Under-caffeinated writer rambles

What went before: Oof.

I wasn’t feeling 100 percent when I got up this morning, late but not rested after a very mixed sleep. My knee hurt, my back hurt, my hands hurt, yada, yada, poor writer.

Anyhoots, I thought I’d shake it off, and went, slightly groggy, about my business, including going to the grocery store, and getting gas, and visiting the local pet store. Came home, put everything away, made something — oh, veggie stir fry — for lunch, and still felt lousy.

So, I picked up Rookie, who happened to be on my lap, and carried him with me to the bedroom, where we had a lovely and refreshing two hour hap.

I cannot praise Rookie’s nursing skills enough. He immediately donned his professional aspect, walked around the top of the bed, laid down on my stomach to make sure I was flat to the mattress, then came ’round and snuggled into the side of my neck, purring until I went to sleep.

I feel less achy, and I’ve done the dishes and other chores, so the plan is to go to the needlework group, come home, serve up happy hour and my own supper, go to bed early, and see if I can’t do some writing tomorrow.

How’s Tuesday treating everybody?

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Wednesday. Cloudy and going to be warm. Feeling much better today.

Breakfast was half an anything bagel with cream cheese and a side of grapes. Drinking my first cup of tea. Lunch will be something to do with chicken breasts.

The only hard thing on the schedule is a visit with the chiropractor in about an hour. Nothing after that until… Monday? And of course Tuesday is the Gala Celebration of Rookie’s Gotcha Day.

In theory, therefore, I have four-and-a-half days to write. That sounds promising, even — exciting. I have a couple scenes, as yet unconnected, that I want to sketch in, and also a continue on the narrative as it stands. This book could be more complicated. OTOH, this is more or less how Salvage Right went together, so the nut hasn’t fallen far from the tree.

I’ve thinking off and on about the conversations I’ve had recently about colleagues who have resorted to reading genre romance in order to up the romance in their sf/f novel, or! to figure out What Women Want, in terms of a hero — and why that makes me … uneasy.

And, I think I’ve finally figured that out. The problem is that genre romance has its Conventions, as does sf/f. One of those is: The Relationship Drives The Plot. The characters may have other problems, other friends, and, yanno, A Life, but the primary problem that must be solved is how are the lovers going to (1) get together and (2) go forward. You don’t, mind, have to SEE them go forward, but it has to be implicit in the HEA that commitment has been achieved and the partners will be going forward together.

A romance writer who is doing her job, therefore, makes certain that the Love Scenes (be they hot or be they sweet) move the characters toward their HEA. They are not only tied to the plot, they are drivers, and there’s a reason they unfold as they do.

SF/F has a long-held Convention that states the Big Problem must be solved at all costs: love and life not being exempt. Love scenes still ought to happen For A Reason, as all scenes no matter the genre ought to happen For A Reason, but the romance and the resolution of the relationship are very, very seldom the primary problem, and the relationship is often used to make more poignant the victory. And because the pacing of sf/f novels and romance novels are so VERY different, the inclusion of Love scenes is also different.

(At some point, someone is going to ask me how they’re different, and I’m going to tell them to go read a swath of Romance and another swath of SF and get back to me. So just be aware.)

Then there’s the vexed question of What Women Want in a (Male) SF Hero. The answer to this has been answered many times in sf/f. I offer the Liaden books as one example, and because they’re handy — but there are many, many others.

In quick sum-up: Men who are strong, but emotionally available; who protect kittens, but who also realize that kittens have claws for a reason, and to deny them the opportunity to use their close is to damage the kitten’s nature. Men who laugh, and who cry, and who aren’t afraid to say, “I don’t know.” Men who are willing to learn, and to teach, and to play. Men who are people, I would say, though I’ve been accused of meaning when I do say that, “Men who act like women.”

So. Long-Winded Auctorial Ramblings R Us.

What’s everybody having for lunch today?