Get Real, Woman

After my last diatribe, I really shouldn't tackle another pet peeve, but I just can't resist. The pissiness, it knows no bounds.

When we read (and write) romance, we suspend reality a little bit and enter a universe where 30 something bachelors with abs of steel and hearts of gold lurk around every corner and where orphans outnumber happy childhoods 10 to 1. We enter a universe where 6'3" desk jockeys who never work out sit down for cheese burgers and shakes with gorgeous friends (whom they've spent 5 years taking for granted with sizzling sexual chemistry). It's Lake Wobegon meets Wisteria Lane: The men are well-endowed, the children are precious, and the women are sassy with eternally perky bits.

This kind of idealism is easy to digest because it's the life we'd like to live. No one worries about dishes and dust bunnies, and even the obnoxious neighbors have a good side. We read and write Romance to get to the HEA, and in Romance Land, divorce is backstory, not a future worry. I don't want reality to intrude on my HEA.

But, sometimes you HAVE to face reality or risk alienating your readers. It's a very fine line. We want bullet-proof heroes and multi-orgasmic heroines, but sometimes it's a bit like following a banana split with chocolate cake. Reality doesn't need to be THAT sweet.

Example 1: Erotic Thriller by one of my favorite authors. However, somehow Hero and Heroine end up doing the horizontal tango at least a DOZEN times in 24 hours. In this same span of time, they have: an investigation of an artifact, a ferry ride, not one, but two separate encounters with hit men, four changes of venue, two long car rides, surveillance work, and have three major arguments. Of course, each encounter appears to take hours and involves multiple high points. Which is, of course, the point of an erotic thriller, but after a certain point, I started getting weary for my poor heroine and wishing that Hero would go take a nap or call a hotline or something. Even when one of the focuses of the book is the physical relationship, one does not wish to fear that Hero suffers a psychological issue or perhaps a physical malady.

Example 2: One of my all-time favorite books by an author whose realism is often-spot on, but who also pushes the envelope during action scenes. Hero takes a bullet to the side of his stomach. He's bleeding profusely and needs pressure on the wound. However, this doesn't stop him from: formulating an attack strategy, running into a house, having an emotional reunion with his child, providing cover fire, running up three flights of stairs more than once while firing an automatic weapon, coming up with several on-the-fly plans, driving a car through a wall into a tree, taking an airbag to the wound, RUNNING back into the house, rescuing heroine from a burning building by climbing the three flights of stairs again, and then finally collapsing of his NEAR FATAL wound that requires extensive surgery and hospitalization. The kicker: a villain dies instantly of a similar wound.

Example 3: Writer known for her suspense and page-turning plots, but who often sends me into spasms of "No Freaking Way." Hero has: a brain concussion, a head wound requiring stitches, bruised ribs, ambiguous leg and back injury, broken ankle, frost bite, broken shoulder, bullet wound, and has recently run pell mell down a mountain. He manages to run back UP the mountain, past two gunmen to save heroine. Which an FBI chopper can't do. Oh, and there's like 6 feet of snow on the ground and it's below zero. Villain died of a single bullet wound. LOVED this book, but come on, give poor hero a chance at HEA that doesn't involve a disability check and a lifetime supply of perocet.

I know, I know, we want to push the envelope as writers. Wring every last drop of suspense out of a scene until the wallpaper is bloody and cowering. And even in lighter works, there's the Gilmore Girls phenomena whereby characters can consume massive amounts of junk food and caffeine and still look impossibly fabulous. But, in order to maintain the illusion that this could be US, that we can step into the characters shoes for an evening, we need to keep a tiny bit of reality present. (Unless, of course, you're writing fantasy, in which case you create the reality, and consistency is your only enemy. Lucky you. Go gloat now.)

What's your personal tolerance level for reality? The limits of your personal experience? The bounds of Ripley and Guinness? The bounds of TV and movies? Do you even care when the laws of medicine, physics, and anatomy are breached? How do you reality check yourself as a writer?