I am doing this because at the moment I am HATING my book again.
A friend of mine made me very uncomfortable the other day when he asked me, "Are you really writing romance? Isn't that like prostituting your talents? Do you really like romance novels?"
His thought was that I was so witty and intelligent, how could I like them. What I told him was "Mantitty and mullets? What's not to love?" (Borrowed freely from the fabulous Smart Bitches)
But honestly. Read a good romance and you are instantly transported into another life. A life where you always know the right fiesty thing to say and you have the best hair ever. Like hair that Breck execs would envy. You have this incredibly hot alpha male chasing you. You get to wear great clothes at least part of the time, even if you are dirt poor. (Because someone lends you something or you remake something in your grandma's trunk, or something.) And you know how it's going to end... Happily.
What's not to love? Or you can read a book so full of symbolism and death it makes you want to slit your wrist, because after all, there is no hope in the world. Take your pick. Me? I'll go for happily ever after every damn time.