Caroline in the City: Wanted-One good fireproof bookshelf

My name is Caroline and my mother writes romance novels. This isn’t the beginning of a Daughters Anonymous speech, but rather an honest admission of fact. My former school-teaching, preacher’s wife of a mother has published dozens of books over the last decade. We’re not talking about the sweet and touching romance novels, but rather the spicy kind you have to store on a fireproof shelf for fear that they will send your bookcase up in a blaze of passion.

I’ve gotten a lot of flack over the years for my mother’s career of choice. Apparently once you have kids and pass the age of 40 you are no longer supposed to think about sex, have sex, or worse (gasp!) actually write about it. Why we, the younger generation, feel the need to monopolize sex is beyond me. Seems we all deserve to get in on the action.

My mother started reading romance novels as a teenager. She developed her writing skills over the years and along the way fell in love with a talk, lanky man who she worked with on the high school newspaper. My father has unfalteringly supported my mother’s dream of writing and even jokes that “The research is killing him.” I try not to dwell on the whole research thing. A girl’s gotta sleep at night after all.

It wasn’t easy for my mom to break into this particular field. She received rejection letter after rejection letter over the years. I used to dread getting the mail each day because you never knew when one of those big brown envelopes containing an unwanted manuscript would arrive in our mailbox. Growing up, my younger sister and I incessantly reminded mom that Dr. Seuss was rejected 99 times before his work was finally published. Fortunately for mom, it didn’t take 99. She sold her first book the year I turned sixteen and it hit the shelves less than twelve months later.

Many people have called my mother’s writings smut and trash. I’ve heard romance novels criticized in more ways than I can count, yet the industry is alive and well with more than 51 million readers. I am proud to count myself among those masses and often give my mom’s books as gifts to share the gift of romance with my friends.

Personally I don’t think romance is limited to a man and a woman. I believe romance can spark between sisters, friends, and even neighbors. To me romance should be part of our everyday lives and something we each should strive to have more of.

Can these books really teach us anything about experiencing love and passion in the real world? Aren’t they really just tales of idealized women and their heroes who could never make it outside the pages of the book? After reading my mother’s works and many other romance novels over the years I believe we have much to learn from these stories. My mother’s novels have been translated into numerous other languages and sold half-way around the world. There is a universal need to love and be loved and these books expose that need. I think it hits a little too close to home for many of us, so it’s just easier to strike down this less exalted literature as smut.

Back in the seventies romance novels featured a lot of virginal heroines and big strong men who came to their rescue. As women’s roles in society changed and expanded, so did romance novels. Today you won’t find many heaving alabaster breasts. The romance novels on the shelf are full of smart, savvy women who figure out what they want in life and go for it, whether that be careers, family, or the hunky guy in the next office. And the romance heroine these days is just as apt to “save” the hero as the other way around. In one sense, romance novels are the ultimate feminist literature.

Despite the taunting from incredulous friends who remain shocked that my sweet little mother, who I graciously made a grandmother a few years ago, writes romance novels, the truth is I am unbelievably proud of her. She has taught me more about love and passion than I will ever be able to experience. I love walking into a bookstore and seeing my mom’s books on the shelf. I always pull them to the front so they are more apt to catch your eye and end up on your own fireproof shelf. So even if you think they are smutty, even if you think they are trash; pick up a romance novel and lose yourself in a good story. You might learn more than you ever expected. And the next time someone tells me I am just like my mother I won’t roll my eyes and groan; I’ll just give them a high five instead.

Editor’s Note: Learn more about Caroline’s mom’s latest novel on Amazon.