How (NOT) to Write a Romance Novel

Chapter One: Before Developing Talent

"I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide."

—Harper Lee

Hello, I'm Ella Fletcher, and this is the strange-but-true story about how I got a boyfriend and wrote a romance novel.

Well, sort of. I guess that's not exactly what happened. I suppose it all started one warm, Monday morning in the early autumn of my seventh grade year at Claremont Middle School—which is smack-dab in the middle of the little town of Claremont, Nebraska.

I was sitting by myself at the table in the far corner of the cafeteria—my usual hangout during the awkward time between when I arrive at school and when classes start in the mornings—when Tracie strolled across the lunchroom to where I was sitting. We'd been best friends since the second day of preschool, when we both got in trouble for throwing the wooden blocks at the other kids.

"Hey, Ella, whatcha working on?" asked Tracie. She stood over me and peered over my shoulder at my notebook, holding back her white-blond hair so it wouldn't fall into my face.

I pulled my notebook to my chest, and leaned away from her—not because I'd written anything I didn't want her to see, but because I just wasn't ready to share it with anyone yet.

"Just writing some ideas in my notebook," I told her. "For my novel."

"Oh, gotcha," she nodded thoughtfully, and sat down next to me on the long bench of the cafeteria table. "How's it coming?"

"Well, I still haven't really started it yet," I admitted, flipping to the next blank page and doodling a daisy in the left margin. "Just brainstorming."

The novel I had been working on for the past two-and-a-half weeks was a romance novel, but I hadn't come up with much more than a a rough storyline and a few vague characters. It was taking longer than I'd first expected.

"Oh, well, I'm sure you'll get it going in no time, and you're really gonna do your Aunt Elsie proud," said Tracie, flashing me a reassuring smile.

Aunt Elsie was my dad's older sister. She had wild hair, and a wilder imagination, and loved travelling the world, which is what she did whenever she could afford it. But most of all, she was a writer. She loved poetry best, but she'd written a few novels as well. Everyone in my family said I reminded them of her—something I liked very much—and I'd decided to try following in her footsteps and becoming a writer.

"I sure hope I make her proud," I replied. "Anyway, got any ideas for me?"

"Well..." Tracie began thoughtfully, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers, "Just make sure the guy is tough, but has a kind heart, you know? And the girl should be ginger. There just aren't enough gingers in romance novels."

"Sure," I replied, noting this. "Thanks."

"Also, if they kiss on the first date, it can't be for too long. That makes the girl seem easy," Tracie plowed on confidently. "And make sure there's plenty of flirting—that's what girls like in romance books. But be careful not to—"

"Slow down! I can't write that fast!" I'd been scribbling so furiously it was a miracle the paper hadn't caught on fire.

"Oh, sorry," Tracie apologized, biting her lip.

"It's all right, you're a good resource," I told her. "You know, I should really ask you for advice more often."

"Well, living with Emily helps," Tracie replied, shrugging. Emily was Tracie's 17-year-old sister, who'd probably had more ex-boyfriends than birthdays.