Kaki here, and delighted to visit with you today and share my thoughts on how to bypass reality and create the perfect romantic hero. 

But first, some pertinent facts about myself so you’ll know who/what you’re dealing with:

I live in the mountains of Washington State with the world’s smartest man, a stinky coon hound named Sadie, and Bad Kitty.  My husband and I are retired and are able to do whatever we want, whenever we want, however we want.  It’s a grand life.  We also have two independent and self-sustaining children (yea! us), two adorable granddaughters, another one due in the fall, and our first grandson about to debut”¦maybe even today.  Are we lucky, or what?

I started writing Pieces of Sky twenty-five years ago after I read a ghastly book and decided I could do better.  I couldn’t.  So I put my scribblings aside, tried again every few years, and finally got serious four years ago.  Today, I have two books on the shelves, another in production, and a new series under contract.  It’s never too late, I guess.

My editor at Berkley thinks I write western historical romances.  Maybe I do.  If so, they’re not very traditional or sexually explicit.  The first two books of the Blood Rose Trilogy, Pieces of Sky and Open Country have been labeled “gritty”, “poignant”, “epic”, “uncompromising”,  “funny” and “panoramic”, which doesn’t sound very romancy.  But then they’ve also been called “sweet”, “sensual”, and “grand love stories”.   So you tell me.

But enough of that.  Let’s get on to the important stuff:  creating the perfect romantic hero. 

It’s not as easy as you think.  Mainly because no such creature has ever inhabited our planet.  (I can’t speak for future evolutionary adaptations, extraterrestrials, blood suckers, mutants, mostly-deads, or shape changers, therefore I’ll confine my remarks to what we currently think of as human males””past and present).   

So, how””in the odor-free, sweat-free, bodily-function-free (except for that) realm of romance””do we create the female fantasy of male perfection, while still making him at least marginally believable?  Hell if I know.  But I’ve been thinking hard about it, and have come up with some guidelines that might help.

The hero should NEVER indulge in digestive indiscretions of an auditory or olfactory nature.  Or any other nature.  EVER.  I know what you’re thinking.  In Pieces of Sky, a character does just that.  But he’s not the hero and gets killed off later, so it’s OK.  Poetic justice, so to speak.

The hero is allowed to perspire””odorlessly, of course””but he should have a darn good reason for doing so,  such as exertion,  nervousness, guilt, etc.  Of late I’ve seen an alarming trend to have the hero work himself into a substantial lather in the bedroom.   I think this is to show how intent he is on his task, and how valiantly he’s struggling to hold back his overwhelming ardor.  But, really.  A little surface glow is acceptable, but if he’s sweating like a farm animal then maybe something’s wrong.  I know what you’re going to say.  In Open Country, Hank gets sweaty””but he has good reason.  He’s upset, exerting, nervous, and his feelings are hurt, so it’s OK that one time.

Belching is permitted in male-only situations.  It’s proves masculinity, after all, and makes it clear that the hero””despite his impressive endowments, looks, wealth, athleticism, superior intellect and general all-around perfection””is really just one of the guys.  I know, I know.  In Pieces of Sky, the hero belches not once, but twice, in front of the heroine.  But he does it on purpose to disgust her and make her leave, so it’s OK.  Besides, he’d been drinking.

Which brings us to horking.  It’s best to avoid this one unless the hero is clinically ill.  And if you must include it, limit sounds, odors, and visuals.  Please.  And you’re right.  In Open Country, the heroine, a reluctant nurse, always vomits after surgery.  But who doesn’t?  And anyway, she’s quiet about it, never heaves hard enough to lift her heels off the floor, and only does it on an empty stomach, so it’s OK. 

And finally, and here’s a touchy one (no pun intended).  Relieving himself.  This is another situation to avoid if possible.  We all know it happens””even to heroes””but we don’t need to see it, do we?  Yeah, yeah, I know.  In Open Country, there’s an entire scene when nurse Molly tries to help the injured hero relieve himself and they get into a wrestling match over a chamber pot (he wins, just so you know).  But neither the heroine nor the reader is required to be on hand (so to speak) when the  deed is accomplished, so it’s OK.  As for any other potty situations, don’t even go there.  Ever.

 So there you have it.  My ideas for creating the perfect romantic hero while still staying within the bounds of quasi-reality.  Got any ideas of your own you’d like to share?

Meanwhile, if you’re interested in learning more about the Blood Rose Trilogy and the three perfect heroes of the Wilkins clan, check out my website, where you’ll find excerpts, book trailers, reviewer comments, and the totally irrelevant observations of a twenty-five year overnight success and nearly almost semi-famous author.   And thanks for stopping by.