Why I Love Romances
I think the first romance I ever truly recognized as a romance was between Laura Ingalls and Almanzo Wilder in the Little House on the Prairie series when I was in 4th and 5th grade. The next one I can recall was the romance between Janie and Reeve in The Face on the Milk Carton series, and by then I was already halfway through middle school. These are the first two couples and romances I think of meeting and being introduced to when I think back in my own reading in the younger years.
There are so many books out there that have a clear-cut romance in them, or they have a romance simmering in the background of all that’s going on in the plot. There are some that don’t even touch anywhere near a romance, and that’s OK.
But I love reading about a budding romance in a book. No matter what the set-up for the plot, I always know I will feel good at the end of the book. The romance genre typically follows the same pattern, so I know as I approach the end of the book what I’m going to get. Even though these characters do not exist in the real world (unless based on a true story or NF), I feel a small personal triumph that these two people have come together. Is that just me?
There are the ohmygosh moments when you know what’s about to go down, and those I-Knew-It! moments. Then there are those warm, fuzzy feels you get in those good moments. And then there are (sometimes) those hot, steamy, hose-me-down feels.
I’m good with all of those things, any combination. However, there is a fine line between romance and erotica, and I feel that some try to push erotica into the romance genre when it is deserving of that erotica label.
I’m sure you can say this about every genre, but a romance can be read in any season. True, there are those Christmas-specific ones, but that’s part of my point. There are some set during specific times of the year, and with the exception of the Christmas ones, I love reading those year-round. I try to leave Christmas romances with the Christmas season.