Stoning the Romance

So yesterday was really quiet in the blogosphere. I hope you're all done doing whatever it is you were doing, because tomorrow's post is going to be FAB-U-TASTIC!

I mean, this post is awesome. You definitely want to comment on it. You know you do.

This week in MavenLand, we're talking about romance. Seeing as how I've already read tomorrow's post, AND I've read the three organized, on-topic, thoughtful, amazing posts that lead into this one, it may not surprise you to know I'm a little stumped for insightful...uh... insight.

But we've talked about first blush, we've talked about the practical, and we've talked about the Forever Guy. What's missing? Oh, right. The one who doesn't stick around.

I think I had a whirlwind relationship with my last manuscript. Flying high on the wings of love, I skipped through the all-important getting to know you phase and went straight for the uber-crush. You know, the heart-pounding, midnight-obsessing, follow it around like a stalker straight-up hardcore crush. My manuscript and I didn't part for months on end. Then, like sexual tension after the first sex scene, we crashed. Fell from the sky and landed, quite inelegantly, somewhere on Fifth Avenue, only to be run over by the wheels of a hot dog cart and crushed by the broken leather heel of a very old woman.

Except, by that time, we were already married.

"It's not you, it's... you." Maven Erica gave me this line the other day and I swore to use it in a blog post. But it's true. There's nothing wrong with my manuscript. It didn't change between that first glimpse and today. There was no false advertising. His jokes are still funny and he's still got the same sparkle in his eye. He's just not directing it at me, or if he is, my Spidey senses aren't picking up on it.

So what to do? Well, divorce is always an option. In this industry, we can file manuscripts under the bed indefinitely, we can burn them, we can mail them off and forget about them, we can send them to our closest friends and let them laugh at our folly, and if you trust the Gmail sidebar, there's only a million small print shops who would be happy to bind it into your own precious photobook of broken dreams.

Or.

You can do nothing and hope it will just disappear on its own.

Or.

You can find a new toy and play with it instead. Pretty soon, you won't even notice your old one has gone missing. Did the snotty little girl next door steal it? Who cares! You have a shiny new one to break!

Yes, I've officially announced my foray into Humorous Women's Fiction. It's a new love for me, still rosy with the first blush, and perfect for all its hidden faults. Right now. It's not perfect; hey, it's not even publishable. It's the ultimate Unpublishable Novel, in fact. But it's fun, and it's mine, and it's private. I try to avoid the crushing, soul-destroying existence of the Unfinished Novel by pretending it doesn't exist.

Ever had to shelve a project? Ever wondered what to do with a project that no longer felt "fun?" Ever realize how cyclical romance can be? Haha. That last one was for me!