Wow, it’s March and my Rita scores are due in three days. What’s neat is that we can log the scores in online, which I think is really cool. Still, I think I’m going to take a break from judging next year. Which of course, means I shouldn’t enter next year, but that’s okay.
Because I entered the paranormal category, I couldn’t judge that one, so I got a mix of a couple of others. Some were good, some were great, and some were okay. I read a variety of genres, so it’s not like I got a category I would never read in a million years even if all the other books were vaporized. (sob!)
But I got to thinking–I know, not a good thing–and really, this isn’t truly a reflection on the books I judged, but I miss the romance of romance books.
Now I know I’m sounding like an old fuddy-duddy, but here I go: I miss the days when you could pick up a book with romance on the spine and expect certain things: the genesis, development, and mostly maturation of a romantic relationship. Some hint of a happily-ever after. I don’t need a wedding at the end of the book, but I don’t want it to end with, “hey, let’s go for coffee,” or “You know, you’re pretty hot,” or “I think I like you,” or heaven forbid, the death of one of the principal characters.
I don’t care if there’s more than two people compiling the relationship. I don’t care if there’s hot monkey sex on page one (if it makes sense to the story, but that’s a post for another day.) Just make sure there’s a believable romantic relationship that has a clear-to-me happy ending by the time I close the book.
Is lurve and commitment too much to ask for in romance these days?