Tonight, while performing my rather undefined duties as a bride's maid, I had a hilarious conversation with several high school friends--people who have known me half my life, or more.
While laughing through tears and eating Texas sheet cake that tasted like "grass" (i.e. mint--FRESH mint, like a mint bush had been thrown into the dough), I was answering questions about the newlyweds and some details about how not to get pedicures before massive hikes because of the bride's experience while hiking with her fiance--including her toenails falling out.
One of my friends said, "Yeah, when you leave in details like that, it's not as romantic."
The other replied, "This is Sheralyn. She couldn't write romance if it killed her."
I was appalled, but I was the only one at the table who was. They all gave me matter-of-fact-looks that essentially said they agreed: I couldn't write romance.
My own friends? Doubting me? Collectively?
It cannot be!
And yet, it is...
Now I don't usually consider myself a prideful person, but I guess in some regards I am, because I totally want these four women to EAT their words. And in order to do that, I'M GOING TO WRITE A ROMANCE!
And not just any romance--a romance made to order. That's right. I'm taking orders. What kind of clean romance do you want to read? Beauty and the Geek? Best friends? Boy meets girl? Bodyguard? Love in the work place? Marooned on a desert island? Love with a rodeo clown?
Is he hot? Is he not? Is she a snob or a doormat? Throw it out there.
Because I'm very much in the mood for a challenge, and what I'll do is get a consensus of the most popular themes mentioned and create a poll. Whichever theme wins the poll WILL BE WRITTEN.
Then I shall prove that I can indeed write a romance, and that it did not kill me...