the chance to see the change and growth in him. Without getting inside the hero’s head, it’s a lot harder to convince the reader that the hero is worthy of our heroine’s love.

By using POV to allow the reader an intimate glimpse inside the character’s perspectives, the writer allows the reader to understand why the character is threatened by the conflict and why she [or he] feels so strongly about the subject.
(Gallagher/Estrada, eds., Writing Romances)

Including both the hero’s and heroine’s viewpoints not only gives us insight into both sides of the developing relationship, it’s also a way to create and maintain suspense and conflict. As we talked about in the Hooking the Reader series, being able to cut away from a character’s POV at a pivotal moment—a moment of decision or the cusp of taking a new action—hooks the reader and keeps them reading to find out what happens next.

In romance, it is the hero who carries the book. Within the dynamics of reading a romance, the female reader is the hero, and also is the heroine-as-object-of-the-hero’s-interest. . . . Through her own and the hero’s eyes, the reader watches and judges the heroine . . . the closer she moves toward spontaneously identifying with both hero and heroine, the more rich and rewarding the romance is likely to be for her.
(Laura Kinsale, “The Androgynous Reader,” Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women)

For Discussion:
What POV do you prefer to read romances in? Do you always want the hero’s POV? Would you ever consider writing a single POV romance from the hero’s viewpoint? Do you find yourself identifying more with the heroine when you see her through the hero’s eyes—wanting to be in her place as the object of his admiration? What POV have you chosen to use? Any other thoughts on POV in romance?

Yesterday, we began our discussion of stereotypical characters in romance novels. I’ll be the first to admit that with some writers, I don’t mind them. As I’ve already mentioned, I cut my teeth reading Garwood, Deveraux, and Coulter in the 1980s—and there are certain novels of theirs that I still enjoy reading, because they’re good storytellers. But we’ll get into that later.

There are two more types of characters I want to talk about before we move on to the next topic. (What will it be? I’m not sure. I’ll find out tonight when I sit down to write tomorrow’s blog entry.)

The Caveman
Have you ever read a romance novel in which the hero was so brutish and stubborn that you wondered if he’d skipped back a couple of steps on the evolutionary ladder? (Even if you don’t believe in evolution?) This is the hero who’s so thickheaded and set in his ways that his only internal conflict is whether or not he’ll give up his caveman ways and finally admit that he loves the heroine. He doesn’t care about anything other than food and entertainment (whether that entertainment is fast cars or going to war on the clans who are his enemies). While the heroine might become part of that entertainment (keep it clean, family programming here!), she’s definitely outranked by the pre-existing forms of entertainment (cars/clubbing his enemies over the head with his big sword). She’s merely a distraction. A gnat. A mosquito. Something he’ll protect because, in his caveman mentality, she now belongs to him (whether they’re married or not).

No, if your reading has been limited to stuff published in the past ten or fifteen years, you probably haven’t seen a caveman hero—or at least, not a true caveman. Just like the TV show based on the Geico commercials, the caveman of the new millenium has changed. He has feelings just like everyone else (sort of). But just like those Geico cavemen, he’s better left to 30-second clips (secondary role) than being given his own show (hero).

But I’ve read enough newbie authors’ writing to know that in the dark recesses of the vast troposphere of unpublished (unsubmitted, unedited, unrevised, un-everything) work most of us have done, we’ve written a caveman, whether we set out to do it or not. On one side, the caveman character appeals to those romance writers who are the kind of women who find themselves drawn to the “bad boy” character. The rebel without a cause. The one with the devil-may-care attitude who leaves a trail of broken hearts behind him. Somehow, these women believe they can “fix” these bad-boy cavemen. So they write romance novels in which some firey, spunky, red-headed, green-eyed vixen tames the caveman. Makes him turn from his bad-boy cro-magnum ways and become the ideal Homo sapien.

On the other side, how many episodes of Maury, Jerry Springer, and Ricki Lake does it take for people to realize that our caveman will always be a caveman?

Please, please, please . . . don’t let your hero be a caveman. Give him some spark, some inkling, that makes his turnaround at the end of the book believable as a lasting change.

The TSTL Heroine
If you’ve never seen this acronym before, I know you’re dying to know what it means. This is my biggest pet-peeve when it comes to characters: the TOO STUPID TO LIVE heroine. The TSTL heroine is the one who cannot defend herself. Who has to rely on the big, strong, oh-so-manly, I-may-faint-if-he-smiles-at-me hero to save her from every little problem that comes her way. The one who, when kidnapped, cannot even begin to think of own escape plan–or, worse yet, the one who ignores everyone’s warnings and puts herself in harm’s way leading to the kidnapping. The kind who is headstrong and goes against every social norm of her era or environment (whether historic or contemporary) and yet is lauded and applauded by those around her who, in real life, would scorn her. (This is usually done by an author as a means to generate conflicts for the character.) This is the heroine who has nothing in her head except that her life won’t be perfect and she’ll never have fulfillment until she falls in love with the right man.

