I was fascinated to read an article about the Museum of Broken Relationships, which houses “artifacts from failed unions, most of them mundane under ordinary circumstances. A single stiletto heel. A wine opener. A worn old Snoopy doll. But when isolated in a glass case or hanging on a white wall and accompanied by a caption, the objects become imbued with heartache or regret. Or freedom.” As an avid museum-goer, I’d love to visit.
Of course, one of the great joys in my profession is to ensure that no matter what obstacles my protagonists encounter, all will end well. Hmmmm. Maybe they should stock some romance novels in the gift shop . . . ?
More about the “brokenships” museum here.
Oh my goodness, You May Kiss the Bride is on Snapchat! And all dolled up, too.
Just so you know — those aren’t my kiss-marks there. But they might have been if I’d had the chance. ;)
Hahaha, I’d totally subscribe to this.
Here’s a fantastic word for a romance writer, as our work is imbued with emotions of all kinds, and often very strong ones.
In fact, I used it in You May Kiss the Bride. My hero, Gabriel Penhallow, who has previously taken great pride in his cool sangfroid, has just had a public — and widely observed — altercation on a busy street in Bath, during which he effectively rips to shreds the character of a man whose carriage has nearly run over my heroine Livia:
So much for his vaunted self-control, he thought bitterly. The last time he’d allowed himself to give way to such a violent maelstrom of emotions, he’d ended up kissing a saucy, tempting girl in a garden and within the hour been engaged to her. And here she’d done it once more.
This snippet is from Chapter 9, but you if you like, you can read Chapter 1 here.
Although I don’t write gothic romance, I’ve certainly read it, and I adore this evocative image. Are these steps ones you’d want to go up . . . or hastily down, and away?
So, yeah, we’ve been having a lot of snow lately.
This makes me smile.
Another excellent word for a romance writer, in whose work tensions often run high.
I used it at least once, in adverbial form, in You May Kiss the Bride:
Livia looked balefully at the rumpled heap of expensive, fragile gowns lying on the floor. So Cecily thought one of her old cast-offs might suit her for the ball? And Lady Glanville thought that she’d be thrilled, grateful, to peek out from behind a potted palm to enjoy a glimpse of luxury?
Well, they were wrong.
Livia jumped to her feet and went over to the gowns. She snatched them up and shoved them onto a low shelf of her armoire.
She was not going to the ball.
This snippet appears in Chapter 1. You can read the full excerpt here.