M. Suzanne Terry

One of the first “adult” novels I read was Danielle Steel’s Fine Things. I was probably 10 or 11, it was summer, and I was restless. We went to the library once every week or two, and I checked out the the maximum number of books I was allowed (whether by my mother or actual library policy, I don’t know), which was ten. I had exhausted my library selections and had already re-read my own small collection numerous times. So I went to Mom and uttered the two words we knew better than to ever say –

“I’m bored.”

Usually, this declaration received an enthusiastic vow to find us something (usually cleaning-related) to do immediately and for many hours into the foreseeable future. As much as I hated washing the wooden baseboards, though, I was desperate.

I was a reader without a book. In a word – ennuied.

Instead of the usual to-do list (which she mysteriously happened to always have on hand), Mom suggested I read. Like I hadn’t thought of that. When I explained my dilemma, she proposed an alternative. Why didn’t I choose something from her shelves?

Anything?! I marveled. I can choose anything there?!?

Apparently so. If I could reach it, I could read it. I darted out of the room to begin my feverish search before she changed her mind.

I’m not sure if she forgot that she had the romance novel on a lower shelf or if she really was ok with me reading it at my tender, pre-pubescent age, but Fine Things was the main book that stood out to me (Sins of the Fathers by Susan Howatch was also a contender).

In it, I discovered a whole new world of people interacting in what seemed to be (to my young, sheltered eyes) scandalous and brazen ways. Of course, my delicate sensibilities did not deter me from reading. I was hooked from the very beginning.

I’ve never considered romance a favorite genre until recently, but that may just be because I didn’t consider a lot of the books I read with romantic elements to be Romance ™. Is Chocolat a romance, or just a delectable story about opening a pâtisserie in a small town in France that happens to include some love connections? Does Nina George write romance, or are the books and the food the real love interests in her stories? Surely Jasmine Guillory (start with The Wedding Date) and Helen Hoang (The Kiss Quotient) are romance. I can’t wait to tuck into my next Alyssa Cole (How To Catch a Queen was pretty hot) and, while not set in contemporary times, all of Outlander as well as Bridgerton are on my TBR list. I also am a fan of Jemima J (and other Jane Green books) as well as the occasional Sophie Kinsella (The Undomestic Goddess pictured above is one of my favorites of hers).

I think part of my decision to embrace my love of romance novels is that I’d rather call these books “romance” than “chick lit,” a term I’m not super fond of. Because you don’t have to identify as a chick to love a good meet-cute (or a steamy sex scene). Both romance and chick lit genres have been the targets of disdain for “serious” readers (whatever in the world that means), but I don’t give that attitude a lot of credence either.

Whatever you call it, I love it. I read a fair amount of difficult topics, but I also like a tidy ending that promises years of happiness to come for the characters I’ve spent the whole book rooting for.

I’m spending October writing about the books I love (and hope to love in the future).