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by On Writing Romance (mobi)

  "What kind of a banquet is it and who will be there? If there are connections to be made, then maybe—"

  "It's for adult literacy," Erika said. "So your friend can hang out with authors and publishers and readers and agents and—"

  Stephen was smiling.

  "You've thought of someone? Stephen, you're an angel."

  Amos slid off the desk. "Now that you have the problem solved, I'll be—" "It sounds right down Amos's alley," Stephen said.

  Erika stared at him. "This is no time for a joke." "I was serious. Amos is writing a book. That's why he's here."

  Erika tipped her head to one side and inspected Amos. She thought she saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

  Well, that makes two of us who are annoyed at being fixed up with each other, she thought.

  What really caused the irritation flickering in Amos's eyes? Being fixed up for a date with a socialite? That's what I want you to think, and that's why I used Erika's reaction to point you that way. In fact, he's annoyed at being outed as a

  writer, because his real reason for taking this job is to research Erika's life for his book—something the reader doesn't find out for another hundred pages.

  The earlier an event is foreshadowed, the less obvious the foreshadowing will be to the readers. Foreshadowing in the first few pages of a story can be very effective, because the readers are still getting acquainted with the characters and haven't yet settled in to read analytically.

  If properly done, foreshadowing doesn't slow the forward progress of the current scene, and it lays the groundwork so later pieces of the story are kept running up to speed. Foreshadowing is best when it's so subtle that the readers don't consciously notice it until the second time they read the book.

  It's rare for an author to pull off all the necessary foreshadowing in the first draft. Many of the best examples don't present themselves to the author until she's revising the manuscript.

  SUBPLOTS

  Subplots are the side actions going on while the main story is unfolding. Even short romances without much room for extras can include some subplots, as long as they're closely related to the main plot. In my book The Boss's Daughter, the main story is that the heroine has to step into her ailing father's shoes and take over his auction company, which forces her to deal with his arrogant personal assistant. But there's also a strong subplot involving the interaction between her soon-to-be-divorced parents. Their interaction is what forces the heroine to take the job; it creates some of the conflict between her and the hero; it brings about the book's most dramatic moment, which forces her to realize that she's fallen in love. Because the subplot is so closely intertwined with the main story, it works very well. If the subplot had featured the pending divorce of the heroine's best friend instead, it would have drawn attention away from the main characters.

  It's very easy to get sidetracked by subplots because they can be a lot more interesting and easier to write than the main story. The heroine's parents can be as catty to each other as they like because they don't have to be heroic. And the actions occurring alongside the main plot are sometimes more fun than keeping your hero and heroine in opposition.

  PLOT CLICHES

  Because there have been thousands of romance novels published in the last century, it's inevitable that some of them have featured similar plots. Usually the fact that the characters in each book are different makes even the similar plots distinctive, too. But there are some plot points that have been so overused that they're worn out and require an entirely new approach to make them unpredictable and exciting again.

  The only way to be aware of all these problem areas is to read a lot. Some of the standards that appear in far too many romance novels include the heroine running smack into the hero (usually feeling as if she's hit a solid wall when she collides with his chest); the hero walking in on the heroine in her bath; the heroine walking in on the hero while he's clad only in a towel; the heroine falling, so the hero has to catch her; the heroine breaking the heel off her shoe; the hero and heroine feeling an electrical jolt on first touch; the heroine seeing fireworks with the first kiss.

  Beginning writers often feel that they've created something entirely new when they use one of these cliches. But the appearance of a trite, overused scenario in a manuscript tells the editor that the writer is still an amateur.

  1. Look back through the romance novels you've been reading. What sorts of events does the author use to bring the characters together?

  2. Choose one book and make a list, in order, of the major events that occur in the plot. How do events early in the story cause or lead to other, later events?

  3. How does the author create suspense? Do you want to keep turning pages?

  4. Are there times when the characters relax, without pressure on them? At those moments, do you want to keep on reading?

  5. What events did the author foreshadow? How did she hint at these events? Did you notice the hint at the time or only see it after the event happened?

  6. Are there subplots in the book? How does the author keep them from overwhelming the main story?

  1. What main events will occur in your story?

  2. How will each event draw your main characters closer together?

  3. How will each event complicate their lives?

  4. How does each event lead to another event, or cause a complication or repercussion for your main characters?

  5. How can you create suspense for your readers to make them keep turning pages?

  6. How can you arrange events in your story so the pressure is never entirely off your characters? Can you rearrange events so a new complication arises before the previous one is entirely solved?

  7. What events in your story might be considered implausible? What events might be so startling that the reader is confused? How can you use foreshadowing to prepare the reader for those events?

  After all the work you've done on your book, it's hard to let go of characters who have become tremendously important to you. At the same time, it's sometimes a temptation to rush through the last chapter or two, just for the sheer relief of writing The End to a project that has consumed you for months or even years. But no matter how strong the rest of the book is, the ending is all-important.

