What We're Writing: Queen of All Genre

JENN McKINLAY: I'm having a moment. Hopefully, just a moment and not a perpetual state of being. I am currently writing the second cozy fantasy book (WT: DEMONS OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT), which is the follow up to WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (Oct 25) revising next summer's romcom THE SUMMER SHARE (May 26), and copyediting the next library lover's mystery BOOKING FOR TROUBLE (Feb 26). I have to work on all three at once so I don't fall behind. 

Three genres all at the same time. It's fine. Nothing to see here. Everything is awesome. Yes, that is my mantra, why do you ask? And, yes, this is why I'm feeling very Queen of All Genre. LOL.

Oh, and before I forget, there is a Goodreads Giveaway for WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN for those who want to score an early copy.

ENTER HERE!

Because I am hip deep in revisions, I will share a snippet of THE SUMMER SHARE, specifically, the meet cute if you can call it that. The premise is that Hannah Spencer and Simon O'Malley each inherit a summer cottage on the Outer Banks from their grandfather. The trouble begins when they arrive at the cottage and discover their grandfathers shared ownership of the cottage and now each of their plans for their inheritance is compromised by the presence of the other.

     Simon: A nudge on my fishing line brought my attention back to the task at hand. I pulled the rod to the side, tugging the lure a bit, trying to assess if I’d managed to catch anything. There was no resistance, i.e. no takers.

     “Dude! You get back here this instant!” A shrill voice broke the silence, startling a great grey heron out of the marsh. He launched into the air, beating his massive wings.

     I whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind me and saw a wild haired woman in cargo shorts and a tank top thundering down the narrow dock on the heels of a black and white horse—okay, more like a pony—that was headed straight for me.

     I quickly set my pole in the holder on the base of the dock and crouched down, putting up my hands in surrender as if the beast barreling toward me was there to rob me.

     “Whoa, whoa!” I cried. The behemoth didn’t slow down one bit. By the time it occurred to him to jam on his brakes it was too late. The beast slammed into my chest like a Mack truck and the next thing I knew I was flailing and free falling into the channel.

      The water was colder than I expected for late June, but what did I know? I hadn’t planned to go swimming. Instinctively, I started to kick up to the surface. I popped up to hear the woman, scolding her beastie.

     “Dude, what were you thinking? What if there are alligators in there? That man could be their lunch.” There was a pause and then her voice took on a harsh warning note. “Dude, don’t you do it. Dude!”

     I wiped the water from my face just in time to see the horse come flying at me. His feet were pedaling in midair as if he were still running. His tongue was hanging out and his ears flapping in the breeze. I only had a second to take in the sight of him, realize I was his target, and try to get out of the way before he hit the surface like wrecking ball. I didn’t make it.

     The monster hit me right in the solar plexus and I plunged below the surface and sank like a rock. The pony had knocked the wind out of me, but I’d spent enough time surfing the Carolina coastline to know not to try and breathe, still blacking out was a high probability as everything started to go fuzzy.

     A splash disrupted the water near me and I felt someone grab me by the collar of my shirt and haul me in sluggish yanks and tugs up to the surface. When we broke through, my diaphragm was still locked and I couldn’t breathe.

     “I think you killed him,” the woman gasped. Then she thrashed against me. “What was that? Something brushed my leg. Ah! I bet it's an alligator!”

     I would have told her to calm the hell down but I didn’t have enough air to form words. Instead, I started to slowly sink beneath the surface again.

     “Oh, no, you don’t.” She yanked me back up. “I did not risk getting eaten by a prehistoric creature just to have you drown.”

     Something splashed next to me and I recognized the big pink tongue as the pony swam beside us, kicking his long legs and enormous paws, without a care in the world.

     I tried to suck in a breath but my chest refused to move. I could feel a thrum of panic surge through me as I flailed to get to the dock.

     “It’s okay,” the woman’s voice was a husky whisper in my ear. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you drown.”

