No matter what genre of fiction I read, I need a bit of romance in the book. It doesn't have to be steamy sex scenes or erotica or even a kiss, but I like to see even the most bitter, hard-bitten protagonist show that single moment of pause.
The brief meeting of eyes, the unexpected touch, a dredged up memory, the pain of loss, the spark of hope, or the driving need for revenge. It doesn't have to be a road to redemption, but I love that moment where something clicks and he or she is never quite the same. Maybe it's an itch that never goes away, a feeling of something important just out of reach, or of something missing. Eyes that haunt, a scent that tickles the nose, the sound of a voice, a face in the crowd, give me a slice in time that touches the most basic human need.
Get on with the murder, the mayhem, the ghost in the attic, a gun in the drawer, clues left behind, an ancient curse, alien invaders or whatever chaos ensues, but wrap that around a touch of romance and you'll get me every time.
From my Facebook page,
I have a box of poetry in my closet. Spiral rings, legal pads and yellowed pieces of loose leaf chronicling the paths of life. Dreams and disappointments, love and loss, past and future, all written in tiny snippets carved from the day to day that eats time like candy.
Amid the turmoil of kids and work and figuring out the art of survival a spark of creativity burned in a place I'd almost forgotten. I had stories to tell and blank pages that craved the touch of words.
I found that place in retirement when the world stops to catch a breath and time becomes an enemy as well as a friend. That spark roared to life and however long it burns, I will write
The Shape of Things
Dribbles and drabbles, pet peeves, observations and learnings along the way.