"Why I became such an incorrigible match-maker"

Author Helen Warner

I love February.  As an incurable romantic, it feels to me as if Valentine’s Day casts a rosy glow over the whole month.  My own Valentine is my husband, Rob. When I tell people that I met him when I was 8 and he was 11, the reaction is always: ‘Ahhhh, how romantic!’  And of course it is romantic but it also has its drawbacks.  Although I had lots of other boyfriends in my teens, I have been with him since I was 18, so my only experience of ‘grown-up’ dating has had to be gained vicariously through my friends. 

I have been there in the first flush of new love, to hear them give a gushing moment-by-moment analysis of the first date.  I have heard all the gory details as the relationship develops and I’ve been there to comfort them when it all falls apart.

It’s always at this point that my friends stop thinking that it’s a bit dull to have been with the same man since I was 18 and envy me that I don’t have to go through the agony of a messy break-up.  But I envy them too. Because despite the pain it causes when it doesn’t work out, there is nothing quite like the heart-fluttering, dry-mouthed excitement of a new relationship.

I think this is why I became such an incorrigible match-maker.  Even now, every time I meet someone who’s single, I find myself flicking through a mental rolodex of other single friends that I could fix them up with. I want everyone to find love because I’m convinced that somehow, when you find true love, everything else in life seems to fall magically into place.

And am I successful in my endeavours?  Do these mutual friends find love and race to the altar? No. Never. I am possibly the worst match-maker in history and can claim absolutely no triumphs.  In fact, now that I think about it, there are people who are no longer friends with me after my efforts...  

Well, what’s a girl to do?  I had to get my match-making fix somehow.  So I started writing novels.  It’s the perfect way to determine the romantic destiny of people I know and love (my characters) without annoying real-life details like them hating each other getting in the way.

My first novel, RSVP, was about whether we all have ‘the one’ true love. In my new novel, Stay Close To Me, I have moved on to the notion that it is possible to love more than one person. I don’t plan my books in advance, so I open my laptop each day wondering what will happen to my characters and I adore having the power to decide if they’re right for each other or not.

So maybe all of that unsuccessful match-making wasn’t entirely in vain.  It has provided me with endless inspiration for my novels and let me experience the highs and lows of love and dating, without any of the pain. In my book, that counts as a winning result.

The Power of Love by Ali Harris

I have a confession to make. No, it’s not that I’ve spent the past month watching the John Lewis Christmas ad on a loop (I have) or that I’m a closet fan of Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals (I am). It’s a far more serious affliction – and one that I can’t be cured of. Oh go on then. I may as well tell you now I’m here. My name is Ali Harris and I’m shamelessly, incurably addicted to love.

I love the idea of love so much that I can’t get enough of it. I need it every day. I fantasise about falling in it, I can’t imagine life without it. Luckily for me (and my marriage) I get to experience falling in love every time I write a book. Last year it was with Molly and Ryan, my main characters in The First Last Kiss. The book focuses on their relationship from teen crush to enduring love. And it does this by specifically focusing on their most sweet, sensual and tender exchanges of affection: their kisses.

Kissing; it sounds so old fashioned doesn’t it? Kind of sweetly asexual compared to what we’ve been reading about for the past year (thank you Fifty Shades of Grey). And yet I believe a kiss is infinitely more intimate and sensual than sex. More life-affirming. More love-affirming. A kiss holds the key to everything, our hearts and souls, hopes and fears. Kisses have the power to heal, inspire and strengthen. They convey affection, understanding, pain, pleasure, love, and loss. Kisses are precious, and yet they are so easily thrown away. How many times have you kissed your partner and barely registered it? Turned your cheek or brushed one away? I came up with the idea for The First Last Kiss when I wondered - what if you knew you only had a finite number of kisses left with the person you love? Would you do everything you could to savour every single one? Or would you try desperately to recall all the ones that had gone before?

Writing this book has taught me more than I ever expected about the everlasting strength and power of true love. From it I’ve learned to never take a kiss, or love, for granted again.  Love may not be as fashionable as sex right now, but as I’m concerned its power will live on long after the shades of grey have faded - and those John Lewis snowmen have melted away.

The First Last Kiss by Ali Harris is out in paperback and eBook on January 17th 2013.

Colette Caddle

Every Time I Say Goodbye....

For me, getting to know the characters in my story is a bit like falling in love.

The first meeting: 

When I first came up with the characters for Every Time We Say Goodbye I had a loose idea of what they would be like but at that stage they were flat and two-dimensional and if you asked me to describe them you would have got a blank look.

The first time you feel the ‘spark’:

You know that moment! You get talking and suddenly you start to notice things: He has a lovely laugh, everything he says is interesting, or funny, or clever.  His smile gives you goose-bumps and you realise you want to know more about this man. Well, that’s the way I feel the moment I’m able to ‘see’ my characters, the moment they seem real to me. There’s nothing quite like it.

The first date:

These can often be disastrous but sometimes, just sometimes you look across at someone and think he could be ‘the one’. As the characters take shape and personalities develop I feel that same sense of wonder and excitement. Full of enthusiasm and on an absolute high, I can’t wait to open my laptop in the morning, dying to find out more about these people, longing to spend time with them.

