Yeah, I know it's real life. But that's not why I read a romance novel even a suspense romance or thriller.
I just finished the latest novel by an author whose hero and heroine have fought their way back to each other, out of divorce and tragedy to a new life. They've just solved the latest crime and are happily moving forward when the hero is killed.
I'm pissed!
I've invested time and emotion and money into this couple. For five or six books the author built the relationship between the characters as well as between them and the reader. It wasn't even a satisfyingly bad ending, so I can't quite grasp why she would end it this way.
If she intends to start the next book with the nightmare the heroine was having which was a premonition of things to come or something...puleese.
Stick a fork in me, I'm done..
Showing posts with label Hero. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hero. Show all posts
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Husbands as Heroes
What makes a hero? Is he only the guy you dream about or is there one living in your house, sleeping in your bed?
We write about him as a unique man of heroic action, a guy who could race in on his white charger and save the day. A guy who is the epitome of both sides of the male psyche, sometimes sweet but often difficult. And still, he's heroic.
In real life we might be caught thinking "Can't live with 'em...can't live.." I'm sure most of us wish our mates were more like the heroes we read and write about or that we simply had more in common. And poor guys - they're wishing the same thing!
But I have realized that many facets of my written heroes are reflections of my guy. He's a Sagittarius, known for his honor, enthusiasm, and romantic nature, although Linda Goodman describes the Sagittarius hero as the guy who arrives in time only to fall off his horse and land at the heroine's feet. Yep, that's him, too.
We celebrate thirty-two years of 'romantic bliss' in December, and he shines in the context of daily life.
When I'm away, I don't want to think about what the kitchen and bathroom look like. I shudder to think of it. All I know is that the day before I come home, he's busy making it presentable. When I return, I don't complain, when I find that the ruffle on the bed has been tucked in at the bottom, the embroidered towels are turned toward the wall, the dirt is literally swept under the rug, and the clothes have been left in the dryer too long.
One day while I'm fixing lunch, he hears one of our favorite songs on the radio and swoops me into a slow dance near the refrigerator. He helps me clean house, takes me fishing and saves me the best spots to catch fish. Calls me sweetheart. Sends me perfect greeting cards and much less frequent flowers.
A couple weeks ago, the night I entered my first writing contest, I asked him if he wanted to hear my entry. I was just thrilled that I'd fulfilled a goal. He said, "Yeah, hold on." He turned off the tv and closed his eyes 'to concentrate'. When I finished reading he said with an astonished look on his face, "That's really good. Really good. You'll win."
-sigh-
My Hero.
We write about him as a unique man of heroic action, a guy who could race in on his white charger and save the day. A guy who is the epitome of both sides of the male psyche, sometimes sweet but often difficult. And still, he's heroic.
In real life we might be caught thinking "Can't live with 'em...can't live.." I'm sure most of us wish our mates were more like the heroes we read and write about or that we simply had more in common. And poor guys - they're wishing the same thing!
But I have realized that many facets of my written heroes are reflections of my guy. He's a Sagittarius, known for his honor, enthusiasm, and romantic nature, although Linda Goodman describes the Sagittarius hero as the guy who arrives in time only to fall off his horse and land at the heroine's feet. Yep, that's him, too.
We celebrate thirty-two years of 'romantic bliss' in December, and he shines in the context of daily life.
When I'm away, I don't want to think about what the kitchen and bathroom look like. I shudder to think of it. All I know is that the day before I come home, he's busy making it presentable. When I return, I don't complain, when I find that the ruffle on the bed has been tucked in at the bottom, the embroidered towels are turned toward the wall, the dirt is literally swept under the rug, and the clothes have been left in the dryer too long.
One day while I'm fixing lunch, he hears one of our favorite songs on the radio and swoops me into a slow dance near the refrigerator. He helps me clean house, takes me fishing and saves me the best spots to catch fish. Calls me sweetheart. Sends me perfect greeting cards and much less frequent flowers.
A couple weeks ago, the night I entered my first writing contest, I asked him if he wanted to hear my entry. I was just thrilled that I'd fulfilled a goal. He said, "Yeah, hold on." He turned off the tv and closed his eyes 'to concentrate'. When I finished reading he said with an astonished look on his face, "That's really good. Really good. You'll win."
My Hero.
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