  Mystery writer Mickey Spillane has been quoted as saying, "Your first chapter sells your novel. Your last chapter sells your next novel."—and that's just as true of romance as of hard-boiled private-eye tales. The readers remember the ending—and if they don't come away from your romance novel feeling rewarded and gratified, they're not likely to seek you out on the bookstore shelves again.

  So the final unfolding of the story—where the conflict is resolved and the couple at last finds a way to settle their differences and be together—is an extraordinarily important part of the romance.

  In this chapter, we'll look at both of the important parts of the ending.- resolving the conflict by creating satisfactory solutions to the problems you've given your characters, and bringing the romantic relationship through the threatening black moment and on to a happy and rewarding finish that will leave your readers feeling uplifted.

  RESOLUTIONS

  At the end of a book, all the important issues must be resolved in a way that is both fair to the characters and satisfying to the readers. This is particularly important in a romance, in which the need for a happy ending pretty much requires that all the conflicts be negotiated, all the problems be solved, and all the loose ends be tied up in neat bows.

  The problem your hero and heroine have struggled with throughout the story should not be easily resolved—if it was such a simple thing to fix, it wouldn't have taken them so long to find an answer. If one or the other simply gives in, are they going to be happy for long? If one partner simply changes his mind about the disagreement, the readers may doubt the strength of that character's original convictions. If his dedication to his beliefs was so shallow, is this person a heroic character? And if he was willing to give u
p something that was originally so important to him, why did he wait until the last chapter to make the change?

  If one character is going to have a big change of heart, then the story needs to show the character thinking about that decision, struggling with it, and growing and changing so his old way of thinking no longer works and the new way feels right.

  If one character makes a great sacrifice for the sake of the other, the readers must be convinced that the character will not later resent what he has given up.

  An ending is most believable and satisfying—and happy—when it requires both the hero and the heroine to give up something for the sake of their love. This establishes a basic equality in the relationship and also makes the conflict resolution more acceptable.

  The ending must come about because of the actions of the characters themselves, not through the interference of others. If the hero and heroine would never have spoken to each other again if not for the well-meaning friends who locked them in a room together, the readers will question the depth of their feelings for each other and wonder whether they can solve future problems on their own. (Imagine if, at the end of Gone With the Wind, Scarlett had come running home to find Rhett already gone—and Mammy explains Rhett's reasons for leaving, instead of Rhett himself.)

  If one of the points of conflict has been the hero's bad behavior, then he must convince the readers (as well as the heroine) that he's changed his ways. That takes more than simply swearing he'll act differently in the future; he'll need to prove that he's learned a lesson and won't backslide.

  It's anticlimactic to have two people who have hated each other all the way through the story simply fall into each others' arms on the last page and declare their devotion. The ultimate happy ending isn't merely for the hero to say, "I love you, I want to live with you always," and the heroine to sigh, lean against him, and say, "I love you, too." Have you convinced the readers that they will still be together and happy five years, ten years, or fifty years from now?

  Convincing the readers requires more than just getting the couple together long enough to walk them down the aisle. You have to look beyond the wedding vows to ask what they will see in each other in years to come, after the fascination of new love has faded.

  IMPORTANT PROBLEMS, IMPORTANT SOLUTIONS

  If a particular element of the story has been very important throughout the book, then the solution or final handling of that element should be equally large and important; the difficulty shouldn't just trail off as if the author got tired of it.

  For instance, if a big problem in the story has been that the hero's daughter didn't want her father to remarry, then the ending shouldn't be the kid simply shrugging her shoulders and saying, "Well, I guess it's all right after all"; there should be a good reason for her change of heart. If all through the book the hero and heroine have been trying to find out who embezzled the money, then the ending shouldn't be a last-minute discovery that the cash was just mislaid instead of stolen; the embezzler should be unmasked, and the answer to the puzzle should be a surprise to the readers.

  If a previous experience or character flaw was important enough to keep the hero or heroine from forming a lifetime commitment, then it shouldn't go away just because it's suddenly convenient for the plot. What makes the character realize his previous feelings were wrong? What forces him to face up to new" and difficult truths? What makes it possible for him to change at the end, if he couldn't before?

  REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS

  If a secondary character has put himself on the line for the hero and heroine, his action shouldn't go unnoticed; in the end, his risk should be repaid with a fitting reward. If he has faithfully assisted the heroine to hang on to her property, for instance, and now she and the hero own two ranches, the helpful secondary character should get the smaller spread.

  Similarly, villains should be punished in proportion to their crimes. A character who has committed murder should receive a different level of justice than one who has robbed a store.

