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.