The Date (Single Wide Female in Love #1) by Lillianna Blake Page B
Authors: Lillianna Blake
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would leave no room for making excuses. Luckily, I had the writing group and the date with Spence to distract me from thoughts of Blue.
When I walked into the cafe, I noticed the group of people clutched together in a circular space dotted with couches and easy chairs. It was the perfect writers’ nook. I smiled as I walked up to the group. I hoped that they would be a bit friendlier than the last group I’d joined. It appeared, however, that I’d walked right into the middle of an argument.
“It’s ridiculous to use funny names for body parts. They are what they are. Why can’t we just call them by their name?”
“That’s nonsense. It breaks the spell. Romance, even erotic romance, is about fantasy. No woman wants an anatomy lesson in the middle of her smut binge.”
“Oh, don’t use that word.” An older woman scrunched up her nose. “That’s so impolite.”
“It is what it is.” The younger woman shrugged. Then she looked up at me with a half-smile. “You must be Samantha.”
“I am.” I smiled in return. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh please do. I don’t think the great anatomy debate can go on much longer without all of us losing our minds. Here, sit next to me.” She gestured to an empty easy chair.
As I sat, I assessed the group. There were six people, not counting myself—three women and three men. One of the men looked to be in his late teens, another might have been in his forties, and a third’s white hair indicated that he might be sixty or more. The three women looked to be about five to ten years apart in age. I was sure I’d get some good advice from people with such a variety of life experience.
“Samantha, since you’re new we should probably let you talk first. This group gets off on a tangent and it could be hours before we bring up another topic.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at them. “I should tell you right off the bat that I’m not really a romance writer. However, there’s an aspect of my book that is romantic. I’m having a hard time with this part, because, to be honest, I’ve never been in love—not the kind of love that I want to write about. I thought maybe you all could give me some advice on how to write this part of my book without having the personal experience.”
All six of the people stared at me with some variation of amusement.
That was not the reaction that I’d expected. I started to wonder if I was in the wrong group.
The woman beside me placed her hand lightly on mine and smiled patiently. “Hon, you know that romance isn’t real, right?”
“Excuse me?” I laughed a little.
None of their expressions changed.
“Samantha, what we write is fantasy.” The man with white hair locked eyes with me. “It’s not meant to be taken seriously. If I wrote about real romance, no one would read my books. No one wants to hear about the arguments or the day-to-day struggle of trying to make a relationship work. I mean, what love comes down to is a chemical misfiring of the brain that doesn’t last.”
Chapter 28
The man’s words hit me hard. What hit me harder was that everyone in the group seemed to agree with him. The entire meeting of romance writers had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with how to sell people on a fantasy that none of them believed could ever be true.
I was more than a little disappointed.
“So none of you have been in love?”
“Oh sure, I’ve been in love.” The youngest woman smiled. “I’m in love at least once a month.”
“I thought I was in love, but it turned out that he was in love with my best friend.” The woman beside me volunteered the information.
“I’m sorry that happened.” I frowned.
This was not the inspiration I’d expected. In fact, I was tempted to tell my readers the truth—that no one had ever been in love.
“I was in love.” The youngest man of the group spoke quietly. “It was amazing. But it didn’t
When I walked into the cafe, I noticed the group of people clutched together in a circular space dotted with couches and easy chairs. It was the perfect writers’ nook. I smiled as I walked up to the group. I hoped that they would be a bit friendlier than the last group I’d joined. It appeared, however, that I’d walked right into the middle of an argument.
“It’s ridiculous to use funny names for body parts. They are what they are. Why can’t we just call them by their name?”
“That’s nonsense. It breaks the spell. Romance, even erotic romance, is about fantasy. No woman wants an anatomy lesson in the middle of her smut binge.”
“Oh, don’t use that word.” An older woman scrunched up her nose. “That’s so impolite.”
“It is what it is.” The younger woman shrugged. Then she looked up at me with a half-smile. “You must be Samantha.”
“I am.” I smiled in return. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh please do. I don’t think the great anatomy debate can go on much longer without all of us losing our minds. Here, sit next to me.” She gestured to an empty easy chair.
As I sat, I assessed the group. There were six people, not counting myself—three women and three men. One of the men looked to be in his late teens, another might have been in his forties, and a third’s white hair indicated that he might be sixty or more. The three women looked to be about five to ten years apart in age. I was sure I’d get some good advice from people with such a variety of life experience.
“Samantha, since you’re new we should probably let you talk first. This group gets off on a tangent and it could be hours before we bring up another topic.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at them. “I should tell you right off the bat that I’m not really a romance writer. However, there’s an aspect of my book that is romantic. I’m having a hard time with this part, because, to be honest, I’ve never been in love—not the kind of love that I want to write about. I thought maybe you all could give me some advice on how to write this part of my book without having the personal experience.”
All six of the people stared at me with some variation of amusement.
That was not the reaction that I’d expected. I started to wonder if I was in the wrong group.
The woman beside me placed her hand lightly on mine and smiled patiently. “Hon, you know that romance isn’t real, right?”
“Excuse me?” I laughed a little.
None of their expressions changed.
“Samantha, what we write is fantasy.” The man with white hair locked eyes with me. “It’s not meant to be taken seriously. If I wrote about real romance, no one would read my books. No one wants to hear about the arguments or the day-to-day struggle of trying to make a relationship work. I mean, what love comes down to is a chemical misfiring of the brain that doesn’t last.”
Chapter 28
The man’s words hit me hard. What hit me harder was that everyone in the group seemed to agree with him. The entire meeting of romance writers had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with how to sell people on a fantasy that none of them believed could ever be true.
I was more than a little disappointed.
“So none of you have been in love?”
“Oh sure, I’ve been in love.” The youngest woman smiled. “I’m in love at least once a month.”
“I thought I was in love, but it turned out that he was in love with my best friend.” The woman beside me volunteered the information.
“I’m sorry that happened.” I frowned.
This was not the inspiration I’d expected. In fact, I was tempted to tell my readers the truth—that no one had ever been in love.
“I was in love.” The youngest man of the group spoke quietly. “It was amazing. But it didn’t
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