By the end of a well-written romance novel you should be gobbling up the pages like they were cotton candy that would stick to your chin if you didn’t melt it with your tongue fast enough. I just read Eloisa James’s Kiss Me Annabel and I’m still savoring the spun sugar. Once I got to that ending, I didn’t care that the conflict was slightly manufactured, or that certain parts of the plot felt improbable. I didn’t care because she made me believe that Ewan and Annabel shared the transcendent kind of love we are all searching for. And she left me wanting more, left me with a terrible sweet tooth that only she can satisfy. Damn her.
I could just give up writing right now. Or I could work even harder to discover the elusive recipe for eliciting that kind of emotional response from readers.
Can you tell I’m still working on the ending of my book? It’s just that I want it to be perfect. It has to stick to the editor’s mind enough to make her pick up the phone. It has to leave her with a mouth full of melting sugar and a craving for more.