“What was madness but a delicious form of intense reality?”

Having read Neurosurgeon... and Mum! while simultaneously cutting and pasting from Secrets Uncovered about best friends, falling in love with a handsome billionaire named Google and single-handedly raising this weblog in a cruel and uncaring world, there seemed no more appropriate a time for a follow-up essay, this time on the use of children as secondary characters in romance fiction. In our dalliance with the Cherish imprint and the recent regrettable interlude with Medical™ we have met two supposedly adorable children. In The Dad Next Door the daughter was a shy, vulnerable eight-year-old desperately mourning the death of her twin sister and seeking a replacement mother having not been adorable enough for her real one. In the aforementioned Kate Hardy novel, little Perdy was a shy, vulnerable eight-year-old cautiously mourning the death of her birth mother, and seeking a surrogate in the woman her father just happened to be sleeping with. Therefore, without even having to read the helpful e-book, are all children eight-year-old girls with severe separation anxiety brought about by a family death causing a deep, endearing look of emptiness in their eyes?

For unnecessary additional insight we turn to Harlequin editor Anna Boatman, who opens with a charming, illustrative story. 'After spending a recent train journey listening to the hysterical screams of a vocally powerful and worryingly eloquent toddler, I stumbled off the train with my ear-drums still shuddering, vowing fervently to remain child-free for the rest of my life.' She already sounds like Bewildered Heart's kind of editor, but please, continue. 'Yet only the next day, I came across an adorable child who totally changed my mind. The catch? This one was fictional!' Imaginary kids are vastly superior to crying babies on trains, as the saying goes, but perhaps Anna Boatman will resolve her opening paragraph with a conclusion to avoid the obvious inference that she is the one no one wants to sit next to on a train. 'It got me thinking about the children who populate our books - they can change the whole feeling of a story, for better or worse, and something that can present a challenge to a wannabe writer is dealing with a child in their romance story – as we all know, children don’t always do what they’re told!' Judging by the output of her publishing house this is a problem not merely plaguing aspiring authors, but all novelists powerless to stop the fancies of the characters they have created.

First and foremost, there is the natural issue of why a writer would even bother to involve redundant secondary characters in their romance. After all, they are telling the story of a couple meeting, falling in love and then sabotaging their own happiness through the inability to behave as normal adults. This is the scenario romance fans consistently pay for, despite all rational reason, so a child not only confuses matters, but also requires enough back-story to kill the forward momentum of a narrative. 'Babies are a classic theme to help bring couples together and they are a reader favourite – there’s something about a tall, powerful hero protecting a tiny baby that tends to resonate for almost everyone.' As long as your hero is taller than the baby you cannot fail, and at Bewildered Heart we have witnessed this subject matter previously. The machinations of the thriller aspect in MacKenzie's Promise utilised and then practically forgot a baby, while Hired by the Cowboy pushed a foetus to the forefront of the drama, in order to explore actual themes such as family, home and belonging in a superficial, tedious manner. The desires of romance readership have been scientifically-proven to hold procreation as humanity's ultimate objective, therefore most books end in pregnancy, the final pages closing the curtain on a shared life before it becomes icky and hormonal.

Anna Boatman, writing under the far more believable-sounding name of Elise Windmill, has some tips to guide you towards the goal of an idealised child, rather than a realistic child, because those are not as commercial. 'The romance should still be driving the story, not the children – no matter how demanding they are. Having too much page time spent dealing with babies or children around can distract from the intensity of the relationship.' Boatman goes onto suggest that the welfare of the little ones should not be the only conflict facing your hero and heroine. Say your single father has no time for romance or euphemisms for body parts, he needs to concentrate on his shy, vulnerable daughter, while also managing his pharmaceutical empire and retaining his muscular physique without ever doing any exercise. When he blackmails a small business owner into becoming his part-time mistress to pay for her younger brother's plastic surgery  there must be more stopping this couple's eternal love than the ephemeral needs of cute, little Emily Rodriguez. For example, her brother's injuries could have resulted from using one of Buck's company's products. That is powerful conflict. Now there is nothing to stop that novel from being written, besides some legal fact-checking.

Next, 'Warning: sickly-sweet children may cause nausea… Sadly, outside the world of fantasy, children aren’t perfect – and we love them for it! A child without a spark of naughtiness is, let’s be honest, a dull child. In the same way as heroes and heroines need flaws to feel real, a perfectly good child is too good to be true.' However, having an eight-year-old's hair go frizzy when it is sunny outside will not suffice. An author would be expected to embed the child's neuroses and bad behaviour into the narrative, drawing from a presumably tragic history. Somewhere along the line they lost their mother or father and now have to spend every waking moment with their emotionally-stunted single parent. The suggestion of humanising characters may sound like writing hints for idiots, but this piece of wisdom requires clarification. Anna has already taught us to focus attention on the central romantic concept, so the author is best served bearing that in mind when giving their invented child a well-rounded personality that fails to serve anything other than as proof they were paying attention during writing school.

