It pains me to write this, but my quest to convert my husband to romance reading has failed. And, since I was completely relying on the unending brilliance of Susan Elizabeth Phillips, I think it’s only right that I blame her.
(I know there’s almost no chance she’ll ever read this, but in case she does: it’s not really your fault. It’s my husband’s.)
Hubby got to page 280 of Natural Born Charmer before asking for the third time where he could quit his SEP challenge. At one point, he even said: “They’ve had sex now, so can I stop reading? It’s essentially over, right, even though there are 200 more pages?”
This time I took pity on him and said he could quit. He did have a few revelations, though, which were worth the torture (at least, from my perspective).
1. He doesn’t think romance novels are escapist fiction for bored housewives. Considering that’s what one of his fellow PhD candidates told him once (she must’ve missed the part where he said his wife was writing a romance novel), I’m glad to know he can at least defend the genre and its readers that much.
2. He thinks romance novels are like chick flicks. Interesting because I hate most chick flicks (I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ever watch Love Actually again).
3. He finally understands why I write things the way I do, so hopefully he’ll never tell me again that I should convert my action scenes to internal monologues.
I have to say, this challenge was his idea, and he’s my hero for reading so much of a novel he never would’ve picked up on his own.