The world is a frightening place these days. I’ve been alternately watching the news and occupying my time focusing on other things. Creativity hasn’t been a problem; I can find plenty of creative things to do. Most of them haven’t been writing this winter. Like a lot of people, my motivation has been low. Mine was pegged on a couple of hopeful things that didn’t pan out, but between being caregiver for my injured partner and the sole driver in this house, keeping everything going, making sure we’ve had enough supplies, taking care of the cats, and watching the eternal Seattle winterscape change slowly from gray to blue, my days have been pretty full. I’ve had a regular weekly Zoom writing date with a fellow writer, and during my burrowing in have finally finished a revision pass on an older book.
It’s a romance. Reworking it makes me happy right now. Rereading it makes me happy right now. Thinking about people being happy makes me happy right now. In these contentious times, it’s my firm belief that we need love more than ever.
I write more than romance. The last romance novel I finished was a year ago in December. I’m sure I have more of them in me, but I also have other genres I’m having fun exploring. Everything I write has love in it, though. Why? Because it’s a fundamental part of the human condition, something we recognize. Whether it’s love for a parent or a child or a partner or a pet, we’ve all experienced it to some degree, and we’ve also experienced its loss. Love is relatable. Maybe fairytale romance love less so, but we can all appreciate the pattern of it.
So I will keep on writing, and keep pouring romance into my work. Every time we send love out into the world these days, that’s a good thing. We could all stand to have more of it.