Formulae for Writing Romance Novels

There are a lot of people who enjoy romance novels - the stock characters, predictable plot, language that is both flowery and insipid, and overwrought sex scenes are just a few of the many attractions offered by Harlequin novels and their insidious offspring - but sometimes they just don't click right. Maybe the heroine's name sounds weird, or she meets her hero in the same place the reader went for her honeymoon with that first husband, the one we don't talk about any more, the one who... you know. In any case, with the guide published below and in the previous post, it is now possible to write a fully acceptable, yet completely personalized, romance novel. If the author follows these guidelines, the novel will be published by any major publishing house specializing in smut and related genres*.

Once again, this author is grateful to Therese for her assistance in explaining the various particulars of romance novels.

To pick up where we left off, once the author has introduced the heroine and alluded darkly to her tragedy/mysterious past/need for adventure/etc., it is time to introduce the hero. He absolutely must be darkly good-looking, with tousled brown hair and deep brown eyes. If he has to be extraordinary in some way, give him green eyes, but if he has green eyes, the heroine can't, unless they're Irish or Scottish, in which case the heroine must have red hair. It's complicated, so a flowchart may be useful for these situations.

Back to the hero. Under no circumstances should he be anything other than dangerously handsome, with a 'winning smile' and possible slightly lupine teeth. There is a fine line, however, between lupine and lycan, and unless the novel is of the supernatural romance variety, it is advisable to stay well away from any suggestion of lycanthropy. Perfect, defined muscles are an utter necessity, and it is encouraged to have them gleam. A chiseled jaw is also required. He should be clean-shaven, so that the tanned smoothness of his Italian-sun-darkened skin can be more readily admired. Scars are optional, but recommended. The hero should be able to pick up the heroine easily and shelter her in the strength of his manly, exquisite arms, but it should not be uncomfortable for the heroine to fall asleep on his rock-like chest. the resolution of this impossibility is left to the author and the wilfully suspended disbelief of his audience.

The hero's name is unimportant, but a more common name than the heroine's, something in two syllables or less, easily gasped by a breathless lover, is best. 'David' seems to work quite well for most novelists. Finally, he should be a man of honor who has had a troubled past, and may still be what is termed 'a rake,' although once he meets the heroine he should thrill her with his exploits and win her love with his vow to give up such reckless pursuits. He must be ready at all times to either defend her honor, or make sweaty, passionate love to her, or anticipate and provide for her every need. The hero should never, ever appear to be weak in any way.

Join us next time for a closer look at the intricacies of romance-novel plot and language.

*Not an actual guarantee. Author accepts no responsibility for, well, anything.

Formulae for Writing Romance Novels

with input from Therese

After resolving various internet-related issues (i.e., not having any), jemmo is pleased to present for your reading pleasure and writing education, Formulae for Writing Romance Novels. We will begin with Formula #1 (not Formula One, like racing cars): The Traditional Romance Novel, Also Known as Harlequins.

Part 1: the heroine

Start with a description of the heroine, appearance first. She can have any color hair, so long as it is full, gorgeous and undyed. It should probably be curly, and has to fall at least to her waist. She can occasionally complain - in a coquettish and ladylike fashion - about the difficulty of keeping it maintained, but it can never look anything less than breathtaking, and on the night of the Meeting (more on that later), it has to be stunning.

She should be full-figured, with a DD-cup (though it should never be described in such crass terms - phrases like "heaving bosom" are much more appropriate), correspondingly round hips, and an impossibly tiny waist. Alternatively, she could be an ethereal waif of a girl, but a substantial chest and corset-cinched waist are mandatory, as are dainty feet. Her hands should be slim and graceful, no matter what her profession (if any. Duchesses make good Harlequin heroines).

And her eyes. Spend a full page on her eyes, which sparkle with life and wit. For brunettes, they should be brown, and blondes blue, but if the heroin needs some extra exoticism, make them green. Redheads get green eyes regardless, because redheads are exotic in their own right. Her skin should be porcelain-pale; it makes blushing easier and prettier. A brunette can be dark-skinned if she must, but not so much she couldn't step seamlessly into High Society.

So much for her physical description. Character-wise, she must be a strong woman. Maybe she's had to take over the family business/estate after her father died, or perhaps she's had to make her own way in the world, caring for an invalid sister after their rogue of a brother (yes, phrases like this are both fitting and necessary) left them so suddenly, suspiciously suddenly, after their parents' death. Or perhaps she's a wealthy duchess (or margravine, for those who prefer more flowery titles), bored with her lot in life, yearning for a little illicit adventure. If the bored duchess/margravine needs a flaw, she can be a little clumsy, but only daintily and endearingly so. *A note on the word "illicit." This word can be the most valuable tool in writing a Harlequin, but only if it is not overused. Apply it sparingly and with proper supporting context.

