Can men write romance novels?

Interesting blog on Romantic Times. Stupid question. Of course, men can write romance novels. Good ones, too. If you have a chance, check out the blog and article it was inspired by.

Yes says Ray Connolly (and I agree). No says Liz Hunt. But she says more than that, and I’m still shaking my head over some of her notions.

“ …there is a brooding, obsessive, all-consuming passion that every woman – if she is being honest – aspires to be the object of at some time in her life.”

Huh?

I’m being completely honest, I swear: no, thank you. When I think brooding, obsessive, all-consuming passion, I think stalker and restraining order. I think control freak. I think man who cannot handle a strong, independent woman with friends/interests of her own. Trust me, even as a doe-eyed, innocent (don’t laugh) teenage girl I wasn’t swooning at the prospect of brooding, obsessive, all-consuming passion.

Oh, and why can’t men write romances? “…it is only another woman who really knows how to deliver [brooding, obsessive, all-consuming passion]because she has been there – or would like to have been there – too.”

Yeah. Uh huh. I’m sure no man has ever longed for a love and lived to write about it. This is as insulting to women as it is to men. I’m beginning to feel sorry for Liz Hunt (I admit I don’t know who she is). She must not have any caring males in her circle of family members, friends and associates.

Then she goes on to say this:

“Women writers are better at detail, too – and details are essential in creating a romantic build-up: what he wore, what she wore, how they were standing, how they moved, how they touched.”

What?!

I see. That’s probably why I don’t care to read traditional romance novels. I always skip the parts where the clothes are discussed. I couldn’t care less what brand shoe the heroine wears. Dropping men’s wear designer names doesn’t do a thing for me either.

Seriously, what is this woman thinking? Male (romance) writers can’t be detailed? I think it’s safe to assume that she hasn’t read any gay romance novels, the kind written by men. We all know the characters populating those romances don’t move or touch. They don’t dress and undress. We never learn what their apartments look like. Oh, and they never ever yearn for someone to shelter them or love them.

Rubbish!

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