You know what really makes a romance novelist mad?

Imagine spending months, even years, with the perfect man. He's a little moody, but he has a big heart -- among other big things -- and when you need him, he's right there. Then you have to say goodbye to him and share him with the rest of the world. Yep, your hero is on the shelves and you're left to deal with the men in the real world.

Yes, those men who don't hold doors and give you side eye when you -- in your five inch heels with your hands full -- don't hold the door for them.

Yeah, those men who holler, "Hey baby!" and get mad when you keep walking without looking back.

Umm, those quarterbacks and other "ballers" who think calling a female sports reporter sweetheart or gorgeous in press conferences and on TV is just fine.

I keep a journal and I usually keep it closed tightly. But I have to share this. Over the summer, I attended the first Charlotte Book Fair and was asked, why do I write romance?
The standard answer is it's fun and a great chance to write about love. Granted, that's true but real deal is real men make me sad.

For instance, once upon a time, I was in love with a man I ended up killing in Cautious Heart. He's Damien King, in case you wanted to know.
Well, much like Damien, the man behind the character was a lying cheater and add childish jerk to the list. So, why should I care that you have happy holiday wishes for me?

You -- the same person who tried to sleep with someone I considered a friend?
You -- the person who ruined my Christmases for three years in a row?
You -- the inspiration for a male character who died such a violent death I had to edit myself?

So, I write romance because I can forget people like "Damien King" are real.
I write romance because it gives me hope. I write romance because some real men just make me mad! I know y'all could do better if you tried.
I write romance because at the end of the story, I get a happy ending too. :)