I don’t really have any deeper meaning for tonight. Instead I am simply procrastinating the grading of my papers. I’ve graded some (I’m not completely hopeless) but as I stare at these last fifteen I’m just not sure I have anything else in me.

Well, I know I don’t have anything in me. That could be the problem.

Moving on--I thought I would regale you with my latest trashy romance disaster. I picked up a novel the other night (last night, in fact) where the hero, according the back of the novel, was Hades. I thought this sounded interesting. We all know my penchant for bad boys--I did like Satan more than God when reading Paradise Lost--and so this seemed right up my alley. But the hero isn’t just Hades, he’s the God of the Underworld, sometimes known as Hades, sometimes known as Satan, all around misunderstood immortal being. Unexpected, but I was prepared to roll with it. After all, he was still bad, still wounded, and still misunderstood. It’s the trifecta of my heart.

But the author got around the problems of dialogue by simply…not including it. At least not much of it. There would be one line or two and then “we talked the rest of the way.” That doesn’t work for me. There’s no bonding there that I’m a part of; there’s no heated moments that make me yearn for an encounter of similar passion. There is nothing, in fact, but dry, emotionless text. If I wanted that I would read some of the bestsellers in the Classics section.
So to add to my list of not hot things in romance books I present you with number 11: a report of dialogue without the presentation of dialogue. The point of a romance is to live vicariously through the characters, not spend my time with a book only to come away with “Hey, these two people I heard about fell in love. Cool.”

Thankfully I did buy 300 the other day at Best Buy so I happen to have itty bitty teeny weeney little tiny leather panties just waiting for the moment to console me. I figure I can just shut it off before they all die. It gives me a happy ending in Moulin Rouge, it can give me a happy ending in 300. See I know how to make myself happy--now if all the romance novelists in the world would take a cue and follow my list. Nothing would be better than that.

Maybe a hot cabana boy…or everlasting love with a wounded, misunderstood bad boy for all eternity. A rich bad boy. Who was hot and well-endowed. It’s my fantasy. I’m wishing as I type this and I see no reason not to cover all the bases.

Fine…I’ll go grade.