The basic rules of romance novel writing is simple: The male should always be wealthy, stunningly handsome, driven with a purpose, prone to many mistresses and incapable of distinguishing between rape and forceing sex from a woman mouthing “NO!”. Once you understand these principles, the rest is as simple as filling in Mad Libs.
Samatha stormed across the [name of Greek/Sicilian/Spanish/British sounding mega-corporation] building lobby, grabbed her plain vinyl backpack and began to skid across the marbled floors, the soles of her inexpensive Jimmy Choo imitation heels lacking any traction to stop her forward momentum. Her body began to lose its balance, but Samantha’s skate across the lobby floor ended when she barreled into [Male romantic figure #1, with a sophisticated, wealthy sounding Greek/Sicilian/Spanish/British name]. She felt his large, gloved hands grab wrap around her tiny waist as he steadied Samantha, who felt her body plow into a wall of hard male muscle.
“Are you okay, Miss?”
Samantha felt the deep, throaty voice of her rescuer [Choose 1: vibrate/melt/incinerate/corrode] her spine, feeling a rush of warmness reach her cheeks. She looked up and was [Choose 1: thunderstruck/transfixed/sickened/death rayed] by the [Choose 1: Greek/Norse/Indian/Kobald] God-like features of the tall, athletically lean gentleman who held her in his strong arms. She could only muster a small, awkward squeak as Samantha stared into intense [Choose 1: midnight black/golden black/forest green/blue grey/Ebola red] eyes. His bronze skin covered superior bone structure and a strong jaw line covered by [Choose 1: stubble/light beard/leftover dried Frosted Flakes].
She felt his long fingers move along her spine before traveling along the muscles of her thighs and calves. “Wha…wha…what do you think you’re doing”,” she asked. Samantha straightened up, her shyness spiraling into alarming self-consciousness over such public probing.
“You didn’t answer so I had to make sure you were okay. In another life, I might have been a [Choose 1: doctor/nurse/wizard/shaman], or at least I’d like to think so.” His voice was cool as he withdrew his fingers. “Thank you for catching me,” Samantha responded, “but I could have done without the medical exam.”
He straightened up, slowly adjusting the tie on his custom made Italian [Choose 1: suit/leotard/titanium armor/hazmat suit]. “Next time,” he offered, “I will make sure to let you slam into the wall.”
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The above image has been borrowed from “Longmire does Romance Novels,” a delightful parody of book covers from those steamy novels (http://www.worldoflongmire.com/features/romance_novels/readers_covers.htm).
(c)2014 Slow Suburban Death. All rights reserved
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