Joyce Holland on finding a jewel in the slush pile.
Every once in a while I think I have found my jewel in the slush pile. Such was the case last week when I came across a medical thriller with an opening worthy of a Stephen King horror movie. A plague was sweeping the Earth and everyone was trying to escape before it caught up with them.
How about you? What would you do in the face of a plague? Anyone reading on this site would probably stand up and shout, "Get on a boat and get the hell out of there."
Sure enough, to my absolute delight, that's what the protagonist ending up doing. A good third of the novel takes place along the shoreline or far out to sea. There were chases and storms and enough nautical drama to fill three books. I was transported back to salty air and changing tides. The pacing was terrific. But it soon became a bit tiring and finally became what I call — episodic. This happened, that happened and there was no rest for the weary. Then the complications stretched the imagination like a worn out bungie cord. And like that cord, I couldn't spring back with great enthusiasm. You just can't weather every dangerous encounter at sea unscathed. Two or three, maybe, but I soon lost count. I guess you can see where this is going. Mind you, lots of people fell by the wayside in this impossible adventure, but the protagonist came through like a trooper. The writing was superior.
I might have accepted the story for the sake of its exciting adventures, but there was something else missing, and I finally figured out what it was. There was no romantic involvement of any kind, which was mildly disappointing, but understandable considering the book had a miserable ending. Why make two people unhappy? Note to potential submitters: I hate bad endings. Life is tough enough, it's why many of us burrow into the tunnels of make-believe.
Alas, I'm now back to searching for: "The Jewel on the Pile." (Little pun there)
Forget bad endings for the moment though, that's fodder for another blog, and I'll do it later. But, let's return to the lack of a love interest in this or any other tale. I wasn't expecting a down and dirty romantic tryst in the story related above; however, do any of us live a life without love? You rarely see a successful television show without a low hormonal hum in the background. An occasional spark here and there, even if it's subliminal, raises a tingle on the spine of the most benign audience. I'm certain someone can point to examples of successful stories without romance in them. Nice tight little cozies come to mind. Miss Marple, Sherlock Holmes. Pfft. Protagonists past their prime would be my deduction. I crave a wee bit more spice in my stories. Give me characters like Brennan and Booth from Bones, or Mulder and Scully from X Files. They don't have to do the nitty gritty for me to know there's a fire down below. And romance behind closed doors is always more alluring than humping in plain sight. I don't necessarily hunger for soap-opera sentiment, but a hint of sensuality is not a bad way to induce reader interest, is it? Where do you draw the line? This inquiring mind wants to know.