Before we have learned anything Anna Boatman has moved onto her final point. 'Put your children to work! How can these little secondary characters help to move the romance forward? Shared responsibility for a child can be a great way to bring couples together, while they’re also a way for the reader to see another side to a character.' Exactly, there is no sense in having a child character unless they are the focal point of the drama because the child will always be the focal point of their parent’s life. As evidence we turn to Romantics Anonymous, the Clinton-era tale of denial, middle class solvency and parenting ineptitude. Lauryn Chandler puts the teenage daughter to such compelling dramatic use she skimps entirely on plausibility. Firstly, Beth runs away from home to bring the divorced hero and heroine together and then blackmails them to spend a Christmas as a reconciled family by threatening to indulge in drugs, alcohol and drug and alcohol-fuelled under-age pregnancy. Once Cynthia arrives dishevelled on Lane's doorstep, frantic and fearing kidnap the motions for rekindled love have been oiled and Chandler is able to carefully write Beth from the plot, bringing her back occasionally for maudlin displays of affection. While Romantics Anonymous has glimpses of story-telling competence, the handling of offspring as a secondary character matters less because Beth is older, independent and supposedly well-adjusted. Equally a baby is representative of its causes and the uncertainties of the future. A shy, vulnerable eight-year-old demolished by grief becomes a novel in itself, not a conceit for love and euphemisms for body parts. To even suggest such a thing is perverse and deeply offensive.

"How could a woman with thighs that still ached be so totally entranced by a glance?"

By the time Bewildered Heart had struggled through the initial one hundred pages of Under the Millionaire's Influence we finally found the good stuff, where the hero and heroine, despite constantly vowing not to sleep with each other for the good of themselves and their relationship, could no longer resist the temptation of a quickie in the passenger seat of a rental car. What the scene lacked in eroticism it more than made up for with phallicism, overwrought emotional epiphanies and a succinct conclusion. With The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal the reader need only wait seventy pages before Franco is reaching for the condoms and nonchalantly accusing his latest conquest of carrying a sexually-transmitted disease, the charmer. In the many Harlequin Mills & Boons we have endured only a small minority, The Playboy of Pengarroth Hall and The Dad Next Door, featured no sex scenes, while many, including Wild Child and The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal, seemed to contain nothing but.

Which leads us to ask the necessary question, what makes for an enjoyable, enticing literary sex scene and can Mills & Boon themselves offer up a list of helpful ideas to guide us through it, as we nervously fumble for the right words and how they are supposed to fit together? Why yes, and who better than Flo Nicoll to let the gals at Romance HQ in on all the dirty secrets. 'Mills & Boon books promise readers the ultimate in female fantasies – from marrying your childhood sweetheart to a night of multiple simultaneous orgasms with a gorgeous stranger.' It is either or, romance readers, so choose wisely. 'A great love scene is unputdownable – emotional, sexy, and exciting. But a bad sex scene can be the kiss of death for your story, and your characters – how can we fall in love with your hero if his between-the-sheets behaviour fails to satisfy?' Perhaps he was exhausted from making billions of pounds, being kind to children and respecting and adoring the only woman for him. There sure is a lot of pressure on the modern heroic man, the last thing he needs is a heroine constantly wondering if prostitution is somehow sullying her principles and refusing him the opportunity to work his magic, and then once he forces himself upon her using magnetic eye contact and height she finds the nerve to criticise his performance...

So, when it comes to throwing together a firework display in a bedroom, what are the proverbial rockets and Catherine wheels? To continue this already strained analogy a sparkler would be emotionality. 'Good love scenes happen within the emotional development of the relationship, and can be a key turning point for the couple. Use sensual encounters as an opportunity to delve into the emotional reactions of your characters, particularly the heroine.' As with any other element of your novel therefore make sure what you write has meaning and value. Sex for the sake of sex is unnecessary, according to Nicoll and the general consensus of women in the real world. Lust has no depth and mental connection must be developed through an appropriate amount of intimate conversations and meals. Thus, fornication should only be used to advance the story, as a couple moves from a man and a woman who were not having sex to a couple who now are, or a former couple who used to have sex and stopped transition back to the couple they were once again. The latter structure sounds more complex than it actually is.

Thus we learn to use love scenes for their narrative necessity, while being careful to avoid pornographic gratuity that derails the pacing of the drama. What other suggestions does Nicoll offer for penning sex scenes that actually apply to all elements of writing? 'Don’t be afraid to leave details to the imagination: in some of the hottest books, the actual consummation scene is only a paragraph.' See, good sex does not always have to last thirty pages. There is nothing embarrassing about only lasting a paragraph and then ending the chapter by writing, 'Goodnight.' A pithy footnote will suffice, as no one wants to read a meticulous description of every thrust. Just as satisfying is the simple use of phrases such as repeatedly, or until he was finished. 'Remember, nothing you write on the page will be nearly as erotic as what your readers can dream up… particularly if they read a lot of romance!' You know what your audience wants and why they want it, but bear in mind they are only after skilful touches, sultry insinuations, not full-blown explicitness, because they can take care of themselves once you have set the mood. They're not perverts.

