MIRA, Harlequin's respectable cousin of an imprint, has found cross-over success by side-stepping the conventional trappings of the Mills & Boon formula. Hip, young writers including Victoria Fox and Caren Lissner have found their novels published under geography-based titles such as Wind Chime Point and Temptation Island, thus falling on the less embarrassing end of the embarrassing romance title spectrum. Of equal importance their covers do not necessarily feature models in softcore clinches to an exotic backdrop of a photo studio. As if to further the distance between potential correlations MIRA has its own website full of the pretense that while other romantic options are available they can be found somewhere else, and that somewhere else isn't nearly as debonair and fashionable as the home of The Case of the Diffident Dom and So Tough to Tame. Over at Harlequin's virtual abode an aspiring author will be hard-pressed to find any helpful guidelines for joining the MIRA stable of novelists. The most similar-sounding alternative Bewildered Heart has managed to unearth in the matter of seconds it took to complete a thorough search was SuperRomance, which bears an uncanny resemblance to MIRA by also being a meaningless, invented word.
Increasingly there seems little discernible difference between each of Mills & Boon's series of subgenres, especially now the online market has blossomed and a growing audience wishes to be seen as unique. Nocturne Cravings, Loved-Inspired Suspense and African-American may possibly be self-explanatory, but what of SuperRomance? 'Our stories are big romance novels filled with intense relationships, real life drama and the kinds of unexpected events that change women's lives forever!' Don't be fooled by a handful of those statements which are clearly untrue and several of the others which are consistent with every book the company releases. The key word used was big. Indeed, SuperRomance is defined by its length, averaging an eye-watering 85,000 words. Most romances struggle to justify between fifty and sixty thousand words, dragging out a misunderstanding across four chapters to meet a contractual obligation, so how are SuperAuthors supposed to bulk out their flimsy plots to such an extent? Are there certain key elements that might help extend that flagging second act for an additional one hundred pages?
'A strong central romance that's big in scope and believable in execution. There can be a secondary romance and subplots.' Secrets Uncovered revealed that supporting characters and less important tribulations served as a distraction from the main business of getting it on, but when an extra thirty thousand words have been demanded this kind of thinking is more of a hindrance. The opportunity to explore theme through juxtaposition and female subjugation through a part-time job allows for a richer, more credible landscape, offering deeper internal conflicts and greater emotional resonance to the core relationship. With time SuperCharacters and SuperLocations can be introduced carefully with skilful nuance, and it is for this reason, probably more than all the others, that SuperRomance is all the more critically disappointing. 'High emotional stakes. The characters' goals mean something to them, might force them to make difficult choices and might be in conflict with the romance.' While these aren't necessarily sentences in the traditional sense they are perhaps worthy of examination. If Romance is itself an imprint, and oddly enough it doesn't appear to be, then SuperRomance ups the ante, heightening the drama and introducing truly difficult dilemmas that require sacrifice and compromise. This would suggest that Harlequin has finally published proper novels with satisfying stories, even though the evidence points to the same tired, trite tales with a bunch of tacked on scenes involving a younger sister falling for a rebel.
Next, 'The hero and heroine should work for their happily ever after so give them obstacles and complications that need to be resolved.' This is certainly perceptive, because without events and things to talk about the courtship will last half a page and the author will need to find eighty-four thousand and seven hundred synonyms for happy before their book is finished. Once they have found means to temporarily keep their superhero and superheroine apart how will the impediments be fixed? 'Resolve issues by moving them to the next logical step, but don't wrap everything up in a neat bow!' Surely a SuperRomance isn't super without SuperHeteronormativism and what's more super than tidiness and gift-wrapping? Apparently no one knows, because the guidelines move on without further explanation. With an acknowledged desire for realistic settings, real life dramas, complexity, character depth and believable reactions to larger than life incidents, Harlequin has taken a deliberate step away from the fairytale fantasies of their other series. With this in mind, the idealised endings of old have no place in novels where people struggle for love and question what they want from life.
From there we learn that, 'Tone can vary from the light-hearted to the deeply emotional, from family sagas to light suspense.' This has all the fogginess Mills & Boon is famed for, as if with a hundred different styles of story no one considered separating them on the grounds of mood or genre. At least any tension beyond fleeting appears to have been ruled out, as action adventures with a hint of romance are published by just about everyone else. Nevertheless, there is plenty between family saga and light suspense on the scale of excitement, even though it seems tricky to figure out exactly what the scale would look like. Finally there's the vital inclusion of the wider worldview and, 'a sense of community. Paint a larger picture of the characters' lives by showing their relationships with family and friends, social lives and work.' The previously considered worthless qualities of description and entertainment have a home at SuperRomance. Whereas in the cut-throat corporate office of Modern, the hospital corridors of Medical™ and the idyllic small-towns of Special Moments here an author can explore details outside the staring and emotional-stupidity that amounts to loving in the Harlequin canon.
Crucially, therefore, authors are left with one question to ponder over their post-lunch cocktails. Why write for any series other than SuperRomance, besides the obvious reason of laziness? The task of dreaming up thirty-thousand more words will put off many, but the narrative benefits surely outweigh the negatives of further typing. These imprints appear to offer all the usual expectations of a Harlequin romance only with increased appeal, writing quality and likeability. There seems no reason as to why this is impossible with a less taxing word count, but perhaps the publisher has learned that what works for its rivals might also work for them. MIRA does away with the standard tricks of classic Mills & Boon, and instead positions itself as a publisher of run-of-the-mill chick-lit and bonkbusters. However, this only leads Harlequin away from the corner of the romance industry it invented and continues to monopolise. While the company broadens its appeal and audience there remains the threat of identity loss. This can only be good when the product Mills & Boon floods into the world on a monthly basis is so tired and underwhelming, but their move into longer, contemporary fare inspired by the most popular romance fiction of their competitors can hardly be seen as progress, but rather another sideways step in a history of sideways steps.
