This is one of those posts, dear readers, tapped out on my phone, next to the rubble that was our new bed. After a four day retreat, with no internet, I came home to a broken bed, a sticky floor, various electronics in need of attention/repair, and, worst of all, an empty pizza box in the fridge. My first thought? This is a job for a romance novel. How so? Glad you asked.
This past week, I took advantage of a four day housesitting gig, to kick back, hole up, and inhale as many books as possible. My total, by the end of my stay, was three, all falling under rhe umbrella of romance. One book was romantic women’s fiction with very strong romantic elements, the other two, contemporary YA, one of which had a bonus short story that put a supporting character in the spotlight, for their own HEA. Ever after it was, too, though the two lovers began their story in high school.
Though the stories had a wide variety of settings and character types: older woman/younger man; a heteroromantic asexual heroine and a hero who loves her as she is, and two young men whose support systems could not be more different. Add in the bonus story, and we have a quarterback and cheerleader romance like nothing I’ve ever seen.
Not only that, but the love stories play out across such backgrounds as a web series that updates Tolstoy to the modern day, a magazine editor who becomes a countess (surprise!) and the chaos that is everyday high school life. Throw in historical secrets, a sense of whimsy, and the pressures of sudden fame…not all in the same book, of course , but I am sure there is an author who could make it work… and how likely is it for all of these couples to end up in the same place? In romance, it’s a sure deal.
Next up in my reading queue are two historical romances, each the first in their respective series. One has a medieval setting, the other, Victorian, and, though I am too tired, right now, to check the blurbs for either, I so know that I am going to be in the same place at the end of those books. Sure, there are still the remains of a bed to wrangle (pause to weep softly at the plans I had crafted, to read in that bed, tonight) a floor to destick, and the fate of at least one piece of technology is still uncertain, but, when it comes time for a reading break, all that stops.
I’ve said it before; this isn’t escape. The aggravations will still be there, but, while dealing with them, there will be part of my mind, devoted to pondeting how this particular couple, whoever and whenever they may be, will get through their problems, quite fine. So will I.
That’s how it works. Black moments come before the big payoff. Sometimes, that involves screwdrivers and Swiffers, but, when the dust settles, the new adventure begins. Right now, the big question is whether to shove aside the debris and haul the mattress back into the bedroom, or sleep in the living room, as Real Life Romance Hero has been doing in my absence. Either way, I’ve got a date with some bubble bath and a good book.
So, dear readers, I turn it now over to you. When has reading served as respite for you? What kind of books give you that extra dose of can-do, even when you’re more do-not-want? Pull up a chair in the comments section and tell us all about it. There’s room for everybody at this table. (Also, I want more books. Bring on the recs.)