The reason I do not write romance!


It was Valentine’s Day and I had just worked a twelve hour day.  I have a wonderful husband and I came home to flowers on the table, dinner made and a chocolate/whipped crème pie in the fridge that my wonderful husband took the time to swirl in a heart in the top.  Don’t gag yet – the story gets better.

My husband had recently bought himself a George Foreman grill.  Now everything is cooked on said grill.  Being a simple girl, I had asked for soup and a sandwich.  He decided to make hamburgers.  Okay, I thought I’m down with it.  I sat down and took a bite of the hamburger.

If you ever were curious where hell exists exactly, it was in my throat that night.  Turns out – a half of a cup of jalapeños went into the three hamburgers he made.

I was in physical pain.

Not to seem ungrateful, I finished my hamburger.  Unfortunately, now that the fire had spread to my stomach, I couldn’t even think about eating the pie.  Terror filled my brain as I worried I would chuck it all back up and what sort of damage that might do.  Should I allow the lava to pour out my throat or let it pass all the way through?

The poor thing had gone to so much work to impress me, I couldn’t ruin it.  It was Valentine’s Day!  I fought through the pain.

So there I was, nose running and every part of my anatomy from my mouth to my stomach ablaze.  My animals, being smart like animals are, knew something was wrong and kept checking on me as we were trying to be intimate.  The husband kept shooing them away, muttering something like, “What is wrong with them tonight?”  Animals are clairvoyant…they could hear the screaming in my head.

I grew up on a farm.  The only child to my parents, my dad wanted a boy.  So, I’m a bit like a boy.  Maybe, I’m a lot like a boy.  I love to fish. I split wood (snort). I hate to shop.  I have renovated a few houses.  I work on my own car.  I have more tools than most men and sometimes, my hubby calls me Kim Vila.  Don’t mistake me.  I can be pretty.  I wear dresses and makeup and jewelry.  But a bubbly feminine woman…I am not.  (Please excuse so many I’s!)

I don’t care that I stand 5′ 4″ and my husband is 6′ 8″ and I’m certain we look like a circus act walking into a store together.  I love this man dearly.  I choked down my jalapeño burger, and suffered in silence because this dear sweet man that I asked to marry me 4 years ago wanted to “spice things up.”  No kidding – that’s what he said.

As I sit here contemplating using Milk of Magnesia as coffee creamer I realize that if I tried to write romance, it would end up being a tragic comedy.  So I’ll stick to ghosts, vampires, true crime and bad ass female MCs instead.

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6 thoughts on “The reason I do not write romance!

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  2. Pingback: Things Just Stay Weird | Author Kim Mullican

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