I was reading a “Sweet” romance, which I enjoy as a whole. I like the gamut of the romance genre, but I cut my reading teeth on sweet romances as a young one.
I recently read one where the heroine and hero were alright, but there wasn’t that tension. The electricity a reader feels when they catch each other’s gaze from across the room. The story itself, and the writing was ok, it kept me reading through out the 250ish pages…
Which is short for a historical romance. Or maybe I’m just used to reading mammoth books. But if the reader is feeling the lack of chemistry, maybe it should have been lengthened.
At one point, the reader is told the heroine’s stomache fluttered at the sight of the hero. That was it. All the tension in that should have been dripping in that scene, the longing…. And all the reader received was being told about a flutter.
I used to be a less is more kind of writer. I know that description is one of my weaknesses. Being honest, I was being a lazy writer. Still am, but I’m getting better at making passes on my work as I go, adding details. Glances. A shiver down the spine. Or a golden candlestick on a mantle handed down by generations.
It’s interesting reading as both a reader and a writer. I’m learning a lot, and also enjoying myself quite a lot.
Ta, my lovelies. I’m off to find my next book.
Or maybe I should pick up the pen and write a bit in one of the two I have going on right now.