Increasingly there seems little discernible difference between each of Mills & Boon's series of subgenres, especially now the online market has blossomed and a growing audience wishes to be seen as unique. Nocturne Cravings, Loved-Inspired Suspense and African-American may possibly be self-explanatory, but what of SuperRomance? 'Our stories are big romance novels filled with intense relationships, real life drama and the kinds of unexpected events that change women's lives forever!' Don't be fooled by a handful of those statements which are clearly untrue and several of the others which are consistent with every book the company releases. The key word used was big. Indeed, SuperRomance is defined by its length, averaging an eye-watering 85,000 words. Most romances struggle to justify between fifty and sixty thousand words, dragging out a misunderstanding across four chapters to meet a contractual obligation, so how are SuperAuthors supposed to bulk out their flimsy plots to such an extent? Are there certain key elements that might help extend that flagging second act for an additional one hundred pages?
'A strong central romance that's big in scope and believable in execution. There can be a secondary romance and subplots.' Secrets Uncovered revealed that supporting characters and less important tribulations served as a distraction from the main business of getting it on, but when an extra thirty thousand words have been demanded this kind of thinking is more of a hindrance. The opportunity to explore theme through juxtaposition and female subjugation through a part-time job allows for a richer, more credible landscape, offering deeper internal conflicts and greater emotional resonance to the core relationship. With time SuperCharacters and SuperLocations can be introduced carefully with skilful nuance, and it is for this reason, probably more than all the others, that SuperRomance is all the more critically disappointing. 'High emotional stakes. The characters' goals mean something to them, might force them to make difficult choices and might be in conflict with the romance.' While these aren't necessarily sentences in the traditional sense they are perhaps worthy of examination. If Romance is itself an imprint, and oddly enough it doesn't appear to be, then SuperRomance ups the ante, heightening the drama and introducing truly difficult dilemmas that require sacrifice and compromise. This would suggest that Harlequin has finally published proper novels with satisfying stories, even though the evidence points to the same tired, trite tales with a bunch of tacked on scenes involving a younger sister falling for a rebel.
Next, 'The hero and heroine should work for their happily ever after so give them obstacles and complications that need to be resolved.' This is certainly perceptive, because without events and things to talk about the courtship will last half a page and the author will need to find eighty-four thousand and seven hundred synonyms for happy before their book is finished. Once they have found means to temporarily keep their superhero and superheroine apart how will the impediments be fixed? 'Resolve issues by moving them to the next logical step, but don't wrap everything up in a neat bow!' Surely a SuperRomance isn't super without SuperHeteronormativism and what's more super than tidiness and gift-wrapping? Apparently no one knows, because the guidelines move on without further explanation. With an acknowledged desire for realistic settings, real life dramas, complexity, character depth and believable reactions to larger than life incidents, Harlequin has taken a deliberate step away from the fairytale fantasies of their other series. With this in mind, the idealised endings of old have no place in novels where people struggle for love and question what they want from life.
From there we learn that, 'Tone can vary from the light-hearted to the deeply emotional, from family sagas to light suspense.' This has all the fogginess Mills & Boon is famed for, as if with a hundred different styles of story no one considered separating them on the grounds of mood or genre. At least any tension beyond fleeting appears to have been ruled out, as action adventures with a hint of romance are published by just about everyone else. Nevertheless, there is plenty between family saga and light suspense on the scale of excitement, even though it seems tricky to figure out exactly what the scale would look like. Finally there's the vital inclusion of the wider worldview and, 'a sense of community. Paint a larger picture of the characters' lives by showing their relationships with family and friends, social lives and work.' The previously considered worthless qualities of description and entertainment have a home at SuperRomance. Whereas in the cut-throat corporate office of Modern, the hospital corridors of Medical™ and the idyllic small-towns of Special Moments here an author can explore details outside the staring and emotional-stupidity that amounts to loving in the Harlequin canon.
Crucially, therefore, authors are left with one question to ponder over their post-lunch cocktails. Why write for any series other than SuperRomance, besides the obvious reason of laziness? The task of dreaming up thirty-thousand more words will put off many, but the narrative benefits surely outweigh the negatives of further typing. These imprints appear to offer all the usual expectations of a Harlequin romance only with increased appeal, writing quality and likeability. There seems no reason as to why this is impossible with a less taxing word count, but perhaps the publisher has learned that what works for its rivals might also work for them. MIRA does away with the standard tricks of classic Mills & Boon, and instead positions itself as a publisher of run-of-the-mill chick-lit and bonkbusters. However, this only leads Harlequin away from the corner of the romance industry it invented and continues to monopolise. While the company broadens its appeal and audience there remains the threat of identity loss. This can only be good when the product Mills & Boon floods into the world on a monthly basis is so tired and underwhelming, but their move into longer, contemporary fare inspired by the most popular romance fiction of their competitors can hardly be seen as progress, but rather another sideways step in a history of sideways steps.
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