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by On Writing Romance (mobi)

  each other, it's surprisingly difficult to make your main characters say things like "I love you" and "Will you marry me?" But it's very important in the romance novel that they actually verbalize these feelings, not leave them to the readers to assume.

  Both hero and heroine must actually declare their feelings, a proposal must he made and answered, and how these things are done must fit the main characters. A hero who has joked his way through the entire story may get serious at the end, but he won't become somber—and even his most sincere proposal is likely to contain a touch of fun.

  Tanya Michaels uses just such a touch of humor to finish off her romantic comedy The Maid of Dishonor.

  "How do you feel about running off to Mexico to get married?"

  Her heart stopped. "Are you ... Was that a proposal?"

  He snapped his fingers. "Damn. That wasn't romantic at all, was it? And I can't expect you to marry a man who doesn't have his next job lined up yet. ..."

  She pressed her hand firmly against his mouth. When she had his attention, she enunciated slowly, "Was that a proposal?"

  He nodded and asked beneath her fingers, "What do you say to Christmas in Cancun?"

  She launched herself out of her chair and into his arms. "I say si, Senor Jenner."

  He pulled her to him, sealing their engagement with a hot, openmouthed kiss that left her knees trembling. Planning out the details would have to wait until later. Much later.

  Since this couple's courtship has been anything but ordinary, it's fitting that the hero's proposal is a bit of a tease as well.

  The exception to the need for a declaration of love is in chick-lit, where the happy ending isn't always a permanent commitment. Even there, however, it's a good idea to show an increased level of trust or sharing between the main characters because of what they've been through together.

  In her paranormal chick-lit novel Undead and Unemployed, Mary Janice Davidson leaves her vampire heroine uncertain of the hero's exact feelings for her. Because the book is part of a series, making clear the status of the relationship between Betsy and Sinclair would reduce the zest of future books:

  Jessica asked me about it, and Tina did, too, but Sinclair avoided the subject entirely, and I wasn't sure why. I told them the truth—I didn't remember much between getting staked, and Marc pulling the stake out.

  What I didn't tell them was the one thing I did remember: Sinclair's voice floating out of the dark, coaxing, commanding, and saying the same thing over and over again: "Come back. Come back. Don't leave me. Come back."

  Weird. And sometimes I wonder if I dreamed it. Or hallucinated it. Or, most amazing of all, if he really said it. God knows I wasn't going to ask him. ...

  So either I can't be killed, or the king of the undead brought me back by the sheer force of his will. Either way, something to think about.

  But not today. Neiman's is having a sale, and I desperately need a cashmere cardigan. I'd prefer red, but I'll take any primary color. Jessica's paying! She says it's a "congratulations on coming back from the dead again" present. Works for me.

  Though Davidson leaves the relationship unresolved, the strong hint of Sinclair's deeper feelings will help draw the readers into the next book of the series. Notice that despite having come close to oblivion, the heroine finishes the story with her signature sassy style, voice, and attachment to fashion, echoing earlier themes in the book.

  FINDING THE RIGHT ENDING FOR YOUR ROMANCE

  Inadequate endings come in many shapes and forms, but most of them fail to satisfy because they don't keep the emphasis on the main characters, or they show the characters acting inconsistently, or they tell rather than show the action. Some common inadequate endings include:

  • The drawing room ending. The main character (or worse, a secondary character) assembles everyone together like the detective in an old mystery in order to explain what really happened. Explanation is far weaker than showing the characters taking action.

  • The surprise ending. This ending will fall flat if the surprise isn't really startling or the readers have been able to anticipate it. If the story has been about saving a historic structure and in the last chapter the wealthy hero decides simply to buy it, there's not much novelty in the solution.

  • The going-off-on-a-tangent ending. The ending has nothing to do with the rest of the story. If the entire story has been about whether the heroine should take a particular job or go back to school for her degree, but in the end she decides to sell everything and backpack around the world, the readers will be left scratching their heads and wondering where that idea came from.

  • The unresolved ending. This ending leaves important issues or big points of disagreement hanging. If the big problem has been a disagreement between hero and heroine over whether to move across the country, but in the end the couple postpones the decision indefinitely, the readers won't be satisfied.

  • The assistance-from-outside ending. Forces outside the main characters solve the problem when the hero and heroine should do it themselves. If the couple has been chasing a criminal, but it's the police who make the capture without the couple's involvement, the ending will feel limp. The ideal resolution would show both main characters deeply involved in bringing justice to the bad guy, even if the authorities are the ones who actually handcuff him and haul him away.

  • The brought-about-by-others ending. Only the stage-managing of other characters forces the hero and heroine to set foot in the same room again. While secondary characters may be tangentially involved in the ending, it's best if the readers believe that eventually the heroic couple would have come together and settled their differences without interference. Unless it's clear that the hero and heroine work out their problems by themselves, it's tough to convince the readers that they can have a workable partnership over the long term.

