Valentine’s day is fast approaching. On one hand, I’m like holy crap it’s the middle of February already! And on the other hand, I’m like meh.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy romance and all that jazz. It’s just that focusing on one day out of the entire year to celebrate that stuff just adds heaps of pressure.
- If you’re in a long-term relationship, you have to up the ante year after year.
- If you’re in a new relationship, you have to make a Grand Gesture or else.
- If you’re not attached, you have to endure the Workplace Torture Parade of Roses.
Once again, meh.
In examining my aversion to practically everything about this holiday (except the chocolate) I realized that I’ve never written anything where the characters celebrate it and my main characters are teenagers! It’s weird because when you’re that age it’s like love was invented for you and Cupid’s weapon of choice becomes a sledgehammer. You meet someone and by day’s end you know you’re in love and it’s a gut-wrenching, more soul-stirring love than anyone in the Universe has ever experienced. Until you meet a different someone the next day and it starts all over again.
Oh, wait–that only happened to me?
When I’m writing YA romantic scenes, I don’t recall Valentine’s Day specifically but all of the ecstatic feelings that swirled around me when I was younger like a hormonal vortex. It’s amazing and awful and innocent and naughty and youthful and grown-up all at once. Everything is so intense, it’s a wonder I didn’t literally go mad instead of just feeling that way. Thankfully, it’s not hard for me to call on my hormonal muscle memory and tap into those emotions. And the really cool part is even though the love I experience as an adult is different, it still has the potential to go there.
So watch this space on February 11th for my “That’s YAmore” blogfest post. Consider it an early Valentine’s Day present! 🙂