By Tqwana B.
Valentine’s Day is next week, so every media outlet is trotting out their hot take on romance novel ‘guilty pleasures.’ Guilty? Excuse me??
‘Tis the season, I guess.
Many, if not all, will probably be snarky, condescending, and dismissive in tone. God forbid that positive, women-centered literature should be taken seriously. It’s not like romance novels make a billion dollars a year and literally keep the publishing industry afloat.
Oh wait… they do.
But that’s not what this particular post is about. This is about how escapism and HEA are not bad words. This is personal. This is about how during one of the darkest periods of my life, romance novels helped me claw my way back from one of the worst bouts of depression I’ve ever experienced.
When I couldn’t get out of bed. When I couldn’t drive my car. When I cried daily and couldn’t find the words to explain why. When I didn’t eat and couldn’t sleep. When going to work and being around people was excruciating and made me physically ache. When I was in and out of the hospital and nothing seemed to work. When no one in my life seemed to get it…
The books didn’t do it alone. I took meds for a while. I went to church. I talked to people who could help.
But, Brenda Jackson’s Westmorelands made me genuinely smile again. Maureen Smith’s Wolf Pack reawakened my physical awareness, ya know what I’m saying. Elizabeth Rolls transported me to the past and out of my head. And from there it was down a rabbit hole of Karen Marie Moning’s highlanders (Drustan>>Daegus), Tiffany Reisz’s Original Sinners, and Beverly Jenkins who woke up a new interest in history when I was unable to show interest in anything before. Megan Hart. Man, Megan Hart wrote some characters that made me feel like I was being hugged by kindred spirits. Gabaldon’s Jamie and Claire – nothing more needs to be said about those two, I think.
And there were so many other amazing women writing amazing women (shout out to the men doing the damn thing too, btw).
But, I found my happy again thru the hope, humor, and badass heroines of romance. I read my way back to “normal.” A new normal. I even sort of credit these books for my moving to NYC and working in publishing.
Nothing’s changed. Romance novels are still my drug of choice. Rebekah Weatherspoon’s heroines make me giggle but also make me feel like I’m being personally attacked cuz “it me,” as the kids say (I’m looking at you, Shae).Ā The feels I get from an Alisha Rai book… The freaking feels. Madhuri Pavamani’s Dutch and Juma blew my mind. I wanted Jill Shalvis’s Lucky Harbor to be a real place. Melissa Blue and her Scots *sigh*… And damn if Kit Rocha didn’t occupy my entire 2017, cuz we all know that 2017 was such a great year {sarcasm font}. Those sectors were looking pretty damn good after November 2016…
So, while more mainstream outlets will pull out their usual low-key judgemental think pieces when it comes to romance, I’m here to celebrate it. This blog will always celebrate romance novels, romance authors, and romance readers.
And yes, the sex is pretty damn worth it too. Female pleasure is supposedly revolutionary or something like that…
I guess I got a little snarky too…
Around the World in 80 Books 