Lori Borrill on Writing Romance

It was June, 2004 when I sat down to write my very first novel.  I had read dozens of romance novels, and as someone who has toyed with writing since I was a young girl, I wanted to see if I could write a novel of my own.

Writing, for me, would be a hobby and nothing more.  After all, I have a day job I enjoy, so I'm not looking for a new career.  It's just that now, with my son getting older and my house fully decorated, I've run out of projects to occupy my spare time.  June, 2004 seemed like a good time to think about taking up a new hobby, and romance writing fit the bill.

Not that I didn't have goals, and when I started, those goals were very simple.  I wanted to finish a novel, and win a contest.  That was it.  What I wanted to get from this endeavor was something that could be coveted in my family for generations to come--some sort of award, be it a plaque, a trophy, a certificate "suitable for framing", or a golden pen--it really didn't matter.  I just wanted to join the ranks of people like my paternal grandfather, Alvin Hanson.

It's a little known fact that Alvin Hanson was an amateur paleontologist.  I say little known because I didn't know this until long after his death when my sisters and I went through a box of family mementos.  In it, we found an article that had been clipped from the local newspaper decades ago.  There was Alvin Hanson, photo and all, a goose-eating grin on his face as he proudly held some sort of dinosaur bone he'd dug up and later donated to a local museum. 

The article prompted a discussion, albeit brief, about Alvin Hanson's fifteen minutes of fame and his career in amateur paleontology.  I was momentarily awe-struck, and though I remember few details about the man or the article, I remember thinking it was pretty cool.  It was neat to learn something interesting about my grandfather, and though his "discovery" has long been forgotten by just about everyone, I still hold a little pride close to my heart.

The conversation about his article was nearly ten years ago, and at the time, I hadn't been interested in taking a copy, nor do I know where it is today.  But my grandfather's accomplishment popped to the front of my mind the day I decided to write a romance novel.  Before that day, I'd made several attempts at having short articles published--without success--so I knew my chances of actually seeing my story in print were slim to none.  Thus, I set modest goals.  I simply hoped that some day I'd win a contest and capture some sort of memento that might prompt a brief discussion about me long after I'm gone.

I thought, maybe someday, my grandchildren would go through a box much like my sisters and I did the day we came across Alvin's newspaper clipping, and they'd learn something new about their dear old Grandma.

My daydream goes something like this:

"Hey, dad.  What's this stuff?" asks my granddaughter--I'll call her Stacey--as she holds up an old tarnished silver rose.

My son, Tom, smiles fondly.  "Ahh, the Silver Rose.  Your Grandma Lori won that.  Believe it or not, Grandma Lori was once a romance writer."

"Your mom wrote romance novels?"

"Yes, Stac, that crotchety old woman with the smoker's cough used to write about sex."

Stacey's eyes widen in disbelief.  "But she was such a prude!"

Tom laughs.  "By today's standards, but back then, Grandma Lori was pretty racy for her time."

"Wow," Stacy replies, admiring the blackened rose.  "And her novel won this award?  It must have been good.  Do we have a copy of it?"

"No, I'm afraid not.  You see, back around the turn of the century, authors had to actually type their novels on computers."

Stacey gasps.  "That must have taken days!"

"Oh, a lot longer than that.  You see, that was before Mindscan technology.  Authors had to translate their story ideas into words, and often the translations didn't come out as great as the stories in their minds.  And back then, there were no turbo editors.  They had to actually read their manuscripts and figure out for themselves how to change them to get them just right--often over and over again."

Stacey handles the silver rose with a heightened sense of awe.  "It must have been grueling!  No wonder the family still has her award."

"I think there's a few more in there," Tom says, tipping the box to take a peek.

Stacey pulls out a plaque.  "Heart of the Rockies.  What are the Rockies?"

"Oh, that was once a vast mountain range before the big Yosemite super volcano of '37 turned it into high planes.  You know, the nickname for Denver used to be The Mile High City before the volcano turned it into Five Kilometers as we know it today."

"Wow, she took second place in that contest.  It's too bad we can't read her novel."

"Yes, it is a shame.  Unfortunately, your grandmother was never published, so her book can't be found in the National Print Archives, and with computer technology a thing of the past, I'm afraid these awards are the only remnants of the novel she worked so hard on."

Stacey rummages through the box and pulls out one last award.  "What's this?"

Tom laughs.  "Oh, that one.  That's the Golden Nose Plug.  It was for the biggest stinker written that year."

"The biggest stinker?  You mean, like, bad?"

"Horrible."

"That must have been a different novel."

"Nope, same novel, different judges.  Because you see, Stacey, despite how technology has changed the process of writing over the years, it's still an art like any other.  What some people love, other people consider crap."

"Wow, that must have been hard to deal with."

"Well, your grandma had a good sense of humor.  In fact, if I recall, she coveted her Golden Nose Plug even more than the Silver Rose.  She was funny that way."

The two sat, momentarily reflecting on what life must have been like back in the olden days of computers and manual editing.

"You're welcome to have them," Tom says.

Stacey eyes them one more time before tossing them back in the box.  "Naw, that's okay.  Give 'em to Stevie."

 

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