n which CM discusses romance novels and names names, which is probably not a smart thing to do since she wants to be published. Note that she has not done so yet, and so this should all be taken with a very healthy dose of salt.

Having read several thousand romance novels, I can, without equivocation, say that all romance novels currently fall into one of two categories.

• Good;
  and
• Bad

For obvious reasons, this crash-course should focus on the first category. But it won’t, because it’s much easier to identify bad things than it is to explain good things.

Bad Romance Novels

Bad romance novels are, alas, a dime a dozen. There are several things that make a romance novel bad. One of those things is comma-splicing. Now, everyone comma splices a time or two. But I really have to wonder what the heck Johanna Lindsey’s copy editor was thinking. I mean, I don’t insist that you beatify the Chicago Manual of Style, but by gods, get your grammar right! Nothing will make me more likely to throw your book against the wall than consistently aggravating grammar. Especially if you’re published.

But the other main thing that makes a romance novel bad goes like this. In order to have an interesting novel, you must have a reason why the main characters don’t instantly fall in bed with each other and live happily ever after. This leads to unavoidable tension in writing. If the reason is too good, it may be insurmountable, and the author may have to resort to one of the three deadly plot sins to pull things out. But if the reason is too flimsy, the author will probably have to resort to one of the two deadly character sins at the end.

Deadly sins? Right. Must mention deadly sins.

Three Deadly Plot Sins of Romance Novels

1. Deus ex Machina. “Oh dear! She’s been kidnapped by wolves/owes Baron Ravisher ten thousand pounds/has been thrown in jail! What do we do? Luckily, the solicitor has discovered that she has inherited twenty thousand pounds/a get out of jail free card/an anti-wolf device.” I’m exaggerating slightly, but you get the drift. Introducing late-breaking plot-elements in an attempt to dispose of the only plot device keeping your characters apart? Shady. Very shady.
2. Love conquers all. “Gosh, I know that socially/financially you’re beneath me, and it’s mattered to both of us the entire book. But now I realize I love you, and magically, none of this other things matter.” Have any of these people been in love? Love doesn’t work like that. Love is not a magic bullet. In real life, this would matter for about two years. Love only conquers all when love is creative enough to find a real solution.
3. Unbelievability. “I know! Here’s a solution! Let’s just reverse the polarization of the left-handed isometric tachometer!” “But, Bob, this is Regency England! We don’t have tachometers, and we’ve never heard of polarizability!” “Shut up! Do you want this novel to end or not?” It’s gotta make sense, folks. If she’s caused a major scandal, you really have to wonder whether the fake cover-up is good enough to fool a small child. Because if a six-year-old can see through it, just imagine the scandal in two weeks when a six year old does.

Two Deadly Character Sins

1. Stupidity. I must mention, first, the primary method in which romance novels make their characters stupid. “Ooh! I can’t possibly marry Jack. Although I’m willing to screw his brains out at the drop of a hat, he doesn’t love me, and it would be sheer agony marrying a man I don’t love.” Hello! Earth to author–if she’s willing to jump in the sack with him in the Regency period outside of marriage, she’s probably willing to look him in the eye and say, “You know, do you love me? Because I’m rather falling for you, and I think we’ll both enjoy this more if I’m not strangely silent about my reasons for refusing to marry you after we get naked.” Special kudos go to the subset of this plot device: “What?! I could get pregnant!? I never thought about that, but gosh I’d love to have your baby.” But other types of stupidity are nonstarters as well. For instance: “But I thought you had a mistress!” and “But the town gossip, who hates me, told me it was so and I believed her!”
2. Morally compromising a character. “As a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft, I can’t possibly get married. Not when men can totally dominate women upon marriage. I’m morally opposed. Wait–what’s that you say? You’re an Earl? Where do I sign!” If your character has principles, and she compromises them, you damned well better make it work. Notable exception to this general plotline: “An Unwilling Bride” by Jo Beverly. Who doesn’t deploy the “I’m morally opposed” line in the typical way.

As a general rule, more sins do not a better chapter make. They just make me more likely to throw your book against the wall when I come to the unsatisfying end. If your character is morally opposed to marriage, having her give up her feminist principles for love does not make your book any better.
Okay, CM. So how do you write a good novel?

As I have not actually written a romance–either good or bad–myself, I can’t say much. But the following always appeal to me:

• Humor. The best humor is light-handed; it’s not just zippy one-liners that make you laugh (and in fact, those can sometimes be distracting), but dialogue that makes you happy and that makes your heart sing. Julia Quinn is brilliant at this. So is Loretta Chase.
• Emotional declarations that show how a character has grown. Think Mr. Darcy’s letter in Pride and Prejudice. Another great example is in Mary Balogh’s “Slightly Dangerous,” when Wulf finally says to Christine, “I think you were put here on earth to bring light to your fellow human beings” or words to that effect. Or in Eloisa James’ “The Taming of the Duke” when Rafe talks about Bottom.
• An understanding of what love really is. And oh dear. Now I realize that I must say something about this, too.
• If you think, “I’m such a slug–and s/he is so perfect!” you’re probably not in love. Not really. Worship has a short half-life.
• Love has its selfish elements. We love the people we really love most because we like who we are around them, and because they make us feel good about ourselves.
• It’s really hard to believe people are in love when they’ve just seen each other.
• It’s also really hard to believe that people are in love when they never have fun together.
• It’s also also really hard to believe that people are in love when they never share anything.
• Also, being in love should make the characters better people. They should grow into it.

I am constantly amazed at authors who are completely unable to write characters falling in love with each other. Instead, love is posited. This is a bad idea. Hello. You are writing a freaking romance novel. The point when your characters slide deeply into love should hit deep in the soul. If they just love out of the blue, you’re writing a stroke story with a plot.(*) This doesn’t mean that they must fall in love at the end of the book. Julia Quinn’s “Offer from a Gentleman” has the hero/heroine slide into love in the first hundred pages, and it’s marvelous, emotionally satisfying, and believable.
To sum up, I haven’t said anything about “markets” or “hot” or any of that stuff. All I’ve said is: you’re writing about love. Start with why they don’t love each other in the first place. Then figure out what they need to fall in love, real love. Along the way, do the worst things you can think about to your characters. Agitate. Serve as romance.
—

(*) CM’s note: Oh yes, you notice that I’m guilty of this in my winning chapter in Avon FanLit? Completely. I tried for a few chapters in a row to pull the characters around to a point where they could believably fall in love with each other, by jerking around their actual emotions. It didn’t fly. In a fit of pique, I gave up in Round 5 and just announced that Damien loved Patience back. Why? Why? Who cares why? He loves her. L-U-V.

And I won. So that just goes to show that this is all a bunch of crock and you should ignore every word I’ve said.