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Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails...
The poet who first penned my title line forgot to add boys will also require Band-Aids, stitches and casts to hold them together. Last month I had one son in a cast and one in a wrist splint. Pretty typical around her to have two walking wounded. In fact, hubby has the Orthopedist on speed dial. I've lost track of the number of times I've visited the emergency room to have my boys casted, stitched or cauterized. (Shudder. The last one is not a pretty memory.)
Needless to say, I have learned to stay calm in a crisis.
I have 4 sons, no daughters. Ninety-nine percent of the time I do not miss having someone to share the estrogen/tender/bonding moments. But yesterday my youngest turned 13. Wow. A teenager. And what did he want to do to celebrate this momentous occasion? Play paintball. What's worse, his father, brothers and friends all wanted to get out on the muddy field and shoot each other too. I've seen the welts left by paintballs that found their target. Where does pain fit into the birthday party happiness? I guess it's a guy thing, because I sure as heck don't get it, and I have no desire to get shot--with paintballs or anything else. Okay, maybe a water gun on a hot day. If I'm dressed for it.
Splat. So much for a mom's tender moment of saying goodbye to her last baby's childhood.
On the other hand, this is the son who goes fishing with me, the only one of my guys who gets the point of standing in the hot sun with a fishing rod in hand, listening to the croak of frogs, swatting mosquitoes and waiting for the fish to arrive. He's the one I can find by following the trail of trash or discarded dirty clothes. He's also the one who annoys the dickens out of me by diving into my bed right when I get to the juiciest part of whichever book I'm reading. But he still lets me hug him. In public.
So between my sons, husband, father and older brothers I know men. I know how they walk, talk, think, eat, shop and clean up(or not). But there's a far cry between reality and a romance hero. I don't think readers want a real man as a hero. Case in point: One of my brothers owns a yacht, several waterfront homes and a bunch of expensive cars. Hero material. He can burp the alphabet and shared that knowledge with my sons. Not hero material. (I put that in a book. Wonder if he recognized himself? Because he does read my "trashy" novels. So do his friends--which really rips him one.) This same brother owns a remote control fart machine which he unleashes on unsuspecting visitors. Definitely NOT hero material.
Romance book heroes need to be better than real men. They can't be the type to amuse themselves with bodily emissions or by crushing beer cans on their foreheads. They can't be the kind who sniff a shirt to see if it's clean enough to wear. Our heroes should be brave, sexy, smart and god-like in bed. (Let's not even get into the size issue.) We want them to communicate effectively. Grunts don't fall into that category. We want our heroes to be civilized--in a manly way of course.
Oh sure we want a real man--only sanitized, deodorized and civilized. Is that too much to ask?
posted by Emilie Rose at 5:45 AM
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3 Comments:
Playground Monitor said...
Boy you DO know men! Bless your heart. I only have 2 sons, but I've finally gotten a daughter-in-law and granddaughter to add a little estrogen to the pot.
I had to laugh about your brother and the hero/non-hero sides to him. I had no idea there was a remote controlled fart machine. Please don't tell my sons. *g*
My younger one is the fisherman, but I'm afraid I don't get the standing-by-the-water-batting-mosquitoes thing either. But we enjoy doing other things together.
As for that shirt sniffing -- didn't you know that if you put it in the dryer with a softener sheet you can make it wearable again?
Marilyn
6:13 AM
christa said...
After two weeks of not be able to access the internet, I can now do an extra happy dance, not only is my internet working but Emilie is in the Desire spotlight.
I saw that you brother was a big help researching yachts for Exposing the Executive's Secrets. I am so looking forward to Holly's story.
8:44 PM
Emilie Rose said...
Christa,
Holly's story was the most fun to write of any I've done thus far. She tends to blurt out what she's thinking when she's nervous. That made for some interesting dialogue--especially when I put her up against a hero who watches his every word and every move. ;-)
3:32 AM
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