What the hell people!
Here I am, trying to write romantic erotica. Y’know, the stuff with sex AND love and rainbows and happily-ever-after. I love to read it – so lemme try to write it. But I keep running into an “oh-my-god-this-is-so-embarassing-and-lame” wall of inner resistance.
Writing the sex is fine. But writing the romance is…oi vey.
Romance is like that scene from Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle…
And they start rockin’ out to Wilson Philips.
And c’mon – haven’t we all done it? In the privacy of our own vehicles? (If you say “no” then you’re SUCH A LIAR!) I mean, that song is pretty damn uplifting. But as soon as you’re in the car with other people, this song suddenly becomes everyone’s favorite punchline.
Same with romance.
Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m so disconnected from my emotions that even a fictional account of love seems saccharine-yucky.
But I have a sense that there are a gazillion other young women writers who can’t really get it up (emotionally) either.
Think about it: if your friend starts gushing about a new l’amour, it’s kinda “woa, chill out, hun.” But if she starts saying, “my bf is schtuping my best friend!” then everyone gives her a hug and comaraderie.
Gush = she’s out of touch
Disillusionment = ah, glorious reality.
I would like to say that I’m immune to such wiggety-wack judgements, but I’ve definitely noticed that I’m far more comfortable detailing obsession, murder, Nazi-activity and brains blowing up.
But talking about two people falling in love? I have to admit that it kinda ruins my street cred. Any sort of intellectual or artistic respect is instantly gone.
Listen, I think “The Notebook” sucks too. And I hate chick flicks (except Legally Blonde and Clueless, which have transcended the genre…but I digress). I would rather read Chuck Palahniuk (author of “Fight Club”) than Danielle Steele.
But surely, those with a more gritty aesthetic can appreciate sexy romance! Right?! So why am I running like a crazy hamster in this “worried-about-being-lame” wheel?
Obviously, I have issues.
What Does Modern Romance Look Like?
Why do I feel like most modern literature is one long mural of people feeling all disconnected from each other?
I do have this unofficial stance that rappers are the Walt Whitman of the new century. But love songs are thin. I’m thinking of 50 cent rapping “I love you like a fat kid loves cake.”A gangsta expressin’ his bullet-ridden heart the best he can.
Um…so that’s it? Rappers can spit fiery poetry about their isolation, their betrayals, their identity crisis. About video ‘hos and girls with too much junk in their trunk and gold diggers.
But it’s a macho world. Maybe not a great place to look for modern love. Too bad.
So where can I go to find strong, more “feminine” ideals of love?
Not a rapper, but there is Beyonce.
She writes fierce lyrics about what romance is like for modern women, without the (sorry white people) dumb, Barbie WASP-Y overtones. I mean, she’s gyrating in a a bodysuit with fabulously teased hair, holding up her hand and saying: if you like it, then you should have put on a ring on it.
Yea, but is that really romance?
Oh shit, now I have to DEFINE romance?
How did this post, which started off as a rant, suddenly become so frickin’ complicated? I seriously just want to cop out and eat some pretzels.
But as we are all somehow here…let’s figure out what romance is.
…
Eh…???
Hmm…??
Ah, so maybe part of the problem is – what the hell is romance anyways?
And instantly, for whatever reason, I thought of Mount Sims’ electroclash song “Escape Hatch.”
And I feel incredibly moved by the lyrics:
And the makeup runs
Advertisement run
Automobiles they run
Metropolis it runs faster than it ever has
I want to escape with you
Under the naked glass
Disappear in your room
Look what the future has
Let’s blast off this afternoon
Love’s an escape hatch
Maybe this is where to start writing romance. What I want to write about is not an archaic, WASP-Y version of chivalrous love. It is hidden in the veins of our lives, disguised by machines and marketing gurus and wikipedia entries. Romance may even extend to having sex with your car (don’t we all know guys who spoil their metal+piston lovers?).
Point is – romance as it is widely marketed today isn’t OFFICIAL ROMANCE. I don’t have to write it that way. Neither does anyone else.
Alrighty. Until I figure out how to end posts more gracefully, I will say peace out…