We see a lot of TSTL heroines in romantic suspense. She’s the one who runs into the basement in her underwear when she’s home alone and hears a noise down there. She’s the one who opens the door when she knows there’s something dangerous on the other side of it (have you ever seen The Birds?). She’s the one who runs upstairs to get away when she knows there’s no way to get out of the house upstairs. She’s the one who follows the bad guy into the dark woods to find out what he’s up to when she’s unarmed and has no tracking/stealth ability or training (and usually ends up getting captured by the bad guy, who is almost always a caveman).

I also see a lot of TSTL heroines in historical romances. In fact, I began reading a book that came out a couple of years ago in which the entire premise of the story was built upon the heroine going somewhere where she knew she shouldn’t have been, where she didn’t need to be, and where a woman in her situation of life would never have gone. Then, once she was in the untenable situation, she—a headstrong woman of rank and wealth—couldn’t figure out how to prove her identity or buy her way out of it.

TSTL heroines have a tendency to shriek, scream, weep, wail, flail, faint, and get lost A LOT.

There’s a big difference between TSTL heroines and those who are just ditzy. Ditzy heroines are usually smart but lacking in common sense. TSTL heroines lack both. (And ditzy just for the sake of humor is borderline TSTL.)

The worst part of TSTL heroines is that it’s not always the character’s fault that she comes across that way—it’s the totally unbelievable situations the author puts her in. (See the example I gave above about the published book I read!) Usually a TSTL heroine’s plight is made even worse by the author putting her in one inane situation after another just for the sake of having the hero come in and rescue her.

Please, respect your heroine more than that. Even in romantic comedy, don’t make your heroine ditzy or silly without giving her a strong intellect and the capaticty for getting herself out of conflicts. Don’t have her make the same mistake over and over and over without learning from it. And don’t have her rely so heavily on the hero to rescue her that she just lies on the train tracks and lets the train roll right over her.

She doesn’t have to be an Alpha female and go in with guns blazing to save the hero (unless you really want her to). She can be soft and demure and meek without being stupid or silly.

For Discussion:
Have you ever read a romance which featured a caveman or a TSTL heroine? (published or unpublished) What are some qualities you could give to a caveman or TSTL heroine to break them out of that mold? Is there ever an instance where a caveman or TSTL heroine is the best choice of character?

The strong, domineering hero of the romance novel has long been the subject of criticism. What critics don’t realize is that it is the hero’s task in the book to present a suitable challenge to the heroine. His strength is a measure of her power. For she must conquer him.
Robyn Donald, “The Hero in Romance Literature”

Most romance writers I’ve talked to, or whose critical writings or interviews I’ve read, say that their ideas for their novels begin with the characters. I’ve found this to be true for myself—and for me, it’s usually the hero who comes first. After all, the true romance novel is, as we learned last time, a story about the developing relationship between two characters. Meaning that it is the characters who are the central focus of the story, the characters who drive the plot, the characters whom, at the end of the book, the reader really cares about. Therefore, when setting out to write a romance novel, a considerable amount of care and attention needs to be paid to developing your characters.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, “Begin with an individual and you will find that you have created a type; begin with a type and you will find that you have created—nothing.” Back in the glory days of the books that gave us the term bodice-rippers (the 1970s and ’80s, just in case you don’t remember reading them yourself!), most of us who were avid romance readers had our favorite authors, because we could count on them to give us the kinds of heroes and heroines we were looking for. Jude Deveraux, Julie Garwood, and Catherine Coulter were my three favorites. In fact, I didn’t read very many other authors at all, because I had all I wanted in their prolific writings. They gave their readers warrior-heroes who took what they wanted no matter the consequences, who resented the heroines for distracting them from their tasks, who felt love was showing weakness and would bring them dishonor; and heroines who were strong, sometimes well beyond what was realistic for the medieval or other historical time periods in which the stories were set, who put up with the men’s brutality and eventually came to not only love them, but soften/tame them as well—while never giving up their own identity.

I’ve recently re-read two old Julie Garwood novels, Honor’s Splendor and The Wedding, and I came to the realization that even though the heroes are technically different—one is an English Baron, the other a Scottish Laird—they’re basically the same. And the heroines are too. And I’m now remembering that even though I considered Julie Garwood my favorite of the three authors I mentioned, I never really did like her heroines. Like the heroes, they’re all very similar, and relatively silly. Jude Deveraux, while still giving the warrior-heroes at least didn’t make her heroines silly. But for the most part, all of them wrote characters that were stereotypical for their era: the warrior and the damsel in distress.

Sure, there are a lot of readers out there who still want those two archetypal romance characters. Or they want the Scoundrel and the Socialite, or the Rich Man and Poor Girl. And if we study all romance novels deeply enough, we’ll find that for the most part, all of our characters fall into some kind of “type” in one way or another. But we have to fight against the stereotypes to make our characters fresh and appealing.

If a romance novel features a heroine with red hair and green eyes, what kind of personality do you expect her to have? If there’s an African American man as a secondary character in a book and a crime is committed, who’s the perpetrator most likely going to be? Are all Italian men hot-headed, lusty, and linked with underground crime? Are all medieval men warlords, barons, or lairds? Do all historical heroines have to be feisty, spunky, educated beyond what is historically believable, hate their corsets, and want to run around all over the place unchaperoned?