Finally, the heroine's name. It should be long, exotic, and for preference a combination of other names. Sacharissa, Katriona, Mariella, and Mellisandra are all good names. As demonstrated, her name should end in an "a," if at all possible, although "e"s are acceptable as well. Her middle name should be Rose, unless she's a duchess (or margravine) in which case she can have up to five equally flowery and complicated middle names. If the heroine is not a duchess, her last name should be something simple and pronounceable, but not overly common. Avoid short vowel sounds and harsh consonants. Something like Gale or Blaise works well. If the heroine is a duchess, however, her last name absolutely must be long and hyphenated. Fotherington-Halliore and Ellicott-Chatham come to mind as suitable names for a ducal family.

As a last note, the duchess heroine must be titled. Lady of the Something Rather, Grand Mistress of the Whatsits-type thing. It's these little details that the readership truly appreciates.

Please keep in mind that the links within this post may be NSFW, and they are almost entirely to heroines or characters that are not Harlequin-cannon-approved, largely examples of How Not To Write A Harlequin Heroine. Click at your own risk. We hope you have enjoyed and benefited from this explanation of the Harlequin heroine. Join us next time for an exposition of the Harlequin hero.

Spoiler Alert, pt. 1

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE DARK KNIGHT MOVIE. If you didn't read the title, or skipped the last sentence because it was all in caps, or don't know what a spoiler is, I will repeat myself slowly and clearly: in this post, I will be talking about plot details from the latest Batman movie, Dark Knight. If you haven't seen the movie, this will spoil some of the surprises in it for you (hence the term 'spoiler'). Read no further, but close the page, close your browser, even turn off your computer if you fear that the following information will leak out of the internet and hurl itself out of your monitor to get a stranglehold on your brain. Go on. Shoo.

If, however, you have seen Dark Knight, or don't mind listening to me despite the knowledge you won't know what I'm talking about or will know all too well and thus spoil Dark Knight's plot twists, and accept that knowledge and wish to forge ahead of your own free will (I think I might have got lost in that last sentence, but you know what I mean): Read on. Once again, however, THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR DARK KNIGHT, and if I haven't made that clear enough you deserve to have me sit next to you in the theater, stealing your popcorn and telling you what's coming about fifteen seconds before it happens.

Dark Knight raises a lot of questions - ethical questions, social ones, existential ones even - like, How responsible is the Batman for the deaths? Was Albert right to burn Rachel's note? was that even within his rights? Why are the Joker's crimes so heinous? What is the significance of referring to both the Joker and the Batman with 'the'? does it objectify them? Is the Batman a vigilante or an outlaw, or both? should he be doing what he does? Is it right to falsely protect the memory of someone so that others can wrongly see him or her as a hero? And the big one, What will happen to the Batman, his psyche, his morals, now that he's lost Rachel?

These are all very interesting questions, and I'll get to them eventually. Most of them, anyway; some I don't care to try to answer. The question that intrigues me at the moment, however, is this: what is it like inside the Joker's mind? Is it sparkly and deadly, like a shattered mirror? Is it all impossible angles and Escher staircases? "I'm like a dog chasing cars," he says of himself. "I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it." What does that mean about his psyche? Is he scizophrenic? Is he devastatingly sane?

I think the answer lies with something else he says about himself. He tells (at least) two different stories about how he got his scars. He seems equally convinced of the truth of both, although there is no way for both stories to be true. I don't read the Batman comics, so I don't know if one of the stories is true, or if the truth is something else, but I don't think the Joker knows either. He doesn't hear voices; he's not disconnected from reality on a cosmic level; 'scizophrenic' doesn't seem to be the appropriate term. Rather, I would call him scizotypal - he is one who has looked at the very edge of sanity and reactively retreated to a cold, absolute sanity. Why shouldn't he stitch dynamite inside the stomach of one of his henchmen? Really, why not?

The Joker has found that the only way to deal with insanity is to become perfectly sane, and he applies that sanity to his morals. He knows that there is probably no law against teaching a devastated, half-dead man about the attractiveness of chaos with the knowledge that the man will then become a murderous psychopath. It's just something that, well, you don't do. But the rules of society only apply if you let them, and as Vimes* says, the trick in policing is convincing people that there's a little policeman inside their heads. Once they see a copper fall and bleed, the spell is broken. And the spell has been broken for the Joker. Sure, he's committed crimes, but that was incidental. What he really did was shatter the bounds of society, breaking the rules of the old cops-and-robbers game. Some law-breakers have a criminal mind, always thinking about the next heist, and some have a criminal soul, who would steal the humanity from a person. The Joker's criminality, I think, lies in his shiny, jagged psyche, and he would steal humanity and its self-protecting norms from the world.

*His Grace, Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Commander of the City Watch, husband of Lady Sybil Ramkin, father of the inexpressibly adorable Young Sam, damn good sergeant, and oh yeah, entirely fictional character in Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, published by Harper Torch Books, available pretty much everywhere.

The Frederick Phenomenon

My sister recently finished her first year of university. Like most first-year university students, she made new friends, learned to adjust to dormitory living, and gained weight. Not enough to have to buy a new wardrobe, but enough that it's noticeable. Most of it is situated, as fat tends to do, on her stomach. Keep in mind, my sister's not grossly overweight, nor does she have a basketball-sized, pregnancy-type bump at her middle. I wouldn't even call her "fat." But she's got a pudge. She can hide most of it under "fat-sucking" tank tops, and she usually does. But we both know it's there, and we both know it has a rather discouraging tendency to, well, jiggle. She calls it Frederick.