  • The fate ending. Fate or angels or the gods step in to solve the problem. Miracle cures of supposedly terminal illnesses fit in this category, as do villains who are conveniently killed in car accidents rather than being forced by the hero and heroine to face the consequences of their actions. The conclusion should come about as a direct result of the main characters' actions.

  Endings That Work

  All satisfactory endings have something in common—they grow naturally out of elements that are already present in the story; they don't introduce new ideas or go off in new directions. For instance:

  • The circular ending. This ending reveals a character's growth and development by exposing him anew to a situation or activity that occurred at the story's beginning and showing the difference in the character's reaction. For example, at the beginning of the story, the heroine walks down Chicago's Magnificent Mile, enjoying the city's bustle and noise. At the end, she takes the same walk, but because of the way she has changed over the course of the story, she now finds the bustle overwhelming and the noise intrusive.

  • The building-on-a-theme ending. It can be very effective to drop a comment, question, or reference into the story at irregular intervals and then allow that same theme to form the ending. In Elizabeth Bevarly's single title You've Got Male, her hero is a spy who has used multiple names but who refuses to utter his code name; he has even threatened the co-workers who know it, to keep them from actually using it:

  "I love you, Dixon. I love you, Oliver. I love you no matter who you are or what you are or where you are. And I will love you forever."

  He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her jaw gently in his palm. "Binky," he said. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  "That's my code name," he told her, smiling. "Binky."

  She chuckled. "Hence the reason why no one lives to talk about it after saying it." "You could say it and live," he promised.

  She lifted her hand to his face, too, brushing her fingertips over his rough beard. "Nah, I kind of like you as Dixon," she said. She smiled. "But who knows what I might call out in a moment of heated passion."

  He quirked up one dark brow
. "We could find out." She nodded slowly. "Yes, we could."

  And in a moment of heated passion—several moments of heated passion, in fact—they did.

  Since the hero's code name has been such a big thing through the story, referred to a half-dozen times, his sharing it with the heroine is a unique expression of trust. The readers are reassured about the couple's future, because if he'll tell her that embarrassing bit of information, there will be no important things kept secret.

  • The unanticipated ending. This ending offers a solution the readers don't see coming. If the readers can guess the compromise, the emotional appeal of the ending is minimized, and the readers are likely to think the characters should have figured this out long ago. But the effective surprise ending isn't really a surprise when the readers stop to think about it—it's simply an unexpected twist on a theme that was already present in the story.

  THE LAST LINE

  The very end of the book—the last couple of paragraphs—is the place where even the most disciplined of writers is apt to slide into sloppy purple prose. Just as it's easy to start a story too early, it's also tempting to go on too long in the end. That perfect last line isn't easy to find—and in romances, authors have a tendency to get more sentimental, cloying, and sickly sweet with each sentence.

  The last few lines should match the tone of the rest of the book. If the story has been frothy and humorous, then the last few lines should have that same upbeat, happy note. If the story has been dark and painful, then the last few lines should be very deep and emotional.

  In her inspirational romance Promise of Forever, Patt Marr makes sure to draw the spiritual elements of the story into the ending:

  His eyes roved her face, looking at her with all the love any woman could ask for. "It's your call, Beth. Do we elope and begin our life today or do we take time before making a lifetime commitment?"

  "Will you be upset if I say I'd like to pray about it?"

  "No," he said, smiling. "But I wish I'd thought of it first. It's my turn to pray." With her arms around Noah and her head on his chest, Beth marveled at Noah's words of surrender. This joy of being in the arms of the man she loved while he talked to the Lord ... it was all she had prayed for ... and more.

  Since the hero's reluctance to put his faith in a higher power has been an issue for this couple throughout the story, bringing this thread into the ending adds a spiritual theme to the conflict resolution.

  When you've written what you think is the last sentence, go back and look at the last page. The odds are you've written a stronger ending line five or six paragraphs back—one that is crisp and better suited to the story in tone and subject matter.

  EPILOGUES

  If either the hero or the heroine has given up something of enormous importance for the sake of the other, or if both have agreed to great changes in lifestyle in order to maintain the relationship, it may be a good idea to add an epilogue to show how things are working out after a period of time.

  Another good use of an epilogue is when the story ends with the heroine pregnant—or when the conflict has included doubts over whether the couple can have children—in order to show the new arrival.

  But an epilogue should not just show the new couple meeting all the family members and bring everyone's stories up to date. In her single title The Backup Plan, Sherryl Woods uses an epilogue to show that though her journalist heroine has stopped being a war correspondent in order to marry her hero, she hasn't given up the thrill of chasing a story:

  Cord paced the back of the chapel, sweat beading on his brow. Where the devil was she? Had this whole wedding thing been too good to be true? Dinah was already twenty minutes late and nowhere in sight. ...

  Just then he heard the roar of a motorcycle tearing through the Saturday afternoon downtown traffic. "Dear God in heaven," he said as the candy-apple-red motorcycle whipped around a corner with Tommy Lee driving and Dinah clinging to her brother for dear life.