'A beautiful sex scene can easily be ruined by the less sexy aspects of sex – disposal of condom, wiping down the heroine, even (I can’t quite believe I’m typing these words) the dreaded wet spot. It may be realistic, but it’s also a massive mood killer.' Yes, as with in reality realism destroys the beauty of everything. Still, an author is better off simply ending the scene at a civilized point, rather than pretending that these things just do not happen to gorgeous Greek tycoons and their spellbound virginal mistresses. Of course, do not allow Nicoll's shallow logic to stop you from attempting to make the disposal of a condom, the wiping down of the heroine or the wet spot romantic, sexy or a combination of the two. Just because everyone else has failed it does not mean you couldn't be the first to make post-coitus the must-read part of the Mills & Boon experience. Soon enough Harlequin fans will be demanding every Modern Romance contains an erotic wiping down of the heroine sequence.

Typically of a female journalist Flo Nicoll waits until after we have dealt with condom disposal before explaining the significance of foreplay. 'Don't forget the importance of kissing and touching! Lips, neck and ears, lower back, inner thighs and forearms etc. Because, not to get too personal, but isn’t it the men who move in straight for the grope – boobs and below – that are the biggest turn-off?' Anticipation is key for getting both heroine and reader in the right mind for literary loving. Keep your characters exchanging provocative, innuendo-based dialogue before they get down to the nitty-gritty of forearm-touching, and below-boob-groping. Readers prefer to experience the passion of the encounter, believing hero and heroine have taken a giant step towards their eventual happy ending and have furthered their eternal devotion through a paragraph's worth of physical unity.

While it is all well and good being told what makes for marvellous sex, and Bewildered Heart has learnt an awful lot admittedly, there is little in the way of technical advice in Nicoll's column. For example, when word-painting a romantic boob-grope, or a tender, moonlit condom-disposal should we, the author, censor the more colourful words and search the internet for suitable synonyms? 'The less flowery the descriptions, the better. Sometimes you just need to be able to call an erection an erection – not always a throbbing member/hard shaft etc! We’re not talking graphic descriptions of the porno variety but don’t shy away from being direct – after all, what’s the point in writing about something you’re not comfortable describing?' There you have it, gentle reader, no more euphemisms such as 'boobs and below' when the writer is referring to a lady's heavenly warmth. From now on, use depictions you are relaxed about using, and never again will a reader giggle, blushing because she knows when you wrote throbbing and hard you really meant erect.

'Let’s spare a thought for the hero who can’t control near-constant hard-ons… Everyone loves a virile hero, but this lack of control over his body risks making him seem juvenile, not jaw-droppingly hot! A little manly restraint can go a long way, ladies.' Writers should know well enough already not to base their heroes on fourteen year old boys, internet bloggers, or men in general, instead drawing the fine line between sexual prepotency and erectile dysfunction. A doting smile, or a fleeting, electrically-charged touch of the hands, a brief bout of gentle neck-nuzzling, the heroine's parade across the Olympic-sized swimming pool in a risqué bikini, or hearing a tragic sob-story concerning unresolved father issues should not result in a twitch in the trousers or a guttural feeling of arousal. No, the hero should react to these events with disdain and indifference, thus garnering the favour of women even further.

Finally, let us pretend there was an award for most annoying cliché found in a literary sex scene, what would that be, Flo Nicoll? 'The booby prize goes to the heroine’s instant nipple hardening/ tightening/ peaking/ pebbling on seeing the hero! (After two years at Romance HQ, I am well on my way to developing a complex because this doesn’t happen to me on a regular basis).' Now, either Nicoll has a severe lack of sensitivity in her nipples, her brain emotionally connects to elsewhere on her body, or the pebbling of nipples is something that does not happen to the world's women. If so, what other options are open to an author when wishing to demonstrate her heroine's stimulation, besides eyelid-fluttering or accepting money in exchange for sexual compliance? Nicoll has no ideas, but perhaps aspiring female writers could use this opening to invent a new language for sensuality, creating compelling euphemisms, more imaginative acts for their couples, discovering more realistic ways to portray desire and no longer viewing sex as a contractual requirement for Harlequin novels, instead properly lacing intimacy into their narratives. For those wanting less sex try Cherish, more sex there is Spice and for the same amount, but with the added benefit of Nicoll's unhelpful demonstration of how it has always been there remains Mills & Boon.

“Through a twist of fate they found a family – and each other!”

In our lengthy and occasionally irritating search for the perfect subgenre to write our love stories for we thought we had found an ideal match in the warm homeliness of Romance Romance, which also sometimes goes by the moniker Special Moments, or Tender Romance. What made Romance Romance different from all the other subgenres? Children, that's what. As we've established, the plots and characters are consistent across every Mills & Boon variety, but in Special Moments one of the leads usually has a child, suggesting the novel has greater emotional depth. Yes, we swooned, this is the category for us, this is the category that will accept us for what we really want to write. An open, sensitive and sweet-natured subgenre that will never hurt us, or lie to us, despite the nagging mystery of having so many changes of name.