     As if I would! My pride took issue with this but I didn’t have enough oxygen in my lungs to protest. My argument would have to wait.

     She wrapped her arm around my torso and towed me to the lower dock where my boat was tied. The small horse was already out and bouncing on his feet, wagging his tail as if he was having the best day ever. Jerk.

     With a hearty shove, the woman rolled me onto the rough wood and then pulled herself up beside me. “Let’s get you on your side.” With a grunt she maneuvered me into a fetal position. Humiliating. And then she started to vigorously rub my back. “Try to relax. You just had the wind knocked out of you. Take small breaths. It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

     I managed a small sip of air and the darkness receded from my peripheral vision.

     “That’s it,” she said. She kept up the circular massage and I felt my diaphragm slowly loosen, allowing me to take deeper breaths.

     When I had enough air to be able to speak, I lifted my head and rasped, “I’m all right.”

     “Thank goodness.” She flopped onto her back on the dock beside me and panted. “I haven’t been a lifeguard in years. I was afraid I’d lost my skills. Plus, alligators.”

     I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing, closing my eyes as I concentrated on inflating my lungs.

     “I’m sorry about this. Dude has spatial awareness issues. He thinks he’s a lap dog and I can’t seem to dissuade him from that notion. He’s knocked the wind out of me a few times.”

     I held up my hand, opened it and then closed it, hoping that she could grasp the universal sign for “Stop talking.” Then I dropped my forearm over my eyes while I tried to catch my breath in between coughing and wheezing.

     She must have gotten the message because she said nothing. When my breathing became normal, I dropped my arm from my eyes and turned to face her.

     “Lap dog? I thought he was a pony.” I glanced up to see the biggest dog I’d ever encountered standing over us. His ears were perked and his his head tipped to the side. Was that how he looked right before he ate someone?

The PRH art department recently sent me three different covers for THE SUMMER SHARE that were all so good, my entire team was paralyzed with indecision. After a long chat with my editor, we're going to attempt a mashup of all three. And, yes, Dude (a Harlequin Great Dane) will be featured. Yay!

So, Reds and Readers, tell me. Do you follow authors who write in multiple genres or do you prefer if they stay in their lane fictionally?

Mystery & romance: Oil and water? Maybe not...

HALLIE EPHRON: Mystery and romance. They occupy two very different niches, though we know some of our favorite authors :-) write both. 

Today I'm happy to welcome Katlyn Duncan to Jungle Red. The author of romance and young adult novels, she calls herself an author, a dreamer, a storyteller, and a ghostwriter. Today we're thrilled to host her as she talks about her twelfth novel, Wrapped Up For Christmas, and about the elements of mystery that are just as at home in a romance.

KATLYN DUNCAN: Thank you so much to the Jungle Red Writers for hosting me today! Wrapped Up for Christmas, my twelfth published novel released this Tuesday, and I’m thrilled for it to be out in the world.

As this blog is made up of some fantastic mystery writers, I wanted to delve into how mystery can fuel a romance novel. Most of the time, when we meet someone new, there is a lot of mystery surrounding that person. We want to know what this person’s passion is, or what makes them tick.

We’re drawn to it.

We’re captivated by it.

We create this image in our minds of this person and who we want them to be. Usually, they disappoint us; shattering the impression we had of them.

I love this moment in a book. No matter if you’re writing a mystery novel where the detective or sleuth has underestimated a suspect, or in a romance novel where the heroine reveals a big secret about her past, there is always that shock value when the truth finally reveals itself. It’s a big moment of conflict. The will-they/won’t-they catch the killer/be together for the rest of their lives.

That conflict is delicious and sweet, and it makes us grip the pages (or our eReader) in anticipation of how the story is going to turn out. Romance as a genre usually leans toward the happily ever after side of things, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make our characters work for it. That’s the thing about mystery. We’re drawn to the unknown while creating our version of the truth.

