I'm proud to admit I love reading romance fiction.
Yes, romance. I love the loyalty. I love the treachery. I love the courage. I love the frailty. I love the hope. I love the despair. I love the honesty. I love the deception. I love the humor. I love the tears. Call it total escapism. In a world of growing uncertainty, constantly bombarded with news about disasters, tragedies, wars, murders, deaths, and corruption, I crave an antidote. A world of wonder, a world of falling in love, of unlimited possibilities, of overcoming impossible odds, and of living happily ever after is more to my liking. What better way to escape than to curl up in front of a fire with a cup of tea and a good romance novel?
Romance novels are addictive. Here’s the thing. I’m a psychologist wannabe, a voyeur of the human psyche, an emotional junkie. I suck up internal conflicts like a
And if anyone asks me whether I think men should read romance fiction, my answer is an unqualified, “Yes.” How can any man in his right mind resist learning about feminine secrets -- what we love, what we hate, what turns us on, what turns us off, in short, what makes us tick? Romance fiction provides unlimited opportunities for men to plumb the depths (so to speak) of the mysterious world of Venus. Who knows? In the process, they might even reach new insight on Martians.
I leave you with a visual. Picture a man sprawled in a chair at the airport, waiting for his flight, briefcase and laptop propped at his feet -- a manly man, a man who is truly comfortable in his own skin, a man who has tossed aside his business report documenting recent financial trends and who is dabbing his eyes, happily engrossed in the latest Nora Roberts bestseller.After all, only real men dare to read romance fiction. My husband does.
I would love to hear if you know any men who read romance.