'Everyone needs a daily pick me up from the pressures of life – job, family, relationships – women these days juggle so many things!' You don't need to tell us about it, promotional material. You just need to tell us what the daily pick-me-up is, because we find alcohol and denial just isn't working like it used to. 'Imagine a little luxury: some time out, just for you, a break from the pressures of everyday life. We offer this and more in our home and family category, which since September is published as Cherish.' The break on offer from the pressures of family and relationships is a book about family and relationships? What happened to a good old-fashioned box of metaphorical chocolates?

'Think of Cherish as a variety box of chocolates – each one is very different, but all contain satisfying author voices, a happy ending, a rush of feel-good emotion to give you a lift and leave you on a high!' Now you're talking. There's no filling quite like author voices, and no hard shell like the dilemmas of pregnancy from a one night stand with a Mediterranean Prince. But what if you don't look at the contents card and pick at random and wind up with a Hazelnut thing when you're allergic to hazelnuts and your cheeks swell up, or whatever the romance reading equivalent of that nightmare is?

'Are you a classic girl who loves a vanilla fudge smothered in milk chocolate? If you are…then there are stories in this series that deliver the same fix – 100% romance, like curling up with a favourite film, these heart warming stories will leave you on a romantic high!' You don't have to be a woman, or a chocolatier, to question to validity of that promise, but what happens to those who are not classic girls, or easily duped with expensive gifts? Perhaps you are a modern type with an apartment in the city and a job in the financial industry who lives a jet-set lifestyle and has no time for whatever vanilla fudge is supposed to represent.

'Are you a cosmo woman who likes a naughty liquor kick to their seriously dark chocolate? These vibrant, funny, entertaining and unexpected stories may make you laugh out loud or challenge your expectations.' Alcohol certainly tends to challenge expectations and serious dark chocolate is always hilarious, so this sounds like Bewildered Heart's kind of option, but it still feels as if Mills & Boon is safely covering every base without actually offering any clear indication of what one might expect from the Cherish shelf. So far heart-warming, classic, funny, modern and naughty have all been catered for. What's next? Is there a chocolate in that box that is guaranteed to make you cry?

'Are you a crier who loves a smooth caramel centre? If you’re a real softie, and love a heart wrenching romance that makes you go gooey inside, especially when a happy ending is guaranteed, we have the perfect story for you too!' Oh, Mills & Boon, you know us so well. Of course we'll end up eating the entire box and hating ourselves. There is no point maintaining this charade any longer. Just bring on the candy/literature. What was this sales pitch even supposed to be advertising? It hardly seems important now. The point is, don't promise chocolates unless you actually have chocolates.

As always with this publishing company their introductions amount to meaningless drivel, full of charming empty gestures, offering a life of happiness and affection filled with the kinds of emotions we dream of experiencing even though we know at the first sign of commitment Cherish will turn into Blaze! and call us names and expect us to read their books without needing to be seduced or made to feel special. We thought what we had was real, orange-covered subgenre. We were going to read Cherish forever. But you changed from the poorly-insinuated descriptions of the thing we presumed you were based on a handful of nebulous sentences of puff copy-writing we saw on a website. Now you're no better than those dishevelled Spice collections we glimpse in doorways downtown, their dust jackets barely concealing their contents.

We didn't mean for you to see that. Nevertheless, the enigma remains. As this is the case, and this is always the case, we are best served checking out the titles and synopses to understand what we can expect when we follow The Dad Next Door with the next adventure. Should we brace ourselves for more single parenting, domesticity and coy conversations in front of adorable children? Recent titles include: A Miracle for His Secret Son, Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle, Accidentally Pregnant!, Star-Crossed Sweethearts, Secret Prince, Instant Daddy, Cowgirl Makes Three, Expecting Royal Twins!, To Dance with a Prince, Nanny Next Door, The Baby Swap Miracle, The Doctor's Pregnant Bride?, The Texas Billionaire's Baby, and Wrong Groom, Right Bride.

If these books were chocolates eating more than one would be nauseating. But which should we begin with, they all sound so varied and unpalatable? How about we take a tentative taste of At Home in Stone Creek by Linda Lael Miller, but make sure not to swallow anything? 'Everyone in Ashley O’Ballivan’s life is marrying and starting families – except her. But what date can compare to Jack McCall, the man who broke her heart years ago? And now he’s mysteriously back. But he isn’t who she thinks he is. After a dangerous mission, security expert Jack McCall rents a room in Ashley’s bed-and-breakfast. For her sake, he must keep his distance. But his feelings for her are so powerful that only his heart remains off-limits. To protect her – from his enemies and himself – he has to leave, vowing to fight his way home to her and Stone Creek forever.'