  That said, no matter how bad the villain is, his ultimate downfall usually comes about because of his own actions. If the villain ends up stabbed to death, it's generally not because the hero set out to kill him but because the villain aimed a cowardly blow at the hero and it backfired. Or the villain may have moved at the wrong moment and turned a shot that the hero intended to wound into a fatal one. The hero and heroine remain heroic and humane, within the context of the situation, even when threatened.

  In this example from Claire Delacroix's single-title historical The Warrior, the villain, Dubhglas, is just about to kill the hero and is taunting him with the lie that he has raped the heroine, Aileen, when she takes matters into her own hands:

  "No!" Aileen cried, tipped the arrow into the flames, then loosed it directly at Dubhglas. He turned at the sound of her voice, his movement ensuring that the arrow caught him in the other eye.

  Notice that though Aileen shot him, it was Dubhglas's own action that caused the true severity of his injury—having lost one eye to an earlier skirmish, he loses the remaining one here because he moves in relation to the path of the arrow.

  THE BLACK MOMENT

  All the twists and turns of the short-term problem, all the character-building difficulties, all the foreshadowing and suspense and love scenes lead eventually to the black moment, the point in the story at which it seems impossible that the long-term problem can ever be solved. This is the deep, horrible moment when all appears lost, when either the hero or the heroine has turned to walk away (figuratively, at least), and it appears there will be no happy ending.

  In her short contemporary Expecting Lonergan's Baby, Maureen Child shows us a heroine who faces the truth about her hero and, understanding his shortcomings, sends him away—even though it's the last thing she wants to do:

  His features tightened and Maggie felt [Sam] emotionally withdraw. She wanted to cry but knew it wouldn't help. She wanted to reach him and knew that though he was standing right in front of her, he was further away from her than ever.

  And just like that, a piece of her heart died. Swallowing back the tears gathering in her throat, she said only, "I don't want a husband who thinks it's his duty to marry me. ... I think it's best if you leave at the end of summer, just as you planned. I don't want you to be a part of the baby's life." ...

  Then she turned and hurried across the moonlit yard to her own house. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it.

  Knees weak, heart breaking, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pain.

  Maggie understands that marrying the man she loves will lead only to his resentment of her. Refusing Sam's proposal isn't a ploy or an effort to manipulate him into changing; so far as she can see, it's the end of their relationship. And because the heroine has given up hope, the readers momentarily give up, too.

  In order to be most effective, the black moment should arise naturally from the conflict and the plot, not be a manufactured confrontation or a misunderstanding. In this case, Sam is reluctant to commit himself because he blames himself for the long-ago death of a cousin; he is hesitant to accept so much responsibility again.

  The black moment is often placed at the end of the next-to-last chapter, where it allows enough space for the readers to fully experience and understand the characters' pain. The black moment also serves to draw the readers into the rest of the book, and it gives the characters twenty pages or so to come to grips with the importance of what has happened to them and the changes they have made, and to finally sort out their difficulties.

  THE SWITCH

  Shortly after the black moment comes the switch, where the sorting out really starts. The switch is the point at which one of the main characters reaches deep inside himself (or herself) and dredges up enough last-minute trust—or anger, or strength—to sacrifice his pride and share his honest feelings.

  The switch thus turns the situation around completely, breaking the ice so the couple can
ultimately resolve their differences. It's a very emotional point, a breakthrough that will allow the pair to live happily ever after.

  In her single-title chick-lit See Jane Score, Rachel Gibson shows her heroine confessing to the hero why she authored a newspaper column to embarrass him:

  "I've been thinking a lot this past week, and I've realized that in every relationship with a man that I've had, I've always entered an escape hatch just in case I might get hurt. The Honey Pie column was my escape hatch. Problem was, I didn't get out fast enough." She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I love you, Luc. I fell in love with you, and I was so afraid that you would never love me. Instead of thinking a relationship with you was doomed to end, I should have fought to keep it together. ... It ended badly. I take the blame for that, and I'm sorry." When he didn't say anything, her heart plummeted further. There was nothing left to say except, "I was hoping we could still be friends."... "You want to be friends?" "Yes." "No."

  She'd never thought one little word could hurt so much. "I don't want to be your friend, Jane."

  Jane makes her confession not in the hope of changing things between her and Luc, but because it's the right thing to do. Gibson draws out the suspense as long as she can before Luc confesses the reason he doesn't want to be friends—he wants more from Jane than friendship—and the lovers go on to talk about what has happened to separate them.

  This important aspect of the switch, this painful sharing—honesty with no certainty of a good result—assures the readers that the relationship is important enough to both characters that they will not treat it lightly in the future, or endanger the love they've come so close to losing.

  The switch usually takes place within the last ten pages of the book, leaving just enough room for tying up all the loose ends and for the readers to wallow in the satisfaction that this pair has finally made it to a happy ending.

  DECLARING LOVE

  After thousands of words and hundreds of pages in which the hero and heroine have been denying their feelings for each other, or at least not admitting them to