Going steady:

Those first few weeks or months, you want your new love to think you’re perfect. You wouldn’t dream of going out without washing your hair, or being seen wearing a face. But as you grow more comfortable with each other and real life intervenes, the guards come down. This is when it’s easy to fall into a boring routine and stop appreciating each other and it’s the same for me when I’m writing. The ‘going steady’ stage is the hardest and most dangerous. I’ve set the scene, introduced my readers to all the characters and it’s all too easy to slip into a rut or lose interest. It’s especially worrying if doing household chores is more appealing than sitting down to write. At times like this I become disillusioned and that’s when it’s important to stay focussed or my story, my love, will suffer.

The doubts:

Everyone’s been there. The day you say to yourself ‘Is this really what I want? Is it going anywhere? Do I want it to? Does he?’ I ask myself similar questions every time I write a book. Is it any good? Should I give up and start again? Should I throw in the towel completely and take up knitting instead? It’s soul-destroying but that’s when you need a firm but kindly friend to remind you that you suffer the same doubts with every book and just…get on with it!  

The happy ending:

By the time I’ve written 100,000 words it’s fair to say that I’m immersed in my characters’ lives and, good or bad, I love them all. I get quite emotional when I have to say goodbye but if I’m lucky, really lucky, there is usually a new cast waiting in the wings and it’s time to start all over again...

Rebecca Chance

 

50 Shades/9½  Weeks: what do women really fantasise about?

By Rebecca Chance

What's your ultimate fantasy? What  do you want - really, really want, as the Spice Girls would put it? To be tied up? Spanked? Have someone yell at you because you dared to sunbathe topless, and whacking you across the boobs in punishment?

Hmm. Or, would your ultimate fantasy be something much more long-term and seductive? What if I whispered in your ear that you would never, ever, have to do housework again? No cooking, washing up, ironing, hoovering, laundry folding, stain removal, supermarket shopping, dry cleaner visiting, any more. Not only that: you wouldn't have to organise anything any more. No travel arrangements, no renewing your driver's licence and passport, no parking vouchers or council tax payments or home and contents and building and travel and life assurance, no - well, you get the idea. Someone else will do all of this for you. All you need to do is relax, surrender completely, and have a lot of fantastic sex to boot.

That does sound lovely, doesn't it? Like falling into a big, warm, luxurious bed. Or a Jacuzzi, bubbling deliciously, its water scented with very expensive oil. It’s the fantasy that, 34 years ago, made the book Nine and A Half Weeks by Elizabeth McNeill a cause celebre and a huge bestseller. Having met and moved in with the hero, the heroine lists the tasks that he does around the house. All of the above and more. He runs the bath for her, he dresses her, he feeds her from his plate as she sits happily on the carpet at his feet, tied to the table leg. He not only makes every single decision in the home, but does all the work that goes along with it. After listing everything he does, the heroine writes:

"What did I do? Nothing."

Nothing! Nothing! I can't even imagine doing nothing when I get home, and I bet you can't either. Do note, the heroine goes out every day to work: the book is allegedly a memoir of a period in her life when she was working in Manhattan as an executive for a large corporation. So she wasn't bored and aimless all day; she had to struggle in through the New York crowds to her office, put in a full day's work, struggle home again, walk through the door, take all her clothes off and then do absolutely bugger all for every single evening and weekend. Oh yes, apart from having increasingly kinky sex.

When I first read Nine and A Half Weeks, in my early twenties, as a footloose and fancy-free girl who was out partying all the time, all I focused on was the kinky sex. Naturally. There are some really hot scenes. But recently, now that 50 Shades Of Grey has been such a success, I pulled Nine and A Half Weeks off my shelves and re-read it. It's brilliant. In a mere 144 pages, it does what 50 Shades doesn't manage in over three times that amount. But what really struck me, now that I'm no longer a girl, or in my twenties, or partying all the time, was that the fantasy of not having to do any housework was just as compelling as a jolly good spanking. Honestly, it might be even more so…

I loathe the term 'mummy porn': it's sexist, patronizing and it excludes those of us who don't have kids. But, having said that, women with kids work even harder than I do at running their households. Every single survey since the dawn of time has shown that women do way more housework than men, even when they're both employed outside the home. I know I do much more than my husband, and he's really very good about it. The heroine of Nine and A Half Weeks earns her own money, is economically independent outside the home, and a happy slave inside it (at least at first). A slave with no duties, one who's free to leave at any time. Bliss!

Ana, in 50 Shades, is unfortunately much less feminist. She's a virgin at 22, waiting for a billionaire to pop her cherry, tell her what to do, and fund her lifestyle. But still… she doesn't have to do any housework either. Clever Ana. Isn't that the whole point of these books, the ultimate female fantasy? The longest-lasting one?

Hot sex, after all, only lasts a couple of years before it starts to burn out and transform into the more familiar, domesticated version. But not having to do housework? That could last forever. And it's priceless.