We all want a little romance in our lives, don’t we? There was a moment in my teens when I realized every single song I loved on the radio was, you know, a love song. In fact, every pop song I knew of—past or present—was, thematically, a version of “She Loves You (Yeah Yeah Yeah).”

And you might argue that romance seasons a lot of popular (and literary) fiction too. Even when we don’t call them romances—and we have a very specific definition of romance—there’s some interplay between lovers or would-be lovers or former lovers that makes the story appealing. From Amy Brill’s The Movement of Stars to Patrick Ness’s Chaos Walking trilogy, from I Am Forbidden (Anouk Markovits) to A Constellation of Vital Phenomena (Anthony Marra), from The Art of Fielding to Gone Girl and The Night Circus, and from Harry Potter to Nick Hornby to Alexander McCall Smith … we see romance again and again in books that range from contemporary to thriller to fantasy to literary. But none of the titles I’ve mentioned are classified as romances.

Lately, though, I’ve been seeing a lot of manuscripts that purport to be one thing—a thriller about a group of resistance fighters or a story about a crisis of faith brought on by a parent’s unexpected death, say—then turn out to be a lot of he loves me, she loves me not and very little else. But the thing is, unless you’re writing a category romance, he loves me, she loves me not won’t work as a plot.

Remember the definitions, kids. And remember our discussions about plot. If you tell me it’s about a crisis of faith brought on by a parent’s unexpected death, that’s what I expect to see in the story arc. (This is why I ask you for a synopsis.) The protagonist may be in or want to be in a romantic relationship, and the protagonist may grow closer to his romantic interest as a result of the problems he encounters as he solves his story-worthy problem, but the romance isn’t the plot.

It’s the subplot.

For example, take Jenny B. Jones’s title Just Between You and Me. Here’s the blurb:

Maggie Montgomery lives a life of adventure. Her job as a cinematographer takes her from one exotic locale to the next. When Maggie’s not working, she loves to rappel off cliffs or go skydiving. Nothing frightens her.

Nothing, that is, except Ivy, Texas, where a family emergency pulls her back home to a town full of bad memories, painful secrets, and people Maggie left far behind … for a reason.

Forced to stay longer than she intended, Maggie finds her family a complete mess, including the niece her sister has abandoned. Ten-year-old Riley is struggling in school and out of control at home. The only person who can really handle the pint-sized troublemaker is Conner, the local vet and Ivy’s most eligible bachelor. But Conner and Maggie keep butting heads—he’s suspicious of her and, well, she doesn’t rely on anyone but herself.

As Maggie humorously fumbles her way from one mishap to another, she realizes she’s going to need to ask for help from the one person who scares her the most.

This book—categorized as contemporary women’s fiction—has a heck of a romance going on in it. But do you see it in this brief synopsis? No. The story arc here is shaped around Maggie coming home to help her retired, elderly father take care of the abandoned and difficult Riley. It’s a family responsibility. But Maggie has just had a fantastic job offer; so she is wrestling with the commitment this new job will require, and she doesn’t really want to be in her small hometown; she left for a good reason. I bet you can pick out the inciting incident, the story-worthy problem, and so on. The subplot, only hinted at here, is what happens between Maggie and Conner as Maggie struggles with her father and niece and sister (the plot). And the climax of the conflict set up in the plot has nothing to do with the romance.

See? The romance is an organic byproduct of the plot.

So take a good look at what you’ve declared the plot to be—and then take a good look at what’s on the page. It’s not always what you think. The (ahem) undeclared romances I’ve been seeing intend to be a variety or genre of contemporary fiction, yet behave like a romance. But there’s a second problem: none have followed the generally accepted covenants of the romance genre either. So the manuscript is neither fish nor fowl.

What does a romance look like? Stick around—we’ll talk about that in next week’s post.

Tweet: We all want a little romance in our lives, don’t we? We like it in our fiction too.
Tweet: Romance seasons lots of popular & literary fiction. Even when we don’t call them romances.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I have not received any compensation for writing this post. I have no material connection to the brands, products, or services that I have mentioned. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”