“Men can’t write romance. Their sex scenes only last one paragraph.”
Keira Madison’s answer to the question as to why there were no men in the standing-room-only romance-writing seminar got a huge laugh from the crowd of over two hundred women. The tall, skinny redhead, a/k/a Cover Girl, was the most powerful editor in the romance genre. She smiled as she waited for the laughter in the auditorium to die down.
But it was all she could do to avoid adding one more sentence. “And this is why I never meet any guys in my job and I’m on my way to being a cat lady at thirty-five, even though I don’t have a friggin’ cat.”
The group settled down and Keira nodded at a young blonde in the second row who had her hand raised. “I’m curious if your own personal romantic experiences have an effect on the books you buy. You know, if you prefer fictional male characters who are like the ones in your life. Do you look for your type when you read a romance novel?”
Well, so much for holding back.
Keira pushed her mound of red tangles back from her face then grabbed the side of the wooden podium and leaned forward, her turquoise eyes getting wide. “Let me tell you something, girls. I love my job and wouldn’t trade it for the world. But look around this room. Do you see one guy in here? No. This genre repels men like a Star Trek force field. Drop by the romance division where I work. All women. The highlight of my week is when a man shows up to stock the soda machine and I drop by to get a Dr. Pepper just so I can talk to someone with a Y chromosome. And I don’t even drink soda. While my life revolves around romance and I’ve edited some of the steamiest books of all time with some of the hottest men on the covers, it is unfortunately all fiction. And since I don’t go to bars I rarely meet guys. So the answer to your question is no, since the best men I’ve met only exist on paper. I have a great job, but if you want a career that will let you meet guys, this ain’t it. If you think you’ll run into Prince Charming at your book-signing, fuhgeddaboudit. While I’m in the business of selling the Mister Right fantasy, for me it is, unfortunately, still a fantasy.”
Keira smiled as the crowd chuckled a bit. The clock on the wall told her she needed to wrap things up since the military thriller seminar had the place booked next. She looked at the back of the room and saw an attractive dark-haired thirty-something man peeking around the open door and pointed at him. “Hey, look, a cute guy! C’mon in, join the romance revolution!”
The crowd turned around and the man smiled. “Thank you, but I’m waiting for the next seminar.”
“C’mon, we won’t bite. You’ll never have better odds… two hundred girls to one guy. If you’ve got some sort of harem fantasy, indulge!”
The guy waved. “That’s okay, I’m not into a ménage à horde.” He smiled, then disappeared to a lot of laughs.
“Figures. The one guy who drops by is a smart ass. See, romance is scary to them.” The group turned back to face her. “Now, watch, in five minutes this room will be filled entirely with men for the military thriller talk. So if you wanna meet a guy who likes to blow things up and dream of sharing a futon in his mother’s basement, stick around.” She looked at the back of the room to see if the guy reappeared, then raised her voice. “Hey, youse guys out in the hallway, if male writers were a little smarter, they’d realize the market for military thrillers is stone- cold dead and the easiest genre to crack is romance. C’mon in!” She paused a moment to see if there was any reaction. “Bueller? Bueller?” Still no one. “Oh, whatever. I gave it a shot.” Keira had time for one more question and pointed at a brunette in the back.
“Keira, do you think a guy could write a romance? I know you were joking around… but seriously, could a man do it?”
“Hey, good writing is good writing. A good writer is a good writer, regardless of gender. Every male author out there has female characters in his books, so it’s not like they can’t write women. And every one of you has a hero in your work, but no one ever says a female romance author can’t write men. There are a few guys out there who do write romantic novels, but a manuscript from one has never crossed my desk. But sure, a man could do it. He’d have to be a special kind of guy, though. I don’t think a man could write a romance unless he was a romantic soul at heart: the kind of guy who respects you as an equal but holds doors for you, who brings you gifts without occasion, who is kind enough to take in a stray kitten out of a rainstorm, who leaves little love notes on the pillow if he has to go to work early, who knows when a woman needs to be left alone and when she needs to be held, who is so damn hot every woman in the room is jealous of you, who will look at you in the same way twenty years after your wedding day and make your heart flutter. Who—”
Keira realized she’d verbalized a familiar daydream and caught herself before going any further. She looked out at the crowd and saw a room filled with dreamy-eyed women, their heads cocked to the side like puppies waiting for a treat, who knew exactly what she was talking about. “Sorry, occupational hazard. Easy when you create Mister Right on paper, huh?” The crowd chuckled as she saw a few famous thriller writers waiting in the wings offstage. “Okay, we have to clear out for the boys with their toys, so thank you all for coming and I’ll be around the convention all day if you have any questions. Don’t be shy. But please don’t pitch your book in the bathroom like someone did to me last year.”
The crowd began to disperse as Keira picked up her leather satchel and headed off-stage.
She was surprised to see her publisher, Jill Howland, waiting, on the phone, looking devastated as she ran one hand through her dark-blonde hair. But then Jill had a tendency to overreact. She ended the call as Keira arrived at her side. “What’s wrong, Jill? You look like someone ran over your dog.”