One thing we need to get straight: I’m a romance author. I write about brooding billionaires and star-crossed lovers with lives so perfect and steamy and full of excitement, they make me jealous. My characters live in a world where love is grand, passionate, and always perfectly timed. Me? Well, I live in a world where my most exciting romantic moment this week was realizing my favorite brand of chocolate was on sale. Again.
People assume that, because I write about love, (and sex) for a living, I must also live it. Surely, I’ve mastered the art of candlelit dinners, surprise love notes, and declarations of eternal devotion under the stars, right? Spoiler alert: the closest I’ve come to a romantic dinner lately is microwaving leftover chicken and vegetable pasta and eating it in front of the TV. Yes, I know its wrong, mindful eating and all of that.
Here’s the truth they don’t tell you about being a romance writer: crafting epic love stories doesn’t necessarily translate to having one. In fact, I’d argue it makes things harder. Why? Because after spending hours writing a hero who declares his love every minute of every day and wakes up in the morning to make breakfast for her in bed after a night of off the chart passion between the sheets, real-life romance starts to look… well, pretty tame. (No offense to our real life heroes, who think romance is giving you a pat on the back as they drive off to work and call it a day.)
There’s also the not-so-glamorous reality of what writing romance actually looks like. Picture this: I’m hunched over my laptop, feet folded on my bed, wearing an oversized hoodie to protect me from the cold, and trying to nail the perfect description of the girl from the guy’s perspective. Meanwhile, I can’t remember the last time a guy actually paid me a compliment that I didn’t finagle out of him in one way or another.
It’s not just the romance itself, either. It’s the dialogue. My characters deliver funny, insightful and deep one liners that make me proud. My real-life conversations? “Did you remember to take out the trash?” Not exactly Pulitzer Prize material.
Interestingly, readers often assume my books are inspired by my own life. They’ll ask things like, “Are your characters based on real people?” or “Is your romantic life that exciting and hot?” Oh, how I wish I could tell them that yes, a billionaire hot guy once fell in love with me and bought out a whole restaurant just to have some time with me. The reality? I love spending my Fridays in front the TV binge watching cartoons and eating popcorns till the early hours of the morning.
And then I go and fall in love with my characters. Sometimes I’m so in love with them that it feels like real-life romance cannot possibly compete. My heroes are patient, kind, and though they might not always know the right thing to say, they get there finally. Which is the most important thing. And they are so dang cute they more than make up for it. They’re also conveniently free of bad habits, questionable taste in movies (cartoons all the way), and the tendency to forget birthdays and anniversaries. My imaginary men keep raising the bar so high, how am I supposed to date a real person?
And yet, real life has its moments. There’s something uniquely romantic about the unpolished moments of real life. Real love isn’t perfect—and maybe that’s what makes it so special.
So, while my characters might have better love lives than me, I’ve learned to find beauty in the chaos of my own. After all, every romance author knows that the best love stories are messy, unpredictable, and full of heart. And if all else fails? Well, there’s always chocolate.
Your greatest fan,
Lola.
