USA Today bestselling author Elizabeth Everett lives in upstate New York with her family. She likes going for long walks or (very) short runs to nearby sites that figure prominently in the history of civil rights and women’s suffrage. Her series is inspired by her admiration for rule breakers and her belief in the power of love to change the world.

There are only a few rules in the romance genre. This contributes to the narrative that romance is easy to write but it’s the truth.

After all, love is love is love.

The most important rule, the one that defines the genre, is the guarantee of a Happily Ever After (HEA)/ Happily For Now (HFN) at the end of the story.

If you haven’t given your main characters an ending where they end up together —happily— you haven’t written a romance.

Controversy over this stricture flares up every so often in the writerly space. It never fails that someone wants to “push back” against the cardinal rule of the genre, because a happy ending is so . . .trite. So easy. Been done so many times before. Why, it could be considered radical to bend the genre, just a little. Right?
Wrong.

The HEA is the gift that comes with a romance; the knowledge that no matter how far apart the characters may stand or how high the walls they must climb, everything will work out for the best. At the end of a romance novel, the promise of love is kept.

Always.

Now, that is a radical act.

During the pandemic, readers turned to romance exactly for this reason. When the world around them was rife with uncertainty, they could find solace in the genre that wouldn’t leave them hurt or afraid. So many times, I heard people compare reading a romance novel to self-care for the soul. Self-care isn’t trite and for many women it certainly isn’t easy.

I look around today and see a society where the once elemental belief that all human beings are deserving of love has become controversial and subject to ridicule. Those who claim to live by the words of a certain carpenter’s son have forgotten his commandment to “Love one another.” This simple directive at the heart of nearly every spiritual practice and moral code has been turned upside down. Instead, people who look like you or think like you deserve compassion and respect but not those who are different. The narrative that differences are suspect or that others deserve less has permeated our culture like a toxin.

To write radically is to push back against cynicism and exclusion by writing a romance.

In romance, everyone deserves a love story. It doesn’t matter if you’re neurodiverse or neurotypical, fat or slim, queer or straight, conservative or progressive, one-legged or eight-legged — at the end of the story you get a happy ending.

Entertainment and news media choose to amplify messages of fear and emulate greed and the pursuit of profit. Our current cultural icons are male billionaires, and our headlines are dominated by scenes of violence and chaos, both real as in the case of the Middle East but also imagined as in the dark fictional portrayals of urban centers.

Romance alone stands in stark contrast with its perennial message that love is the most powerful force of all. It reinforces the universal truth that love is not rationed like money it is given freely and without end. Romance defies the patriarchy by elevating compassion over control, equity over partisanship, and kindness over brute strength.

Those of us who have always chosen to write radically are used to the scorn heaped upon the genre. Romance, first written primarily by women for an audience of mostly women, has always been demeaned. The derision goes deeper than simple misogyny. The more inclusive romance becomes in both the stories and the artists who tell them, the more critics diminish the work.

Beautifully penned, thoughtful explorations of romantic love are now equated with pornography. Intimacy has become smut. Love is reduced to a word stamped on heart shaped candy. Even the profitability of the romance industry can’t overcome the derision of its central message that we are all deserving of love.

Anyone who has ever written a romance knows, however, when you hollow out what matters most, the center cannot hold. Critics of romance ignore the fact that love is existential. You can raise a healthy family without fear, but you cannot do this without love. You can build a civil society without distorting the truth, but you cannot do it without love. You can stop war and genocide without force, but you cannot do it without love. The act of writing romance is the radical act of writing about love that conquers hate, banishes fear and heals pain.

No matter where you fall on the political spectrum the divisions in our society are plain to see. To surmount the obstacles keeping us separated is a heavy and arduous task. We are surrounded by media that literally thrives on this separation and inundates us with content designed to provoke rage.

Want to change this status quo with a radical act?

May I suggest you write a romance.

The Lady Sparks a Flame (The Damsels of Discovery) by Elizabeth Everett

After years in exile, Lady Phoebe Hunt returns to England to settle her late father’s debts, planning a swift departure—until she meets the charming and determined entrepreneur, Sam Fenley. As Sam offers to buy her crumbling estate, it becomes clear he may be after more than just property. But when shadows from Phoebe’s past resurface, both must confront their secrets and decide if love is worth the risk.

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