Kathleen Bolton and Therese Walsh of Writer Unboxed make a point that fiction writers can learn from other medias of art and entertainment. I love watching figure skating, and think a well-choreographed ice dance or pairs’ routine has many parallels to a romance novel.

Sadly, in a romance I have read recently, it was as if the hero and heroine met at center ice, then skated off to opposite ends of the rink where they noodled around a bit before rejoining for a kiss at the end. In another it seemed the couple started at opposite ends and spent the entire routine taking baby steps toward one another.

It’s a syndrome writers sometimes call the Sagging Middle. No, it’s not what happens when the writer consumes too many Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos under deadline pressure. It’s when the writer has problems coming up with a conflict that forces the couple together and makes them work for that happily-ever-after.

If we think about the hero and heroine as ice dancers, though, we’d remember:

• It’s important for them to be together much of the time.
• Sometimes they have to skate in perfect unison; otherwise we might not be able to imagine them as a happy married couple, twenty years from now, still linking arms and moving in rhythm.
• But variety is necessary. When they’re together, their movements can be opposed. When they’re apart, they still relate to one another.
• And you need challenges. Things that push your characters to their limits even if you (and the reader) are afraid they might crash. The possibility of a crash is what makes it more exciting.

Right now I’m trying to figure out what will happen in the middle of my work-in-progress. In the synopsis, this part basically reads, “interesting things will happen here, trust me”.

Fellow writers, how do you attack the Sagging Middle?

As readers, what sorts of conflicts keep you turning the pages?

Elena
LADY DEARING’S MASQUERADE, RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee
http://www.elenagreene.com/

Here’s a thing I discovered when writing my first book, A Singular Lady: writing about the gentle progression towards love is really, really boring.
The only way to make a romance novel come alive is to write about everything but the romance. In other words, take two people whose circumstances, situation, personalities, etc., would normally compel them to stay as far away from each other as possible and take them on a journey, a slow, inexorable climb to the inevitable HEA. Make it as hard on them as possible. As my pal William Shakespeare likes to say,

For aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.

Bill, you got that right. Make them suffer. Make your characters stare down into the pit of despair that is their future, and pull them back only when it seems their fall is inevitable. That is what makes a compelling romance. The stuff that writers sometimes focus on–the first kiss, the first fondle, in Janet’s case, the first bondage–that is circumstantial. It happens because it has to happen, because circumstances dictate that your characters fall in love even though every single thing in their lives seems to point to the other person as being the worst possible person to fall in love with. It shouldn’t be the focus of the book, it should be an unavoidable event, caused by the characters themselves, not the need for massive boinking. A great romance novel isn’t about the romance, or even lust. It’s about making your characters complete. And with completion comes love.

Megan