In my novels, the heroine invariably has to cry at some point.  Because I am a sucker for happy endings (some people consider me a hopeless romantic) I used to read historical romance.  When i decided to write, it seemed a natural genre into which I should dive.

There are certain things i do not like though, certain things that aren’t quite real enough for me.  While historical romance is all about escapism, I do like to avoid certain stereotypes.  Like the crying thing.

i do not cry pretty.

If you read such novels (or even watch romantic comedy) the girls always manage to cry in a delicate, feminine way.  No stammering around a tightly closed throat, no snot pouring out of one’s nostrils in a decidedly disgusting manner, no blotchiness around one’s eyes.  Their noses do not turn a bright shade of red that would rival anything Rudolph had to offer.

All of that happens to me.

i suppose this isn’t a problem if you don’t cry very often.  I’m not one of those people.  I cry at beauty, at sublimity, and at your standard tear-jerker flicks.  I feel things strongly, and I cry.  Typically, those tears are a bit more manageable.  They don’t last very long and i can generally get myself back under control before the mottled red nose effect sets in.  But … and it’s a huge but …

I’m almost exclusively attracted to men who not only make me cry, but who enjoy making me cry.  Men who want to empty me.  Holding back is not acceptable, ever.

~sigh~  I wish I cried pretty.


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