I’m not a big believer in romance – odd, given my choice of literary genre, but it’s true. I don’t believe in Happily Ever After. I don’t believe in that halleluiah come to Jesus moment where the heavens open up and angels sing. I believe that big red bows should come atop pretty red ropes. I don’t have much use for romance. As someone who suffers from a myriad of psychological issues including depression – being loved is far more important. My books aren’t really romances – they’re about other things—recovery, survival, and hope. The characters just happen to also meet someone who fills a need in them, sometimes a need they didn’t know they had.
My friends tease me about the serious tones in my books. They ask when I’m going to write something happy, when I’m going to stop torturing my characters. I write to process my own emotions, so the answer is—when I feel happy. Don’t hold your breath on that.
But, this piece isn’t about my psychological quirks, it’s about how I perceive the difference between love and romance. Romance is the grand gesture, the big declaration, the white horse, and the knight in shining armor. In practical terms, romance is moving across the country to be with “the one”. It’s that moment you read in a book and long for.
Love is setting aside your shyness and phone phobias to call a friend in trouble.
Love is wearing little rubber bracelets, not because they’re fashionable, but because they remind you that someone out there cares you’re still breathing.
Love is sending someone 3 birthday cards to attempt to brighten their life when they have the anti-christ in their basement.
Love is opening your arms to someone whose world fell apart in a flash of twisted steel.
Love is random “Have I told you lately that you’re amazing” texts.
Love is listening to “your song” and thinking about him.
Love is getting on a plane even if you’re scared what you’ll find when you land.
Love is setting up an entire weekend getaway merely to show someone they’re special to you.
Those are the things I need—those are the things I write about.
As Leo told Brian in Little Boy Lost: Vanished—“Riding in on your horse trying to find your lost friend is a big romantic gesture, but it doesn’t work that way in the real world.” I agree, and I’ll take love over romance any day. Last night, I found it had been there all along.
XOXO,
JP Barnaby
Award winning romance novelist, J. P. Barnaby has penned over a dozen books including the Working Boys series, the Little Boy Lost series, In the Absence of Monsters, and Aaron. As a bisexual woman, J.P. is a proud member of the GLBT community both online and in her small town on the outskirts of Chicago. A member of Mensa, she is described as brilliant but troubled, sweet but introverted, and talented but deviant. She spends her days writing software and her nights writing erotica, which is, of course, far more interesting. The spare time that she carves out between her career and her novels is spent reading about the concept of love, which, like some of her characters, she has never quite figured out for herself.
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And we love you, too, quirks and all. It’s funny…we understand each other in a “what it’s like to be a writer and let’s talk shop” way that my husband never will. I tend to be a romantic and he’s not, yet there are times…once every 7 to 10 years…when he does something unexpected that let’s me know he still knows what the concept of romance is.
btw, you’re my favorite guest. =)
Very true….
To me I think romance can be one way of expressing love. Romance is pretty and easy…. but it’s holding back someone’s hair while they barf, standing by them making them laugh when crying would make me sense, really being there for someone… that’s the kind of love I hope everyone (especially you) finds.
Hugs, Z.
What a touching post, it teared me up. You are absolutely right. I usually love happy books filled with romántic stuff because they are a nice fantasy, but the realistic books like yours are the ones that change me and touch me deep. Thansk for the post, it truly was an eye opener.
I wear a bright green rubber bracelet for organ donation and have for the last ten years since my step-daughter received her heart. She said to me the other day, “You know, you’re the only one who still wears one of those?” That was one of those unspoken, ‘I love you. / I love you too.” moments.
Thank you for this post. I tried to explain this to someone once and I don’t think they understood what I was saying. Next time I’ll point them to this.