Writing about romance

After writing non-fiction for half a century, I decided to write a book of fiction titled “Deadlines.” Would you believe that it’s a romance novel, which raised eyebrows when I mentioned my new vocation to friends? Turned out that romance novels come in various shades, most frequently in red. Mine apparently qualifies as lily-white because my characters only hug and kiss.

Although I had written a few short stories and had studied the fiction art form, I encountered a major roadblock as the project began. Previously, the challenge of non-fiction was in gathering information and presenting it without embellishment in a standard story structure. As a novelist, I had to create characters, put them between a rock and a hard place, and resolve the challenges they faced.

Fortunately, I based the romance on people I had known and in places where I had lived. I took liberties, of course, but I enjoyed sculpting the characters, making them fit the physical and emotional parameters of my puny, pigmy, pusillanimous mind. I soon discovered that I was ill-prepared to describe the physical and emotional details that embellish the work of successful novelists.

Successful novelists sell books, make a mint of money, speak at writers’ conferences and drive Beemers. I’m not optimistic that I’ll ever qualify even though I did my best to breathe a bit of life into what one critic referred to as my “scarecrow characters.” In any event, I tried to make them dance.

I forged on, typing a thousand words a day Monday through Friday with the ultimate objective of reaching 50,000, which I read somewhere is an acceptable minimal target. I refused to work on weekends. Needed to wash my underwear, take a bath and brush my teeth.

I understood that novelists often whiz through to the end and then begin chopping and rewriting. I did some editing as I finished each chapter and left the rewriting until the manuscript hit 50,000 words.

Although I picked the early 1950s in Oregon as the setting for the book, I quickly discovered that I had forgotten details about news events, economics and politics during that era. So, I checked the Internet — frequently.

Rather than seek an agent to hawk my book to a publisher, I self-published. The book has earned $11.75 in royalties.

Late last February, I took time-out from writing fiction to write news and feature stories for the Highway 58 Herald. Thus far, I haven’t earned a nickel while covering news about Pleasant Hill and Lowell. I have, however, invested a few hundred dollars in gasoline to propel a car along Highway 58 to and from those communities and to buy Pepsi now and then along the way.

When I end this gig, I plan to write another romance novel.

Here’s the story outline: Farm girl and farm boy fall in love. Boy joins Army at 17 during World War II. Girl’s family moves to California where her father works in a shipyard. Girl and boy lose track of one another. Marry. Rear families. Retire. Girl moves to a retirement home with husband. Boy’s wife dies. He visits a retirement home. During the promotional sit-down meal with residents, the Boy and Girl are seated at the same table and recognize one another.

Now, all I have to do is complete the story and choose a title for the book. If all goes according to plan, my new romance novel should appear on The New York Times best-seller list by the time I turn 100. If it earns more than $11.75 in royalties, I may buy everyone a Pepsi.

Longtime Oregon journalist Dean Rea, widely known for his years as a University of Oregon journalism educator and editor at The Register-Guard in Eugene,  serves as a founding board member, correspondent and columnist for The Herald.