First of all, that sounds like it could be published under Intrigue or Modern. Second of all, how can Jack leave and fight his way home at the same time? Sadly, we will never know because we won't be reading At Home in Stone Creek. Let's try a different one. A Baby for Mommy by Cathy Gillen Thacker? The title doesn't inspire confidence, but it has got our saliva on now, so... 'With a busy career and three kids to feed, single father Dan Kingsland needs help! Hiring a professional chef is such a perfect solution, Dan doesn’t notice the baby bump under Emily Stayton’s coat. Emily is finally getting what she wants – a baby – and going where she wants: home to the peach orchard her family used to own. But when Dan shares the joy of her baby’s first kick, he realises he’s falling for his very temporary employee. Can his love be the home that Emily’s been looking for?'

Yes? This sounds more like Cherish though. After all, there are three kids and the heroine is pregnant, making for a rare fat romantic lead. However, if Dan was say, a single, childless billionaire, and Emily was a single, non-pregnant, unemployed beauty then you'd have The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress with a few minor changes and the removal of implied blackmailed rape, which is probably for the best. The glaring obstacles for the couple in A Baby for Mommy are the same obstacles placed in front of Gavin and Alison in The Dad Next Door. Who got Emily pregnant and where did Dan hide his wife's body? Just kidding, of course. Dan sounds lovely. So our conclusion brings us back to our introduction, that what marks Cherish as unique is the involvement of offspring and the heightened tension their child's welfare brings to the romantic decisions of the single parent lead. When the conclusion resolves the issues brought up in the introduction you know you've written a good article. That's the first lesson you learn at article-writing school.

“Her tongue thickened. Here it came. She tried to prepare herself. 'Oh?'”

When we left The Dad Next Door he was beginning to fall in love with our protagonist, Alison, but remained concerned how this new relationship would effect his daughter, Tory. Alison, meanwhile, was beginning to fall in love with the single father neighbour, Gavin, but was concerned he was obsessively stalking Tory's mother, Marianne. Tory, on the other hand, was still coming to terms with the death of her sister, Samantha, in a motorcycle accident (Sam was hit by a motorcycle), and the move to Squam Lake, but at least now has Alison, her adoring new mother figure and a general disinterest towards the feelings of others, because she's a child.

The easily resolved issues don't stop there, however. First there is Alison's divorced father, named something fatherly yet distant, such as Frank (it's actually Seth, how inappropriate), and then there's Marianne, a bohemian version of Megan Fox, with black hair, pale skin and facial features so chiselled a man could cut a finger on them. Marianne is an artist and Tory's estranged mother, disappeared for years. A bad woman, a bad mother, a lousy girlfriend and, though the author doesn't acknowledge it directly, an inept painter of moody, esoteric pictures with little commercial value. Alison is the Julie Bowen alternative to Megan Fox, all smooth lines, safe for children, warm autumnal colours and blonde hair. Her shop, The Perfect Thing, is a tourist trap of popular nic-nacs obtuse visitors and locals immediately adore.

All this homely pleasantness and reasonable reactions to everyday occurrences is soon shattered by the return of Marianne, with a secret so dark and unlikely no one may ever be the same again, except Tory who glides through life with a childlike apathy towards the feelings of others. The use of 'may ever be the same' is apt, because Marianne's secret doesn't change much irrevocably, it merely serves to extend the story for a further one hundred or so pages. Marianne's secret is nothing compared to Seth's secret. That's a secret that should shatter everyone's lives, but somehow doesn't, resulting in something eerily close to incest. Yep, The Dad Next Door is the first Mills & Boon to contain 'sorta incest'. Add that to the list, Google.

Our delightful heroine, Alison, is a modern woman of standard neuroses. Her recent broken engagement to Tyler isn't important in the grand scheme of things. Her future is fixed from the moment Gavin and Tory move in next door and the adult problems soon to plague her quiet house of middle class domesticity only serve to regress her back to childhood and the same selfish outlook that bonds her so quickly to Tory. She grew up with Marianne and everything was a competition. Every boy Alison liked was stolen by Marianne and Seth always took Marianne's side. Some father, the reader thinks, unaware how right they are. With her feelings for Gavin growing the arrival of Marianne threatens to upset their newfound love, especially as it takes place shortly after The Dad Next Door's only sex scene, on a sofa and involving metaphorical melting.

Despite this, CJ Carmichael has no intention of figuring anything out, instead using Marianne as an unrealistic plot point. Her sudden reappearance reveals the devastating secret no one wants to hear. Oh, please allow this weblog to reveal the secret, because our Bewildered Heart cannot contain itself any longer! Seth had an affair with Marianne's drunken whore of a mother and is, in fact, Marianne's father. Holy cow, yes! Alison and Marianne are half-sisters and always have been. Not only that, but Alison slept with her niece's father. Phew! You have no idea how long we've been wanting to tell you that, indulgent reader. Can you believe it? Alison Bennett always seemed like such a nice, simple woman of autumnal colours and Julie Bowen congeniality. It must be that child that looks eerily like how Megan Fox presumably looks. Everybody knows what bad influences the child-incarnations of Transformers stars are.

