Lessons on Writing Relationships… from Romance Novels

Feedback on the first draft of a fiction manuscript I’ve been working on for a while, while positive in other aspects, suggested that the characters’ relationships lacked a certain spark. So, while working on the second draft, I turned to a genre that models relationship writing: romance.

Romance writing is a realm where constraint fuels creativity. A relationship focus and a happy ending are key to meeting the genre’s expectations. Readers know that the main characters are going to get together in the end; the fun (and literary skill) is in finding out how they get there. As well as being enjoyable to read, romance offers wonderful insights into building characters and crafting the dynamics between them. There’s nothing like a romance novel – focused on chemistry, rapport, and relationship development above all else – to illustrate how to write effective relationships in fiction!     

Here are a few of the romance titles I’ve enjoyed recently, and the insights I’ve gleaned from them.

The Bride Test, by Helen Hoang: For Hoang, writing romance intersected with discovering that she was on the autism spectrum and creating characters who share neuro-similarities. In this delightful novel, the mother of Khai, an accountant on the spectrum who wants nothing to do with relationships, returns to Vietnam to find him an ideal bride. Esme, a whip-smart janitor with a young daughter (inspired in part by Hoang’s immigrant mom), is eager to seek new opportunities in America. But to secure a better life for herself and her family, she must, in one summer, win the heart of a man who believes himself unable to love. The relationship between Khai and Esme evolves with sensitivity to their very different needs and experiences. While there’s mutual attraction, it comes with a lot of misunderstandings, often related to culture or neurology, that the characters must overcome. Hoang excels at creating interpersonal conflict with solid reasons behind it, both internal and interpersonal. Read this novel for a great example of how two very different characters, with realistically divergent experiences, can convincingly come together.

The Summer of Jordi Perez (and the Best Burger in Los Angeles), by Amy Spalding: In this queer YA romance, Abby begins a summer internship at her favourite clothing store only to discover that a co-intern, Jordi, is also vying for the single job available once the summer ends. But the two girls hit it off so well that sparks fly between them, and private, plus-sized Abby, who’d cast herself in the archetypal romantic-comedy “friend” role, must come to grips with photographer Jordi’s view of her as a leading lady. Abby’s thoughtful perspective definitely leads here, with Jordi being more of a secondary character. I found her a great example of crafting a non-point-of-view romantic interest who is appealing and fleshed out – scenes with her photography and family are charming, though not central. Another great secondary character is the funny jock Jax, best friend of Abby’s best friend’s boyfriend. A secondary storyline follows the “friend chemistry” that evolves between him and Abby as the unlikely pair sample L.A.’s burgers for a rating app.

Outback Billionaire, by Nikki Steele: The cover cracked me up, but the writing kept me reading until I finished it in one sitting. This was a fun read with a tight perspective on the two romantic leads, alternating POVs between Marlo, an American aspiring actress brought to Australia by her good-for-nothing manager fiance (they break up quickly thereafter), and Jack, a wealthy cattle station owner who offers her a job on his land. In a genre often focused on the heroine, I would have liked to know Marlo better, but found Jack’s concerns (health problems, hot buttons, vulnerabilities) to be particularly well explored. His interests are appealing and understated. The fantasy of wealth is conveyed through the understated sensuality of French press coffee, good wine, and a love of open spaces. The Australian Outback is described with precision and gorgeous language – you get a romance and armchair travel in one!   

Hate to Want You and Wrong to Need You, by Alisha Rai: In this family-drama romance series, two families that once co-owned a grocery chain have a bitter falling out after a parent in each family dies in a car crash. Hate to Want You is the story of Nick and Livvy, children of the respective families, a couple forced to break up after the families split. Since then, they’ve hooked up once a year, and when Livvy comes back to town, both of their suppressed feelings for each other threaten to reignite old wounds. Wrong to Need You develops a romance between Sadia, single mom and widow of Livvy’s brother, and the surviving brother, Jackson, a once-close friend who cut Sadia off after being accused of burning the flagship grocery store. I have yet to read the third book, Hurts to Love You, which ties up loose ends in this angsty saga of family secrets. Rai’s series excels at developing multiple character relationships at once. Family, friendships, and romantic ties are all complicated and all matter deeply to both plot and characters. Every heated moment has emotional heft. Mental health issues are integral to the plot, and the characters are diverse and deep. If you’re interested in writing romantic relationships, an ensemble cast, or both, the Forbidden Hearts series is well worth your time.        

If you’re looking to bring more romance in your reading life (either for fun, for writerly insights, or both), Smart Bitches, Trashy Books is an awesome resource for discussions and recommendations of what’s good, what’s not so good, and what’s out there. And of course, there are lots of romance deals available on Amazon to get you started!

I’m delighted to see this genre getting growing critical respect (the New York Times Book Review now has a romance critic!) and publishing a wider variety of voices. In an often harsh world, there’s something both comforting and radical in reading about all kinds of people finding happiness.