The mystery and the unknown was how I wanted to challenge my two leads in Wrapped Up for Christmas. My heroine, Angie, just got out of a terrible relationship where her boyfriend lied to her, then she lost her job (he was her boss, yikes!), and had to move back home. While that was the lowest of the low for her, she then met a guy who seemed to be the perfect pick-me-up. But he was hiding a significant part of his life from her. He encompassed the one thing she never wanted to trust again.

When adding the mystery element into my women’s fiction/romance novels, my number one tip would be not to reveal all too soon. Leaving those little breadcrumbs (as you do with a mystery novel as well) ramps up the tension. If the reveal comes too fast, there’s not enough stake in the relationship to have a payoff. If the reveal comes too late, then the reader may put the book down with frustration without waiting for the payoff. Or worse, it doesn’t leave enough time for a satisfying ending.

The mystery can be a part of the attraction and the fun, but it can also threaten to tear everything apart. And once that mystery reveals itself, we beg the question…Can they make it work?

I would love to know what you think about mystery and romance working together in books!

HALLIE: It's a great question. I'd say romance is front and center in a many of our books. Lucy's Haley Snow has a main squeeze, Detective Nathan Bransford, and will they/won't they is a major subplot. We love to watch the dynamics of Hank's Jane/Jake and Deb's Duncan/Gemma and the drama of Lady Georgie and her Darcy (guess what: Rhys wrote a series of YA novels called The Boyfriend Club... romance, anyone?); and Julia kept us panting as Claire and Russ overcame the obstacles between them; and Jenn writes brilliant romance and romantic comedy as well as mystery novels with a juicy romance tucked in.

My books tend to be more about women who aren't sure if they can trust the man in their life, so I'm an outlier. But my take on it: as mystery writers we need to know our audience and adjust the heat accordingly.

What do you think? Romance and mystery: oil and water or pepper and salt?

Katlyn is doing a book giveaway THIS WEEK! Best of luck! 

ABOUT KATLYN DUNCAN: Coming from a small town in Western Massachusetts, Katlyn Duncan always had her head in the clouds. Working as a scientist for most of her adult life, she enjoyed breaking down the hows and whys of life. This translated into her love of stories and getting into the minds of her characters. When she’s not writing, she’s obsessing over many (many) television series’. She currently resides in Connecticut with her family. SCBWI & RWA Member.

ABOUT Wrapped Up For Christmas 

 It’s the most wonderful time of the year… but not for Angie Martinelli…

Having lost her boyfriend, job, and apartment all in the space of a week, Angie has no choice but to leave California and return to her family in New England.
Determined not to let life weigh her down, Angie finds work at the local mall where she worked as a teenager. After an embarrassing run-in with a handsome stranger, Nick, she’s convinced her luck is about to change.
But Nick has secrets of his own… and as the first flakes of snow begin to fall, Angie can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever find love.

A GIRL LIKE YOU introduces a detective and a taxi dancer

HALLIE EPHRON: Chicago in the 1930s with the stock market crash in the recent past is the setting for a new series by Michelle Cox. A GIRL LIKE YOU introduces readers to a delightful pair of sleuths, and makes a convincing argument for mixing mystery and romance. Today I'm happy to welcome Michelle Cox to Jungle Red.  

MICHELLE COX: Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James.  Molly Murphy and Daniel Sullivan.  Amelia Peabody and Radcliffe Emerson.  We all have our favorite detective pair of sleuths who, when not battling villains, just can’t seem to fight their attraction for each other.

But wait a minute, the purist might interrupt, isn’t this meant to be a mystery story?  A theft, a kidnapping, a murder—or worse?  Why are these two seemingly intelligent characters often ignoring very obvious clues in the case before them in order to investigate each other, and often in an embarrassingly clumsy way?  The answer, of course, is because they can’t help it.

The mystery and romance genres fit seamlessly together in a way no two other genres could.  Can you imagine what might happen if sci-fi attempted to blend together with a western, for example?  Something presumably messy.  Maybe an interesting one-off, but not the sort of thing that would fill a whole section of any self-respecting bookstore.  No, romance, it seems, is the universal donor, the “O negative” of the fiction world.