You're gosh darn right, non-existent alcoholic Squam Lake busy-body. How will this mess of crap be sorted in the remaining ten or so pages? Really, there are only ten pages left? What, is Carmichael just going to call a taxi for Marianne, remove her from the picture and then have the characters never again mention this sordid chapter of their lives, much to the dismay and annoyance of the reader, who had patiently concentrated on her words for two hundred and eighty pages awaiting something dramatic to take place? Nah, of course not. That would be rubbish and deeply infuriating.

The Dad Next Door positions itself as a Tender Romance and the sexual element, while present, is subtlety excised, the editor moving on as the couple move into the bedroom, leaving the awkwardly timid descriptions of penetration, thrusting and orgasm (we all know it happens) on the floor of the writer's equivalent of the cutting room. Clipboard? Unlike Modern and Blaze! there includes a noticeable plot centred around a compelling protagonist. There is a child old enough to speak and influence the narrative and Carmichael cleverly uses Tory to push Alison and Gavin together, their intimacy brought about by a resolutely pampered kid. This is no different from other romance stories that use a gimmick to hurry along the romance, but a child brings a heightened emotional significance to any potential coupling. This relationship has more riding on it than a wasted month of crying, eating ice cream and watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote.

Furthermore, there is the introduction of Marianne, a villain. A woman whose selfish apathy towards the feelings of others isn't as adorable or as tolerated as Tory's. Marianne is a cold, conniving artist-type who never wanted children and was forced to give birth to twins when she would have preferred an abortion. In another writer's hands Marianne could have been portrayed as human, weak and confused, a victim of circumstance, poverty and poor parenting, while also suffering from a proper illness that is wrecking her life and destroying any chance she has of making contact with her only daughter. However, Carmichael takes a different route. Marianne is a manipulative bitch with a made-up disease who stands between Alison and her man, undeserving of happiness she has not earned and cruel and drunk and inconsiderate and a bitch and I hate her.

Fair enough then, but Marianne represents little more than Alison's own deluded sense of entitlement. We here at Bewildered Heart love a happy ending and as the word count is reached Alison, Gavin and Tory are complete, a loving and happy family. Woo-hoo. Yet if there is one thing even better than a happy ending it is a good ending, with all the story strands resolved in a satisfying and rewarding manner. The Dad Next Door has a happy ending, but a disappointing one. Gavin and Alison's contentment has left a trail of damaged people in its wake, but because those people brought their shame, loneliness and misery on themselves the reader is expected not to mind. If Romance Romance has the opportunity for more complex scenarios, darker character history and less easily-obtained romance than the usual Mills & Boon sub-genres, then Romance Romance owes itself deeper emotional resonance than The Dad Next Door.

Please note that this review refers to CJ Carmichael's The Dad Next Door, and not Kasey Michaels' The Dad Next Door, published by Silhouette and featuring an author with a worryingly similar name.  We also do not mean to criticise Virginia Myers' The Dad Next Door, or any living or deceased male neighbours with children, although you probably have your own narrative issues that a few rewrites and sex scenes would take care of.

“Speaking of the devil, your daughter looks remarkably like...”

Mills & Boon categories are conveniently separated by colour. The more sexually explicit material has a sexually explicit picture on a cover adorned with red, the international colour of explicit sexual material. Modern Romance is symbolised by blue, because blue is classy, emotionally sterile and modern. Our newfound favourite subgenre is Romance Romance, also known by a series of less powerful monikers including Tender Romance and Special Moments. These books have an innocent picture of two adults innocently cavorting with an adorable child on a orange cover, because nothing speaks of romance without explicit sexual content like the colour orange.

The Dad Next Door tells the story of a thirty-something single dad, abandoned by his wife when their twin girls were one-year-olds. Marianne, a traditional name for an evil woman, disappeared and has not been heard from since. Life for the single dad, Gavin Gray, hasn't brightened either. From two kids he is down to one, Tory, an insolent, uncommunicative tyke without opinions or forthrightness. Her sister, Samantha, was the outgoing, strong-willed one, so outgoing in fact, she ran into a street one day and was hit by a motorcycle. Gavin is tired and disconsolate, but still rather handsome, with broad shoulders and John F. Kennedy's gait. Shortly after Samantha's death he ups sticks and moves to small town New Hampshire into the house his wife grew up in, a decision the author, CJ Carmichael, manages to make sound more curious than creepy. To add to the glamour of the location the book is set on Squam Lake, the very golden pond Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn filmed On Golden Pond on. The American Film Institute's twenty-second best romantic film is surely the most glamorous movie ever made about geriatric loving, irresponsible parenting and fear of dying.