In inspirational romance, we have our own set of stereotypes to deal with: the pioneer widow who must marry a stranger to survive; the nineteenth century teacher who’s gone west to teach and bring God’s word to the heathens; missionaries and preachers; secretaries; characters with jobs so vague as to be nonexistent; ranch owners who take in wayward boys; the good Christian girl who must “save” the backslidden or non-Christian hero; and so on.

Quite a lot has changed in the romance genre since the heyday of Deveraux, Garwood, and Coulter. We’ve seen the splintering of romance into subgenres: chick lit, paranormal, romantic suspense, inspirational, sweet, historical (which has its own genres, the two most popular being Regency and medieval), etc. We’ve also seen the decline in popularity of the warrior heroes and damsel-in-distress heroines. Oh, sure, they’re still out there, but modern readers are looking for something more. They’re looking for a twist on the type. They’re looking for unique individuals, so that each story they read seems different from the last.

One thing that has become possible in the last ten or fifteen years has been the beta-male hero. He’s Clark Kent without the Superman alter-ego. He’s Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. He’s the Hollywood mega-star’s personal assistant (George in Stand-In Groom). He’s most likely not buff nor capable of physically sweeping the heroine off her feet, doesn’t hold a “romantic” job (systems support analyst, anyone?), and definitely doesn’t go around intimidating people because of his physical prowess. Yes, typically, these beta-male heroes are found mostly in contemporaries. (We still like our historical heroes to be alpha-males.)

With the rise of the beta-male has come the rise of the alpha-female—the “bitch,” in other words. She’s the powerful woman who’s completely given up on men. She’s the attorney, the vice president of the company, the CEO, the governor, the senator. She has taken over as the character who must be conquered, whose stony dispassion must be chiseled away by our more in-touch-with-his-emotions beta-male.

But once again, in these scenarios, we tend toward types. Our job as authors is to make sure we’re not falling into the trap of beginning with a “type” of character. Is your character telling you she’s a teacher? Great. Make her a shop teacher at an inner-city high school instead of a kindergarten teacher at a private school where all the children are precocious little angels. He’s a medieval Highland laird? Super. Make him a pacifist. Do something to give some kind of twist to your character’s “type” to keep him or her from becoming a stereotype.

In inspirational romance, we’re so scared of giving our characters any kind of flaws, sins, or pasts that they come across as perfect, sanctimonious prigs. Let them have pasts that they’re still paying the consequences for. Let them say things that not everyone around them agrees with. Let them argue. Let them fall down and fail. Let them get angry at God. Let someone else take them down off of their holier-than-thou high-horse.

Because there’s no way to cover everything about romance heroes and heroines in one blog entry, we’ll continue talking about them tomorrow. But for now, let’s get some discussion going.

For Discussion:
In your WIP, what “type” is your hero? (Alpha? Beta? Highland laird? Nerd?) Your heroine? (Damsel in distress? CEO? Silly girl who gets into one catastrophe after another?) What have you done to keep them from becoming stereotypes? Do you have a favorite author who tends to use stereotypical characters in her/his novels? What are your favorite “types” to read in romances?

I mentioned in the first post the stigma that reading and writing romance has. If you’ve been a reader or writer of the genre for any length of time, you know what I was talking about from first-hand experience.

But who is reading romance novels? Let’s look at some statistics, courtesy of the Romance Writers of America’s website:

Romance Sales
Romance fiction generated $1.37 billion in sales in 2006.
Approximately 6,400 romance titles were released in 2006.

Market Share of Romance Fiction
Romance fiction outsold every market category in 2006, with the exception of religion/inspirational.
26.4% of all books sold are romance.

Romance Market Share Compared to Other Genres
(source: Simba Information estimates)
Romance fiction: $1.37 billion in estimated revenue for 2006
Religion/inspirational: $1.68 billion
Science fiction/fantasy: $495 million
Classic literary fiction: $448
Mystery: $422 million
Graphic novels: $128 million
Of those who read books last year, one in five read romance novels. (AP-Ipsos Poll)

As you can see, the only category of fiction that outperformed romance is Inspirational fiction! What a bonus for those of us who are writing inspirational romances! (For a more detailed romance subgenre breakdown, click the RWA link above.)

Who are these “one in five” people reading romance novels? According to RWA’s statistics:

• Readers break down geographically in the U.S.: Southeast (29%), Western (27%), Midwest (26%), Northeast (12.6%)
• More women (78%) than men (22%). The number of men reading novels categorized as “romance” genre increased from 7% in 2002.
• Married women make up 50% of readers, while 37% are single.
• There’s a pretty wide age range for readership: 41% are between the ages of 25–44; 29% between the ages of 45–64; 15% between the ages of 14–24
• Here’s the statistic that usually surprises people: 42% of people who read romance novels have a bachelor’s degree or higher; 15% have post graduate work or a degree; 23% have high school diplomas

So that’s for whom we’re writing.

Next week, we’re going to start getting into the nitty-gritty of the nuts-and-bolts of how to write a romance novel—from characters to conflicts to structure to endings. And I’m lining up some fun and surprising guest columnists too!