That's right. He's always telling me that he has big shoulders... he can take it. So I can blame it all on him. I love Romance.
This morning I got to thinking about when I read my first romance novel. Just when did my addiction begin? The first instance that I recalled was an acquaintance in college loaning me a copy of Georgette Heyer's "The Devil's Cub." I loved it! Where had these stories been all my life?
But, no. That was not the first instance. As I thought back even further... there was another instance. The seeds of my addiction were sown long before my college years. I had to go back even further. I thought back to the dim, innocence of a bored twelve year old who would do anything to annoy her older brother. To his credit, instead of killing me, he tossed me a book, saying, "Here, I think that you'll have fun with this." It was a copy of Baroness Orczy's "The Scarlet Pimpernel." As, in my mind's eye, I watched Sir Percy and Marguerite fall desperately in love, I was lost. Fifty years later, my heart still goes pitter pat at the thought of a man loving a woman enough to kiss the stones that she has walked upon. Sigh!
So, you see, it really is all his fault. Now, I simply want to write stories that others will sigh over.
Thank you, Brother.
BTW, I still have that original poor, tattered paperback of "The Scarlet Pimpernel."
Writing Science Fiction Romance
Real Love in a Real Future