And why?  Because characters, even the most hard-boiled, are human and ultimately have the desire for love etched deeply in their hearts.  And mystery, if examined closely, is the perfect universal receiver.

Why?  Well, for one thing because the romantic tension between the sleuths is a natural distraction from the case at hand.  Not only does it give the characters something else to do or think about besides tracking down the killer, but it is a great red herring for the reader as well.  And it makes the characters more vulnerable, which adds, of course, to the tension already brewing surrounding the mystery.  Not only are the characters perhaps in physical danger, but now they are in emotional danger as well. 

And let’s face it, the romantic prospects of the sleuths are a form a mystery as well.  A mini mystery of “will they, won’t they?” inside the bigger case—an extra thrill, or titillation, if you will, for those “rapt” up in it with them.   

Certainly this is the “case” with the newest pair of sleuths on the scene, Inspector Clive Howard and Henrietta Von Harmon in the debut novel, A Girl Like You.  The aloof Inspector is definitely not contemplating a romance with Henrietta, the impoverished taxi dancer whom he encounters at a dance hall in Chicago, circa 1935.  Instead, he hopes to convince her  to use her stunning beauty and her ability to disguise herself to go undercover for him to track a killer, a role she hesitantly picks up for the money. 

So far so good on the mystery side, but it doesn’t take long before Henrietta finds herself unfortunately falling for the Inspector.  Clive meanwhile begins to piece things together and uncomfortably discovers that Henrietta is not the woman of the world he originally thought she was, realizing with a certain degree of dread that not only has he put a vulnerable young woman in danger, but that he himself is beginning to be tempted by her charming innocence.  He struggles to restrain himself from what would surely be an inappropriate relationship, even as she longs for his love and protection, secretly taking on more and more risks to impress him.  But, Clive and Henrietta!  There’s a killer on the loose!  Remember? 

There are those, of course, the purists mentioned above, who have no tolerance for this sort of genre-blending.  They like their mysteries to only to be about the case at hand and not about Emerson’s wry observations of Amelia’s disheveled hair, for example, nor do they want Molly contemplating the particular shade of Daniel’s “alarmingly blue eyes,” or Clive softly brushing the side of Henrietta’s cheek with his fingertips.  They want facts and only facts. 

But most of us are not so one-sided, so cold of heart.  We don’t mind our mysteries with a side of romance, or maybe even more.  We like our heart to beat a little faster, and not just because the villain has just jumped out of the closet, holding a gun.  And joyfully for us, most mysteries can deliver the thrill, in more ways than one.   

Do you enjoy your mystery with a bit of romance or are you more of a purist?  And if you do enjoy a romantic subplot, who are your favorite duos?

A Second Look at Romance

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  Happy Saturday, all!  I’m teaching today in Wisconsin, and I wanted to give you something really wonderful to read and discuss. And viola. The fabulous Wendy Tyson provided the perfect thing,

The Mystery of Romance

     By Wendy Tyson

One day during the early months with my agent, she called me at work out of the blue.  She knew I was working on a new novel and had some suggestions.  “Romance, Wendy,” she said.  “I’m not talking about sex. Ro-mance.  There’s a critical difference. Even in a mystery, readers like a little love with their suspense.”

Clearly she didn’t know me that well yet. “Fran,” I replied. “I’ve been married for almost twenty-five years. I’m not sure I’d know romance if it grabbed me by the ankles and flipped me to the ground.”

 

She laughed. “Then tell your husband he has some work to do.”

Yeah, about that.  I love my engineer husband—he’s warm, caring, funny, and brilliant—but when I shared my agent’s comments, he gave me the same look he gives me when I suggest we go to the local vegan restaurant for dinner. “Uh-huh,” he said. “I’ll get right on that.”

This was going to go nowhere.

