Sex and the Single Girl

I spent a day this past week at the hospital. My sister had to be knocked out for a procedure and I had the role of chauffeur. But it meant waiting for the procedure to be done, recovery, etc. So, as I said, I spent the day there. Fortunately, I remembered to pack my laptop so I could keep on track with my word count for the WIP.

As I madly typed away (I was in the zone!) one of the receptionists came by and said "Are you getting an internet connection here?" Since there is no internet connection available in the hospital, I thought it an odd question, but I politely explained I was a writer and able to do my job even without an internet connection. She then asked me what I wrote, and I told her I write romance.

We romance writers have all faced the moment when we tell someone we write romance and they raise an eyebrow at us as images of bodice rippers enter their heads.

But in this case, her reaction didn't stop at the raised brow. She gave me the once-over and asked "Are you married?"

It took me a moment to process. Was she asking because without marriage there can be no romance? Or was she asking because romance dies once one does get married? Or did she believe there really was, as Ava Miles writes, a Nora Roberts Land, created by unrealistic romance novels and their authors and was blaming me for her unhappy life? Did she think I couldn't possibly know what I was writing about if I'd never been married? I didn't know which thought process to take, so I merely answered her question to the best of my ability. No, I'm not married and what's more, I never have been. But that doesn't mean my life has been devoid of romance.

She didn't seem pleased with my answer. But as I pondered her question, I thought about my romantic life. If I'd gotten married to a high-school or college sweetheart I wouldn't have been able to travel around the country and meet all sorts of men. I wouldn't have had the experience of being intimate with more than one partner. I would not have been able to have so many memories to draw upon when I write.

To prove my point, I moved to another waiting room for a long couple of hours and opened my WIP again. Sitting there, with a TV blaring Days Of Our Lives, three couples involved in different conversations and a receptionist who never put down the phone, I wrote an intense love scene. When I finished the scene, I felt a bit naked and, as I came out of the zone, hoped I hadn't made any accompanying noises while I wrote. I glanced up from the laptop and the three couples weren't paying me any attention, so I figured I had safely navigated the scene. But I was exhausted. Having sex in front of a crowd can wear a girl out.

And I still had to drive us home.