Language of Love

Warning: foul language ahead.





I’ve been reading some romances lately. They do relationships–a whole lot of different kinds, not just romantic–like nobody’s business. There’s a lot to learn from them. Plus I enjoy them, particularly the relationships. Except.

I’ve read a couple books lately of the steamy variety. Explicit sex. I have no problem with this. In fact, bring it on! The hotter the better. No, what’s been bothering me about these two was the language of love. What kept throwing me was the frequent use of ‘fuck.’ Don’t get me wrong. I love the word. I like to use it. With gusto. And I don’t mind it in reference to sex. But both of these books had the lovers saying things very casually like, I really like fucking you. Hey, want to go fuck? Or a man talking about the woman he loves with another […]

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You Got Your Romance In My Fantasy!

When I was in my early teens, I somehow discovered romance novels. I don’t recall now how I made this discovery, I just know that for a while, I read Harlequins and Barbara Cartland stories like other people take deep breaths. Falling in love, according to those books, was a matter of being in the right place at the right time, and even if things looked dark now, all would be happy in the end. After a year or two of saccharine smoochies, I moved on to the big chihuahua-killers by Kathleen Woodiwiss and Rosemary Rogers, which taught me that love was combat, and that it would be the man I despised on sight who’d eventually win my heart. Not long after that, I found my way to the modern gothic novels of writers like Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt. It wouldn’t be the man I’d fight with, but the […]

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Loving those men of mine

I have fallen in love.

My husband knows about it, and fortunately doesn’t mind. I do this on an alarmingly regular basis. I meet someone, get to know him and then fall so hard that for a while I can’t think of anything else. The feeling tends to ease off after a few days, but the love flares again the instant I’m in the presence of my beloved. Last night, the object of my current affection marched into a room to face down those who’d wronged him. Even in the face of greater numbers, with no apparent way to succeed against them, he didn’t hesitate or hide, his anger with the way the world had turned against him too great to be contained. The sorrow and rage he was struggling over turned my fondness into flame.


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