Why I Write Romance

There is almost always a thread of romance running through anything I write. Now, in honor of my inclusion in The Romance Writer Super Stack, I’m letting you have a peek inside my brain as to why I write romance—and why I always will.

My first-ever favorite book was a romance.

I bought Reincarnation by Suzanne Weyn at a Scholastic Book Fair in elementary school. The cover drew me, as did the premise when I turned over the back of the book to read the blurb. Two souls continually find each other through the ages—first as cavepeople, then again and again until they’re reunited in the modern day.

I reread that book until the front cover fell off. I was already obsessed with Ancient Greece by that time, and the other time periods visited throughout the book similarly sparked my imagination. (Thinking about it now, I think my love for that book may explain why I couldn’t ever stick with a single time period!) I loved how the author weaved in the recurrence of the jewel-bright green that brought the pair together. I loved the ways their relationship differed every time they met, yet was always loving. I loved it all.

In fact, I just purchased a used copy of it to replace my old one. That should tell you everything you need to know!

So I was a hopeless romantic from a young age. (Read: I was boy crazy.)

After Reincarnation, I devoured the Percy Jackson series during one of our family beach week trips as a little girl. While my cousins and I were splashing in the waves, we debated which Greek god or goddess would be our parent in order to be brought to Camp Half-Blood.

When it came time to decide which cabin I would belong to, I was floored when my cousin Kayley told me I’d fit in well in Aphrodite’s cabin. I did not consider myself any great beauty, and I didn’t have as much of an interest in makeup—though I do like looking good.

And Kayley told me, “But Megan, you’re boy crazy!”

What can I say? She was right. I was boy crazy. I would develop a crush on anyone who I thought might’ve been showing me the time of day because I loved the idea of being in love. Although, in my defense, I was right to be excited to fall in love, because now…

I am in a healthy, supportive, passionate relationship.

I really, really love my partner. We are high school sweethearts, and we’ve been dating for nearly a decade now. Quite honestly, the moment I saw them in that boba-slash-karaoke café, my whole body was vibrating with excited-and-scared energy, like I’d found something too precious for this world.

Reader, I had.

They make me laugh (the #1 trait anyone who knows me would look for in a partner of mine), they introduce me to new things my stubborn ass would never entertain otherwise, they support my creative endeavors, they never fail to tell me on the daily that I’m beautiful and smart and perfect (which, yes, has contributed greatly to my ego), they actually like to listen to me talk about nothing (!), and they are my very best friend in the entire world.

Suffice it to say, when you read my books and smile at a sweet thing the hero says, some version of it was probably said by my partner first. They absolutely inspire me.

Besides, romances are always a fun escape when you have a guaranteed happy ending.

It’s a hard, cruel world we live in. Life does not always go the way we want it to go, to put it mildly. Lots of things that happen that are completely senseless—or, at least, I’ll never understand the reasoning behind them.

But romance? That’s the genre for slipping into our most comforting daydreams and staying a spell. No matter what happens between the covers, the lovers will come together at the end and live happily ever after—or at least happily for now. (Yes, I’m part of the camp that requires an HEA or HFN ending to call a book a romance!)

There is something soothing about the predictability of the ending—even when the odds are stacked against our lovers, and we have no idea how the author will make it happen. It gives me the warm fuzzies, which is exactly what I’m looking for.

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