Meanwhile, back in the novel, we meet the cute and loveable Alison Bennett, a single business owner with only happiness in her manner. She takes an immediate interest in the strapping hunk of grief moving in next door and can't help but note the adorability of his daughter. However, we soon learn Alison comes with her own forlorn hopelessness. She receives an order of wedding invitations she forgot to cancel, having cancelled everything else romance-related with her ex-fiance, Tyler Jenkins. Now just a sad, lonely woman with nothing to do in the evenings except be alone, her telephone rings and who's on the other end? Her father, wishing her a happy birthday.

My word, book. How did you get published? What is more, we're only three chapters in. Bring on the terminal illness and dog who has seen better days. It makes for an inauspicious beginning when to up the ante the author decides to kill a child, and to add insult to death the accident, as Gavin wants it to be known, seems a superfluous tragedy to base the narrative around. There is plenty going on with this family without the need to make the cause so obvious and peripheral. We will learn more of the incident and its effect on the characters in due course, as Alison gently tugs on the string holding Gavin's existence together. Clearly he and Tory have not moved on from losing Sam, as a father and a twin sister are supposed to. While Alison has moved on from her broken engagement from Tyler, her divorced and lonesome parents do not believe she has made the right decision. In the small town tongues wag and Alison needs a new man in her life to quell speculation as much as Tory needs a mother figure and Gavin needs a supportive, loving woman. But good golly, that's surely too much to ask. If only there was some way to neatly fit these carefully constructed pieces into one puzzle.

While Bewildered Heart continually criticises the problematic nature of Modern, Sensual Romance, Blaze! and Modern Heat, for their inherent lack of depth to story and characters, even the most cynical critic cannot fault The Dad Next Door, which dishes out the neuroses and tragedies as if the author has something to prove to the reader. This overwhelming heartache will make the coupling of Gavin and Alison, because that is happening, all the more satisfying, as this union will solve every problem for every character and every character has a serious problem that only love will solve. Hurrah for the healing power of love!

Credit therefore to CJ Carmichael. Well done, her, so far. Nevertheless, with all this additional sorrow piled upon a simple tale of love the writing becomes a delicate balancing act of haunted emotion and story progression. Alison is an old school-friend of Marianne, and the revelation of her being Gavin's former flame must have an effect on the burgeoning relationship, meaning Carmichael will have to introduce Marianne and even Tyler now they've been pointedly referenced, their force over our leads abundantly apparent.

Never before in my Mills & Boon reading has a story begun with so many broken lives, with so many characters living in lonely despair, regretting life choices and reluctant to be hurt once more, in a world where everyone gets hurt and nothing good comes easily. This isn't to say The Dad Next Door is a successful book, of course, the prose style has forced contrivances and heavy-handed emotional footnotes, leaving no room for subtlety, and yet it is these faults that feel more in-keeping with the Harlequin modus operandi. There is plenty of opportunity for subtext, yet a stern refusal to leave certain things unsaid. When a character stops short of saying how they really feel, the narrator helpfully jumps in, to press home the unspoken bond between Gavin and Alison. This is a shame, but perhaps an inevitable one.

There remains a missed opportunity in back-dating the tragedy. After all, who wants to read a book in which all the interesting, dramatic things have already happened? The Dad Next Door ends up revolving around the renovation of a house, a handy metaphor, but a didactic and clichéd one. We, the gentle readers, continue on regardless awaiting the arrival of Marianne with all her baggage. There is an obstacle in the way of romance here greater than Gavin and Alison's thought processes and hang-ups. Marianne represents the author's first obvious concern when introducing a child into their Mills & Boon world. What happened to the missing parent? And of course, what about the child? How does the kid figure into the plans of the adults? Presently, Tory is a minor nuisance, with an issue Alison immediately fixes through the clever skill of offering companionship. Therefore the daughter becomes what children are in real life, a sign that their single father is sensitive and charming.

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that I'm gonna get sunburn on my rear end?"

Before an aspiring author attempts their addition to the swell of romance writing published every month by Mills & Boon they are smartly advised to choose the sub-genre they wish to be considered for. Without further ado, therefore, a little research is necessary. As Bewildered Heart has already helpfully alluded to there are numerous different styles for your generic love story, including, but not limited to, Nocturne, Medical, Blaze!, Intrigue and Historical. Other less well-known categories are named Mira, Cherish, Desire and Riva. What are these? you demand, impatiently. Unfortunately, our necessary research wasn't especially thorough, but never mind because Cherish sounds like the antithesis of Desire and frankly the other two aren't even words, so forget them.

Because of a particular aversions toward vampires, demons, well-being, sex and old people, we should press on with the least likely category to contain animalistic rutting between otherworldly beasts. With Nocturne and Cherish out of the way then, we are left at the grateful feet of Modern and Romance. Yes, that's correct. There's a Romance sub-genre called Romance. Romance Romance, you might say. So, what does the Romance Romance genre ask for? Mills & Boon opens with, 'Do you love a happy ending?' It is never a good idea to immediately ask  a stupid question, but seeing as how they have we have little choice but join them. Don't all Mills & Boon books have happy endings? If the reader didn't love a happy ending would they even be here? How does that separate this style from all the other styles? Can we pretend they didn't ask that and move on? 'Do you love to get lost in a story that takes you on a roller-coaster of emotions?' Sure, why not. A roller-coaster of emotion sounds like a normal roller-coaster, except with more vomiting. But seeing as how most romance novels are emetic there doesn't appear to be anything here to differentiate this from the likes of Historical and Medical, besides history and medicine. After all, a stroll through indifference would be a terrible idea for a story.