  "Sorry," she said, leaping off the back as it skidded to a halt in front of Cord. "I was covering a story outside of town and my car broke down. ..." "I was hoping to get married sometime today."

  Dinah pressed a soothing kiss to his cheek. "Me, too," she assured him. "Give me ten minutes."

  ... Cord gave her a resigned look. "Is this the way it's always going to be? You're going to be chasing after some big story and nearly miss all the important occasions in our life?"

  "I promise I'll be on time for the birth of our children," she teased. "Will that do?"

  Though the heroine has given up a great deal for her hero, her attitude here and the fact that she's already established herself in a new job assures the readers that this woman won't resent or regret the decision she's made.

  SEQUELS AND TRILOGIES

  Even before you finish with the book, you may start thinking that some of your secondary characters are too interesting to leave behind. Do they deserve a story of their own?

  It's hard enough to write one book at a time without also planning ahead for a sequel. But if you are intent on continuing your story, now—before the first book is set in stone—is a good time to do some thinking ahead. To prepare for a possible sequel:

  • Make sure you haven't included any more specifics about the secondary characters in the first book than you absolutely need to use. By limiting the details you include in the original story, you leave yourself room to maneuver and to allow your new set of characters to grow.

  • Give your sequel characters as heroic a persona as you can in the first book so they're worthy of being heroes and heroines in their own book. Best friends and family members can be tart without being nasty, which allows them to be useful secondary characters while preserving their heroic potential. Just don't tone them down so much they aren't able to function in the roles they play in the original story.

  • Keep your eye on the ball. It's the first story that is important right now; if it doesn't sell, the second one in your series has much less chance of making it.

  1. Look back at the romance novels you've been studying and read the last few pages of each one. Can you locate the black moment? The switch?

  2. How does each ending relate to earlier elements in the book? Is the tone, the sensuality level, the humor similar to the rest of the story?

  3. Does the ending hark back to the beginning of the story? Does it answer a question or use a theme the author has developed earlier in the rest of the story?

  1. What will be the black moment in your story when everything seems to be lost and there can't be a happy ending?

  2. Which of your main characters will break that impasse and switch things around so there can be a happy resolution?

  3. Will there be a proposal? How would your hero (or perhaps your heroine) propose?

  4. How will your story end? Can you use elements from the beginning of your story to create a circular ending? Can you repeat thematic elements from throughout the story to bring events to a neat close, perhaps tying up one last loose end? Can you create a genuine surprise for your readers?

  No matter how good a plan you had when you started writing your book, your first draft is likely to have problems, holes, inconsistencies, and spots where your characters did the unexpected and threw you off course. The story may have ended up shorter or longer than you thought it would. Or perhaps you've got the horrible feeling that something is off-kilter, but you're unable to deduce exactly what it is.

  FIVE REASONS ROMANCES GO WRONG

  If there is something wrong with your story, chances are it's one of the Big Five: (l) inadequate conflict, (2) unrealistic characters, (3) lack of force, (4) focus not kept on the romance, or (5) poor writing.

  In every unsuccessful romance novel I've ever read, one (or more) of these problems lies at the heart of the trouble:

  1. There isn't really a conflict, or the conflict between the characters is a misunderstanding rather than a real disagreement about substantial issues. A story that features two peop
le who are fighting their overwhelming attraction for each other, but doing nothing else, is unlikely to hold up for the necessary number of chapters.

  If your hero, on the slimmest of evidence, jumps to the conclusion that your heroine is a slut, while your heroine reacts to the hero's first statement by writing him off as a bully, and they continue thinking of each other this way throughout the story, you have a misunderstanding but not a conflict.

  Real conflict involves important issues. What's at stake? What do both hero and heroine want that only one of them can have? Or what do they both want so badly they have to work together to get it?

  A real conflict has at least two realistic, believable, sympathetic sides—positions that reasonable human beings could logically take. If you (and the readers) can't argue from either POV changing sides from time to time as if you were a debater, then your conflict is one-sided and flat.

  When you have real conflict, your characters will have lots to talk about. When you don't, they may argue till doomsday, but their conversation won't lead anywhere.

  Symptoms of this malady include:

  • Characters who argue but don't simply talk to each other. If explaining their positions would solve the problem in chapter one, then it's only a misunderstanding, not a conflict.

  • One side is presented as right and the other is presented as wrong. If

  one of them is trying to save the rain forest and the other takes glee in trying to destroy it, it's hard to be sympathetic to both sides.

  • Circular arguments. The characters argue the same points again and again, without making progress toward a solution. If the conflict is genuine, a real discussion will develop and the antagonists will modify their points of view as they explain their positions.

  • Coincidental interruptions. Just as the hero is about to explain what he really feels, the phone rings, or someone comes to the door, or another character happens to say something that perpetuates the wrong impressions—so the misunderstanding lives on for another day. A wrong number or someone asking for directions would not have the power to derail an important conversation.