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J.J. Murray

I got out of my usual box (alpha female, beta male) and wrote about Dante, an Italian boxer, and Christiana, a Red Hook, Brooklyn journalist, both of them headstrong, opinionated, and intense. They verbally spar continuously, and they even go a few rounds in the ring. Really. Add Canadian wilderness, a trainer/master chef who dreams of his own restaurant, a former Hawaiian Tropic model and ring card girl, an enigmatic ex-wife, a protective son, a villainous opponent, a missing father, a slew of infamous celebrities, Madison Square Garden, and Brooklyn (need I say more?), and you have an idea of what The Real Thing is all about.

Why boxing as a backdrop for romantic comedy? You could say that boxing is a metaphor for most romance. You warm up and bounce around, sizing up your opponent. You might even sweat. Someone goes over the "rules of engagement," rules you've known and followed for years. You make eye contact briefly with your opponent. A bell sounds in your head. You tense up. You meet in the center of the ring. You circle each other. You throw out a verbal jab, perhaps a few shots below the belt, maybe even a few uppercuts. You may even "clinch" a bit or force your opponent to the ropes. Another bell sounds, you go back to your corner of the world and rest, and you wonder, "What just happened?" A confidante tells you how you can win the match. You take some of that advice, you go out for round two ... Okay, I'm stretching this metaphor thin now, but isn't the idea in romance for both people to knock each other out by the end of the novel?

The best romances end in a draw ... and a very long clinch.