'Do you want to walk in your heroine’s shoes?' They don't offer great arch support and chances are they wouldn't fit, but yes, we most certainly do. After all, she is our narrative representation, albeit with nicer shoes. 'Do you want pure Romance?' Of course, who doesn't want pure romance? No more of this diluted romance that doesn't even taste like romance. It's mostly anti-freeze. This question is a tricky one to answer, but the implication is that Romance Romance skips on the more sultry stuff. 'Each story delivers 100% pure romance - but happily leaves the explicit detail on the cutting room floor! Readers come to this series to experience the feel-good high of love blossoming!' So it's 100% pure, but not uncut?

'Do you want to explore a rainbow of emotional scenarios?' This is the same question as before only worded slightly differently, so the answer remains the same, only worded slightly differently. You're gosh darn right we do! And yet, why does it feel as if you're making vague and derisory statements that in no way explain what Romance Romance writers are expected to deliver? How about a long list of words? 'Vibrant, hilarious, heart-wrenching, exciting, uplifting, unexpected, intelligent, warm…' Yep, that didn't help either. In fact, as a description it seems ever more confused. Does Mills & Boon want a novel that fits all of these adjectives, or can the author choose one word and base their book around that, because Bewildered Heart has never featured a Harlequin that was any one of those things.

'We celebrate women: their lives, triumphs, families, hopes, dreams…and most importantly their journey to falling in love. These are heroines every woman can relate to, root for, a friend you can laugh with and cry with. There should be a sense that the story really could happen to you!' That's something. Readers of Romance Romance seek familiarity, their own personal, realistic fairytale with a likeable, relatable lead character. But what about that chap hiding behind her? 'Behind every strong woman…there’s a strong man. A guy you could meet on the sunniest of days, but who’ll be there for you on the rainiest.' That doesn't make sense. Let's assume what they're demanding is that we don't create a fair-weather love interest, instead a man who can be relied upon, for better and for worse, through sickness and in health, the sort of heroic lover that has appeared in every Mills & Boon since its inception.

'So - wherever in the world your book is set, whether it’s fun and flirty or deeply emotional, let your imagination fly. The possibilities in Romance are endless.' Please note that by endless we here at Mills & Boon are not implying that the possibilities in romance are endless. On the contrary they are limited to a standard structure, character archetypes and predictability any deviation from will result in instant manuscript rejection. We ask all potential authors to follow the strict guidelines that are not mentioned anywhere within the submission section of our website because we enjoy receiving up to 20,000 manuscripts a year that are unsuitable for publication.

Alternatively, there's Modern Romance, which translates as romance for the modern woman, still 100% romantic, but now with the occasional sex scene and talking on mobile phones! 'Modern Romance is the last word in sensual and emotional excitement,' they inform us. 'Readers are whisked away to exclusive jet-set locations to experience smouldering intensity and red-hot desire.' They are whisked away to exclusive jet-set locations in their imagination, for those excitable readers who took that literally. Modern Romance is the most popular category to write in and the most comfortable to be seen buying. Who doesn't yearn for a little romance in this day and age? Despite the contemporary illusion, the stories are exactly the same as they are in Romance Romance, only with the sexual element amped up to Low.

'Modern Romance explores emotional themes that are universal. These should be played out as part of highly-charged conflicts that are underpinned by blistering sexual anticipation and released as passionate lovemaking. However, Modern is not the home of purple prose, cliché or melodrama; we want to see writing that offers unique perspectives and bursts with originality.' Yeah, you salty dogs. Clichéd, melodramatic purple prose with stereotypical perspectives that occasional flashes with banality are published under the Blaze! banner.

So what have we learned from this, besides not to look to the Help pages for help? Well, it really comes down to sexual content. Much like life itself the books are categorised by the amount of explicit description they contain. Modern Romance features one, maybe two, encounters, but must use coy euphemisms and old-fashioned reactions to mark the books out as Modern. Blaze! can say what the reader wants to read, and must tailor their story around a couple who meet and almost immediately begin having sex, thus discrediting any semblance of intellectual connection. With Romance Romance the focus is rightly on the romance, and it would be expected that the couple do not fuse their bodies in a fit of passion until after the book has ended. A standard example will revolve around a slow-burning and tender courtship often involving a single parent with an adorable child. That's another thing we'll have to think about later on down the line, the involvement of adorable children, but for now we should all get on with reading some Romance Romance and the first example will be The Dad Next Door, and look there's an adorable child on the front cover holding a teddy bear!