Only my agent’s suggestion stayed with me.  She was right, of course (she typically is).  Though I’d never been a big romance reader, I certainly appreciated a well-written love story woven into a book or movie. Who didn’t root for the budding romance between Harry and Sally?  Who didn’t weep at the end of The Notebook?  Who else gets teary when they hear the song “Book of Love”?

Oh, who was I kidding?

The truth is, I’m a hopeless romantic.  When it comes to matters of the heart, I believe in love at first sight, ‘til death do us part, and kindred spirits.  I want love to triumph. I’m impractical, imprudent, and I wear my sensitive heart right out there on my sleeve.  And so does my engineer husband, so don’t let him fool you. There may not be romance in the bring-me-flowers-and-chocolate sense, but there was something.

But how do you translate something onto the page?

And so I read romance novels, I watched chick flicks, and I even talked to my friends about what they liked about Fifty Shades of Grey.  But everything I wrote seemed to come out forced.  Sex? Sure. The intricacies of a marital partnership?  Absolutely.  

This nebulous thing called romance?  Not quite.

Then a chance encounter changed my perspective.

It was last spring, and I had been invited to the Southern Kentucky Book Fest. My work schedule is always brutal during the first quarter of the fiscal year, and I had to fly from Philadelphia to Chicago and then on to Nashville for the festival.  By the time we touched down in Tennessee, I was exhausted. The coordinators had been kind enough to arrange for a car service to pick me up at the Nashville airport. The driver, a kindly older man, informed me that there was just one other author we needed to find.  He spotted her across the terminal and waved.

Surprised and instantly humbled, I saw that my companion was Diana Gabaldon, author of the Outlander novels.  Diana was gracious enough to entertain my chatter for much of the drive to Bowling Green, and while she said many things during that hour that seemed incredibly wise to me, one thing became clear:  Diana wrote what she wanted to write. I am paraphrasing—and perhaps even putting my own memory spin on the conversation—but what I heard during that drive from the airport was “make no apologies” and “be true to yourself.”

Now I know, of course, that it’s imperative as an author to write with authenticity, and chasing a market can backfire. But somewhere along the line in my search for romance, I’d lost sight of the simple fact that my experiences mattered—even on the topic of romance. Sure, I’d been married since George courted Martha. Yes, I hadn’t dated in years. But I knew what it meant to cuddle on the couch with my best friend while our children slept upstairs, and I understood the incredible power of hearing his calming voice during a crisis. Together we’d felt the tantalizing butterflies of getting to know someone, and apart we’d experienced the heart wrenching pain of loss.  

Wasn’t romance, in the end, a compilation of these feelings and experiences, a link to the very thing that makes us all human—the need for connection.

It just so happens that I was three-quarters of the way through A Muddied Murder during my chance encounter with Dr. Gabaldon.  Inspired, I went back to my manuscript that night and took a fresh look at it.  I had a main character and a love interest, the Scottish veterinarian, but I’d placed them in the situations I thought others expected—not what I wanted for them.  I started rewriting that evening, drawing on all the small moments that together—over days and weeks and months and years—made a relationship special and strong. The slow building of trust.  The heat of desire. The testing of boundaries.  The shared embarrassments, triumphs and failures.

It was working. A spark was igniting.  I had that little bit of romance. 

I’ve been pleased to see that readers feel the chemistry between Dr. “Denver” Finnand Megan Sawyer.  I’ve been even more pleased that my passion for these characters translated to the page.  In the end, what I learned is that romance—in a book, at least—is a group affair. There are the characters. And the reader. And the author. 

At home, it’s just my husband and me (and the kids). There are still no flowers, and he only buys me chocolate when he wants some too.  But sometimes he’ll accompany me to the vegan restaurant. Without complaint.

And if that’s not romance, I don’t know what is.

HANK: Diana Gabaldon! Wow. We are HOOKED on Outlander. 

But aw. Really,  so wonderful. right now I am giving a keynote and talking about “how to write a novel.” Ha. I wish you were with me, Wendy.  But meanwhile—we’ve talked about about mystery and romance here from time to time—what’s the MOST romantic movie you’ve ever seen? Or book you’ve ever read?

