I’m so blessed to have many friends who are talented writers and are willing to share their work. This week and next, I’ve asked several to join me in the For the Love of Love event. They will be sharing both thoughts on love and a sample of their work. I’m so thrilled to have this opportunity to showcase them and hope you will enjoy getting to know them all a little better!
My good friend Amy Edelman joins us today. Founder of IndieReader and author of three titles, including Manless in Montclair, Amy writes with fabulous flair, wit and candor.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m a sucker for romance. Always have been.
Whether it’s between a man and a woman, a boy and his dog or an elf (Will Ferrell) and a girl (a blonde Zooey Deschanel)-as soon as the sappy part starts my entire family swing their eyeballs towards me, waiting for the tears. I tend not to disappoint them.
Why is it that romance is so evocative? Is it the leap of faith that’s needed to connect all the dots? The idea that love (or lust) can last till the end of time (or at least until the end of the book/movie/song)? In fact the best-selling genre in books today tends to be romance, and it doesn’t hurt Taylor Swift’s reputation that almost every song she sings is about a romance gone wrong.
I think that our desire to believe in romance is perhaps in response to all the crappy stuff going on in the world (is it me…or do things seem to be appear more crappy than usual?). We collectively want to believe that there’s something bigger than us… something beautiful that will endure.
In the end I think that romance-be it in a book, a movie or a song-is joyful because in order to be a romantic you have to be hopeful. And when the world seems to be going to hell in a hand basket, hope (and romance!) is pretty much all we have left.
‘The one that says “Whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”‘
‘I’ve heard it, yes. Why?’
‘I think that whatever doesn’t kill us just eats us alive…bit by bit…until at the end, all we need is a dent in the car or…’ He looked directly at me and continued: ‘…a lousy-ass guy to push us over the edge.’
‘So what? Are you saying you’re a lousy-ass guy? Or are you just afraid I’ll end up with one?’
He paused for a minute. Then, as if in answer to my question, he sat up, leaned over, and kissed me. He was hesitant at first, as if his lips were trying to find exactly the right place to settle on mine.
And then they did.
The kiss was passionate, needy, questioning. I breathed him in as if he were oxygen. He put his arms around me and pulled me to the floor, his hands touching my face, my breasts, my hips. I held on to him for dear life while the rolling Cuban rhythm of Buena Vista Social Club wafted in the air like perfume.