Let it be known: we men must rethink our natural manly instinct that romance novelists are something to avoid, like SEX AND THE CITY 2, which is indeed worthy of scorn, and woe unto any man whose girlfriend or wife coerced them into wasting two hours of their life to see that stupid thing. No bribe is sufficient.
The trifecta: no shirt, mullet and sword.
Published romance novelists have found the Epic Black Car blog, posted comments and sent me e-mails — and they are not only hilarious, but many can write circles around the 6.57 gazillion reporters, writers and novelists I know. Also — and most importantly — they CELEBRATE AND ADORE MEN, which we should encourage.
I have thought about this, and it makes sense. These women are more talented than most folks writing about elves and spaceships, or elves riding spaceships, not because of the subject matter, but because there is so much freaking competition with romance novels.
It’s like throwing 10,000 authors into the Thunderdome, tossing in a single chainsaw and refusing to unlock the door until there’s only one woman left. By definition, that woman is going to kick tail. She will be a writing goddess.
And I was wrong to ever believe that romance novelists might be writing 80,000 words about shoes or amazing handbags. They focus on writing about men, though they apparently want us to be as allergic to shirts as Lady Gaga is allergic to pants. They also spend a lot of time writing steamy scenes encouraging women to do natural things with men. This is a Good Thing, and should be encouraged, and celebrated throughout the land, unless we men have been busy taking Stupid Pills.
Also, they want us to be packing swords, if not guns, and sometimes guns and swords. Any man can learn this from googling “romance novel covers.” IT IS AN EDUCATION.
Do they want us to be office drones, worried about TPS reports? No. Do they want us to talk about our feelings to a shrink and cry when we see a sunset? No.
Women want us to have one of three manly jobs: Viking, pirate or Native American warrior. This in itself is epic, and wonderful. We should thank them.
Fabio covers two of the three manly jobs that women want us doing. He's missing Native American warrior, but we can forgive him for that, because he has the mandatory sword.
Aside from piracy and swordsmanship, they specifically want us to punch things that need punching and spend our time with a beautiful long-haired woman who happens to be heiress to a billion-dollar fortune but does not know that, because her evil uncle has hidden this fact from her so he and his plastic-surgery obsessed witch of a wife could keep all that money for themselves, and it is our job to dropkick the evil uncle into the next century. If that doesn’t work, hey, all men are required to carry a sharp sword.
I have never read romance novels, or even checked the covers until now. Yet we men should secretly pool our resources to fund these female authors, because they are an army of dedicated women doing a $16.5 billion public relations campaign on our manly behalf.
So, romance novelists: I am holding a mug of Belgium beer, and I raise it in your direction.
Keep up the good work. We men may not know it, or admit it, but we owe you a huge favor.
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