Mine is..ah.  Lemme think.  The real  Sabrina? Philadelphia Story? Oh! Affair to Remember.  The Island Queen?  Jonathan would say A Farewell to Arms.  How about you, Reds and readers?

(And don't forget: My contest is still open. You could win $100 gift certificate for any bookstore you choose!  Click here:
a.pgtb.me/8cxcN4/kNTjn 

(And if you'd also like a signed bookplate--perfect for Mother's Day gifts!--Let me know!)

 ****************

Wendy Tyson is an author, lawyer and former therapist whose background has inspired her mysteries and thrillers.  Wendy writes two series, the Allison Campbell Mystery Series and the Greenhouse Mystery Series. The first Greenhouse mystery, A Muddied Murder, was released March 29, 2016 to strong reviews.  The first book in the Campbell Series, Killer Image, was named a 2014 best mystery for book clubs by Examiner.com.  Wendy is a member of Sisters in Crime and International Thriller Writers, and she is a contributing editor for The Big Thrill and The Thrill Begins, International Thriller Writers’ online magazines. Wendy and her family live on a micro-farm outside of Philadelphia.

What We're #Writing @LucyBurdette

LUCY BURDETTE: DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS comes out on December 2, so I'm obviously not working on that. Other projects have surfaced of course...

In the early days of my marriage to John (when most things were still mysterious,) one of the biggest mysteries about my husband was this: What in the world he could possibly be discussing with his buddies over a 4 to 5 hour golf round several times a week?

So I asked him. What do you talk about?

His answer?

Relationships.

Even a new wife couldn't argue with that!

And that's what I'm writing about now in the sixth Key West food critic mystery, which will be called FATAL RESERVATIONS, and will come out next July. Hooray! Did I forget to mention that I signed a contract for two more books in the series? 
Anyway, back in the third book, TOPPED CHEF, I thought I had figured out the relationships in Hayley Snow's life. But it turned out, I wasn't feeling the zing between her new detective boyfriend and her. So I looked around to see who else might come into the picture. And I've been heading in that direction ever since.

Until I got a fan email from Sue P. last week that made me question, well, everything…

I recently found this series and love it. I do have a complaint though. I was just getting interested to see how the romance would work out between Hayley and her detective. And you bring back his ex and she gets dumped! I was not a happy camper at this development. I still would like to see where this would go, more so than with her boss, which is where you seem to be leading. I think she needs a challenge and this is not her boss. Bring him back!! Just my opinion. Thanks.

So like I said, I'm puzzling over relationships…here's a snippet from FATAL RESERVATIONS:

Fifteen minutes later, I climbed the very steep steps to the Old City Hall building, an imposing red brick structure with ornate black railings and a bell tower. For a hundred years, the city commission had been meeting here on Greene Street, a half block from Sloppy Joe's bar and the chaos of Duval Street. I doubted that visitors had any idea how much city business was conducted while they swilled beer and shouted choruses of Buffet’s Margaritaville and Kenny Chesney’s Key West theme song No shirt, no shoes, no problems.

    The hall was cavernous, handsome, and clearly set out to differentiate the commissioners and city staff from any interested onlookers. A text from Wally buzzed in, reminding me to turn off the ringer on my cell phone. 

    Let me know outcome tomorrow? Mom's chemo was brutal today. I'm going to watch a marathon of Breaking Bad and then crash. See you a.m.at staff meeting.

    As my relationship with Wally took a turn for the better over the last couple of months, his mother’s health had taken a turn for the worse. In that sense, our new half-owner Palamina Wells had been a godsend. She was smart enough to step right in and run the day to day nitty-gritty details of Key Zest while Wally took care of his mom. She was also smart enough to recognize the attraction between me and Wally, and to remove me from reporting directly to him, so we could see where this love train might take us. 



All I can say is, stay tuned to see where this is going. And thanks Sue!

