Confessions of a Bad Romance Writer

If Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance is stuck in your head now, you’re not the only one. In fact, it was this song that partially inspired the blog you’re about to read.

Now, listen: I don’t consider myself a “romance writer.” I used to, until I learned that in order to wear this particular crown, you have to believe in Happily Ever After. According to the official rules of the genre, a happy ending isn’t optional—it’s required.

Lately, I’ve been debating whether to create a TikTok account to promote my books. As you’re probably aware, BookTok is a marketing machine. When the rise of e-books triggered mass panic among bibliophiles about the future of brick-and-mortar bookstores, BookTok swooped in like the unnamed saviour in Bonnie Tyler’s hit song and single-handedly kept the bestseller tables stocked.

Not bad for an app that was originally about unchoreographed kitchen dancing.

Another fun fact about BookTok: originally, it was a place for fantasy authors to gush about their favourite literary tropes. It’s true! But then, fans of the romance genre came along and colonized this corner of the Internet, leading to a rapid (and dare I say, explosive) pivot into a land riddled with a new crop of four-letter words.

And suddenly, I wasn’t a romance writer anymore… at least, not by TikTok’s billionaire-penthouse standards.

Don’t get me wrong: I love romance. Slow-burn is my jam—spread it on thick and sweet, and I’ll eat it with a spoon. I swoon over characters who fall and fail and rise together. Some might call that a fantasy, but I promise you, it exists off-page as well.

Good relationships are as much about intimacy as they are about honesty, trust, and open communication. I’ve written sex scenes in my books, including one that took place between two technically dead people who temporarily moved into a couple of strangers’ bodies.

And yet, I write smut like a virgin.

I can’t help it. Anytime my characters start taking off their clothes, I picture my dad reading my books and my brain automatically blurs out the bits. I could use a pen name, like so many writers who have braved the naked wilderness of hot, sweaty, panty-ruining fun, but I’m afraid it will be so bad that my cover will be blown instantly. Pun not intended.

So, maybe TikTok is not the place for me right now.

But it’s kind of unfair, you know? I’m not knocking anyone who enjoys a good roll in the hay, but let’s not pretend that a lot of the “romance” that crops up on TikTok isn’t hugely problematic. I understand that everyone has different tastes, but rape, abuse, and torture are not sexy and should not be glamorized. The fact that I, a TikTok neophyte, know about books like Gothikana and Haunting Adeline is a testament to the app’s obsession with “morally grey characters.”

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything grey about them, but… to each their own. Whatever gets your motor running. Whatever sparks your toaster. Whatever makes your kitty purr.

Really, I shouldn’t touch smut with a ten-foot pole. Or an eight-inch one. But like I said, I love romance, especially when the sex is balanced out with emotional stakes. Give me that mille-feuille of identity, dreams, sacrifice, and the gut-wrenching inevitability of death prying two lovers apart. Let those pages ooze commitment and promises kept. A well-timed and heartfelt “I love you” will never get old—and when the characters do, it’ll mean so much more because of the mountains they’ve climbed together.

See? I’m a hopeless sap.

I’m also a wee bit old-fashioned, so small, thoughtful gestures (like Bernard making Emma an easel for her art studio, since she didn’t have anything to paint on) send ripples of happiness through my little writer heart.

Again, this isn’t an attempt to rank which forms of love are superior. But if TikTok’s got you feeling like a prude for wanting to close the door, you’re definitely not alone.

Let’s go wait in the hall together. Shamelessly.