Frederick isn't her stomach, per se, just the fat on top of it. Frederick is not, mentally, a part of her - they frequently disagree, usually about whether she needs another cookie. Frederick has distinct likes and dislikes. Frederick has a personality of sorts. Frederick complains, usually when he hasn't had enough cookies. And Frederick is slowly shrinking, due in part to my sister's habit of running two miles a day and in part to her growing resistance to the lure of cookies. Good for her.

I have my own "Frederick," only his name is William. William, unlike Frederick, is not shrinking, mostly because William and I agree that cookies are delicious. (In my defense, William isn't growing, either.) In a way, William and Frederick and others like them (apparently one of my sister's friends has a "Charlie") make eating right and working out easier - we're trying to get rid of them, not "lose weight." We look forward to the day when we can say good-bye to William and Frederick, not "the day I can wear size x again." It's more personal than a battle against weight and sounds more achievable than a battle against ourselves. In short, the William and Frederick concept works.

But it also disturbs me a little. Why the need to anthropomorphize our fat? Are we too self-indulgent to face the realization "I need to lose weight and live in a more healthy way"? Have we grown used to anthropomorphizing everything, from cats to office supplies, so that we can no longer live in a world of inanimativity? I think the answer lies in both of these considerations. The Frederick Phenomenon, as I like to call it, represents the most telling aspects of our culture: we can't face our shortcomings honestly, and we can't face the idea that we're alone in the world.

We, especially the "we" that is the younger (though increasingly older) population, have been taught that nothing is our fault - the school system has failed us, the economy has failed us, even our loving but inept (or unloving and abusive) parents have failed us. It's not our fault. It's not my fault I have... well, William, let's say; I don't want to call it "pudge," or, heaven forfend, "fat." It's not my sister's fault she has Frederick, or her friend's fault she has Charlie. It's this culture: we live in a world, and an area of the world, dominated by fast food places and over-filled schedules. We have to eat fast food junk because we have no time for real food - and no knowledge of how to cook real food; sorry, Mom, you failed us on that one - and we have no time because we have to work multiple jobs (thanks, Economy) to pay for our university degrees (Culture, you programmed us this way; this one's your fault). So, obviously, thanks to a culture that demands higher education, expertise and a fast-paced lifestyle - along with an economy that can't support it and parents who didn't raise us to know any better - we have been doomed to our victimhood.

The Frederick Phenomenon has another side to it, though. Because of this busy, people- and accomplishment-filled lifestyle, none of us are used to being on our own. It's frightening; we don't feel equipped to deal with loneliness and solitude; we haven't experienced it before and when we do, it's new and different and uncomfortable. We watched I am Legend a couple of days ago, and seeing Will Smith's character conversing with mannequins, my sister asked, "Is he crazy?" "What do you think?" I replied. "After all, he's been alone for the better part of three years. How would you do, being alone for three years?" She looked mock-horrified. "Oh, man, I'd never make it. I was lonely when you were out of the room for a few minutes!" She was exaggerating; at least, I hope she was exaggerating. Either way, she had a point - when are we without other people, other presences, for more than a few minutes? Without other people around, we tend to substitute whatever is around us for human interaction. As a character in the webcomic Questionable Content says in an early strip, "...have you ever lived completely by yourself before? After a couple weeks, you find yourself talking to the kitchen appliances." We continually surround ourselves with others, even fictional others, to avoid the knowledge that we are, in fact, alone. Perhaps it is a defense mechanism, designed to prevent ourselves from realizing our aloneness and therefore having to face ourselves and our shortcomings. Thus humanity explains itself in one slightly jiggly package: the Frederick Phenomenon.

I am myself

Until this day, I have not known what it is to be empowered.  I know what it is to understand and to find meaning, but today I have found myself.  I am woman, and I inhabit all of the extremes and their centers.  I hate and love in equal and all measures.  I cannot be moved in my convictions by the height of terror, nor the depth of emotion, not the breadth of reason, nor the gentleness of a whispered plea.

I am woman, though I do not ask you to hear my roar.  By the time you hear it, your time will have passed and I will be roaring in triumph.  For I live in the extreme and I harness its power to ground me in my center.  I am capable of the deepest, most tender love, a mother’s love for her baby.  And I am capable of the most horrible and relentless rage, a rage that will destroy all who stand in my way.  I am a well of ceaseless and boundless energy, and I am a pool of absolute and total calm within my own chaos.  I am a Fury, beautiful and terrible to look upon, and I alone rule my world.

I am myself, I am whole, and I live for me and mine.  Cross me, and I will reduce your existence to a compact world filled entirely with pain and misery.  Hurt one of my own, and I will be your slow and dreadful demise.  I am the loving hands that welcome you into the world and the cold grave pulling you out of it.  I give life and bring death.  I am woman.