AND some more good news: I have a galley for DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS that I'd love to give away today. To be considered, leave your email and a comment about how you feel about love stories mixed in with your mysteries. (I only hope that one day I will be as good at this as Julia...)

Across a Crowded Room.

RHYS BOWEN: At the beginning of this month I went up to Ashland to the Shakespeare festival and saw a brilliant production of Romeo and Juliet. What made it so poignant was that they played the characters as if they were their true ages--14 and 16. Juliet is carrying a doll when we first see her. She giggles, blushes, acts awkward and embarrassed like a typical teenager. Romeo is equally awkward around her and then overwhelmed by passion.

In the last act everyone was crying because the innocence of their love touched us. And I began to wonder whether such love only happens in literature. In real life does one ever see someone across a crowded room, fall instantly and passionately in love and go off to live happily ever after (or die tragically?)

Only once in my whole life did I ever see someone across a crowded room like that. Our eyes locked. My heart pounded. It was at a rock concert, I went on to have a tumultuous affair with the rock star and it did not end happily ever after. Lesson learned.

So who believes in love at first sight? Can it ever work?

ROSEMARY HARRIS: My girlfriends and I used to refer to it as the "twinkle." Would you or wouldn't you (I'll let you fill in the blank...)We could tell in about 30 seconds. A good time, yes, but love, alas, is a whole other ball game.

My hubby? I fell in love with him the first time I looked into - them there eyes. So far, so good.

(Rhys....tell, tell. Was it Bryan Ferry? Still one of the sexiest men in rock and roll.)

LUCY BURDETTE: Hmmm, the psychologist in me wants to answer this one. Of course I believe in intense rushes of feelings, but are these the same as love at first sight? Me thinks not. That mostly works for movies and books...

As for my most adorable, sweet hub, it took a good six months before I realized I'd be a total fool to pass him by. He still reminds me of that:)

HALLIE EPHRON: I do think it helps to be young for it to be 'at first sight.'

I fell in love with quite a few Mr. Wrongs at first sight. Hey, I was easy. My true love and dearest husband of more than 40 years I did not get right away. He had to woo me. Didn't hurt that he's a great kisser.

I wonder what my daughter would say, though -- 16 years later she married the fellow she fellow she fell in love with at age 14. I think she knew.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Well, that's a great question. I certainly fell in love with Mr. Ryan at first sight. He did, with me, too. But so much for that. Real life was not so hot.

But then, I met Jonathan. We have not been apart since the day we met 17 years ago. No careful dating, no tentative  phone calls, no worrying or games. We met, that was it. Signed and sealed.  What was that, if not LAFS?

And yeah, Rhys! DETAILS!

JAN BROGAN - It worked for me.  I instantly fell for my husband when I saw him in my brother's apartment when I was only fifteen. I didn't see him again for three years. I heard his voice coming up the stairwell and knew exactly who he was.   Then I snagged a date with him.  That was thirty six years ago. IN all honesty, I'm still in love.

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I met my husband when I was nineteen and he was not quite sixteen. Yeeks. LAFS. We went together for a few years, in spite of the cradle-robbing issue, but he was (obviously) too young for a permanent relationship. We went our separate ways. I married someone else. Eventually, divorced. Married my LAFS childhood sweetheart in 1994. Still married:-) Oh, did I mention that we were next door neighbors? My hubby's mom still lives next door to the house I grew up in.

Rhys, do tell, please. Or at least give us a hint!

RHYS: My lips are sealed. You'll have to wait for my tell-all autobiography. But he was a lead guitarist in a Sixties beat group (but not the Beatles or Rolling Stones.) And I met my husband of 45 years at his girlfriend's party. He drove me home and that was that.But it certainly wasn't love for a while. At least not for me. It was only when I had a horrible flu and he sat on my bed and fed me scrambled egg that I knew he was a keeper. (He's never fed me scrambled eggs since, mark you).

So who is going to affirm that love at first sight really does exist?