Romance vs. Love

Tomorrow will be my 35th wedding anniversary!

My wife (an incredible woman in her own right) has put up with me for the better part of my life, and I do mean the BETTER part. Through triumph and heartache, kids and house payments, and the general confusion of life, she’s stuck by my side.

I have no idea why.

I’ve been moody, clueless, lost in fantasy, and downright ornery. To be honest, she’s had her moments too. Still, I can’t imagine my life without her in it.

I think that must be what love is, though despite claims to the contrary, I’m no expert. Love is that calm, warm acceptance of someone into your life. Romance, on the other hand, is that scorching attraction that takes you on a whirlwind emotional rollercoaster ride.

When I tell people I write romance, at some point after they get over the fact that I’m a guy, many will come back with: “So you write love stories?” and I usually answer: “Yeah.”

But thinking about it as I write this, I’m not so sure. Certainly romance leads to love, at least it did in my case, but for the most part I think my stories, and most romances, end before true love really begins. At the start there’s infatuation, shared experience, and lust, but love to me is so much deeper.

Thinking back on that day I bounced (Yes, bounced. Just ask my wife.) up to the altar, I don’t think there was much love between us. I certainly thought I was in love, but at that point I was probably just as infatuated as a character at the end of a romance book. We’d shared some things, found some common ground, and really liked each other. And there was something blazing inside. It was all very romantic.

I think of romance as the spark, but love as the fire. Sometimes it burns brightly, and sometimes it just dies. Fueled properly, it will last a lifetime.

As a romance writer, I strive for that happy ever after ending. But I realize now it isn’t an ending at all. At the end of our romance stories we should really be writing:

The Beginning.