Skip to main content

Love and Romantic Arcs in Storytelling

   
     As I sit here thinking over the next scene leading up to my character's departure on to her great adventure, I can't stop thinking about the point in which she will finally reach my second leading character and how their relationship will unfold from that moment until the ending I have in mind. See, I'm not one for writing romance novels, even though I do love reading a great epic romance, I'm just not that kind of girl, but I want these characters to connect on a level just as strong as one.
     I'm not one who simply puts romance to the forefront of my storytelling, it's never been my thing. Looking back over my favorite romantic movies or character parings (ships) in tv shows, I realize I need an environment where love has a potential, but it is wrapped up in so much more.
     For instance. I'll easily admit I was a hardcore X-File fan in the days it ruled late night tv and the bend between scifi - paranormal - and drama. Yet, I was perhaps one of the few who never wanted to know for certain if Mulder and Scully were in love. I didn't need that to happen in order for their relationship to be poignant and real. I was disappointed when the show finally fell onto their relationship being romantic and they were now driven by emotions that were defined by that type of archetypical plot. Something was left behind for me, something that was far stronger than a love defined by romance. That something, I felt, was part of the foundation of the show.
     Then again, when it came to a show like Silk Stalkings, I couldn't wait for Chris and Rita to finally realize what everyone else could see. That show waited till its final run to deliver a wonderful clarity between the characters, only to rip my heart out as Chris died and Rita was left to raise their unborn child alone. Still, I loved every second of it, even the heartache. I loved looking back and understanding that the show began with concerns over Rita never making it very far due to her health, Chris always the sure and steady one, and then ending with the acknowledgement that it was Rita who was the strong one all along; the survivor built up by the love Chris had for her, first as a friend, then as a lover and so much more.
     Is it just the way the story is told?
     My all time favorite (current) romantic movie is The World Unseen about two women with different lifestyles and places in the world, yet similar wills, strengths and perceptions to draw them together. It isn't just the romance that powers the story for me, but the environment, the tumultuous reality they are stuck in where a wrong choice can lead to death and a right one means losing ones' sense of self, which is a death in its own right. It's tender, full of rift, and real in a vulnerable and brave kind of way.
     Or maybe it is the characters themselves?
     When I look at all the characters I loved who never ended up romantically paired with a co-character I thought was perfectly suited for them, I wonder if it was a fault in the writing for that character or in my own perception. I mean, to me the groundwork was there for something awesome, something that would take time to build but would be epic once it finally crested that magical point. Why couldn't the creator(s) of that character see it?
     And what about now when I find myself full circle to being divided yet again on a few character parings where I love the relationship they have now, and yes I can see it going into a great romantic arc, but I fear doing so will lose what they already have? How does that thought process interpret my own character's story in the end? What is it I really want for her? To fall in love while being the Hero? To earn love while doing heroic things? And what kind of love, if any, should she experience in this great adventure? Is it necessary? Will it strengthen her? Or will it be her downfall?

To Love?

That is the question....

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story S:1 P:9 - Eternal Youth - Part Two

Previously * [Face to face again, the dark woman reached out and gently clasped her warm fingers around her jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. She watched as Honeysuckle colors sparked in amber depths with an energy that shivered across her skin before the woman simply replied, “Indeed.”] The rippling pools ebbed and flowed with the tension building between them, their voices mute as her tender fingers released their hold on her jaw and slowly trailed kinetic paths down her neck to pause at her exposed collarbone before retreating back into her dark cloak. The departure tugged a physical withdrawal from the depths of her spine and she bit her soft pink lips to suppress the whimper that rose up her throat. “What do you desire here that you could not find anywhere else? Besides the obvious, of course,” the older woman asked, her timbered voice an octave deeper and she felt the humming in her veins thrill at the notion she was not alone in this tug of war. “To answer your call...

Short Story S: 3 Post: 4 - "They Danced"

They danced. In the haunting stillness of the abandoned house, they twirled, dipped, swayed and caressed like time had forgotten them. Shades of red, black and amber skin flickered between ethereal blue flames while soft--echoing music guided their whispering footsteps throughout the darkened house, filling the shadows that hid from the swelling moon consuming the skyline out broken window panes with whispers of ‘forever my love’ and ‘until our souls are born again’ . They danced. Their sunken eyes boring into each other with burning looks of longing, their ashen hearts thrumming with memories of stolen moments from a lifetime ago, and their transparent fingers gripping, tugging and digging into withered flesh and aging cloth with desperation as they moved like an endless foray. They knew not the state of their decay, their visions seared in a loop of enduring youthful ignorance that swung them like a pendulum between the living and the dead. For him...

Short Story S:2 P: 15 - "Between Shore and Sea"

     The storm raged on around them, encouraging rolling waves to thrash about as if they were dancing to the torrent of emotions spilling across the distance Between Shore and Sea . Words whipped and echoed like arrows across the tides, inflaming sun tanned cheeks and pale skin with blood red passion.      It was to have been a simple affair--no heart and all body.      But as the being had come ashore in the dead of night what felt like a lifetime ago--and settled its charcoal eyes on a beauty carved from mortal flesh and bone watching the stars in wonder--it had felt a daunting pull that spoke of white hot heat and doom.      From that moment forward they had spun a web of Emerald Longing and Golden Wonder around themselves as their bodies twined again and again. By dawn on that very first morning they were unable to draw themselves apart, so they had stayed cocooned, nestled in a world of damp wood, soft sheets and the...