It’s late October, a sentimental time of the year. The leaves fall, the weather turns frosty, and the bleak months of winter loom ahead. My mother’s birthday was in late October, and she died on November 1st, making October the last month she lived. So October is personal for me. On the other hand, others must feel the same tugging in their hearts this time of year. How do I know? Barry Manilow.
I fell in love with Barry Manilow at a very young age. I loved his voice. I loved his songs. I even loved his big nose. But what I loved the most was the pure longing his songs portrayed. He sang of love everlasting and love lost. He sang of love not found. And with every song he sang, my heart ached right along with his. My mom, understanding my young romantic heart, put up with hours of Barry in the car. She even sang along in her clear, lilting soprano voice.
This time of year, I really miss my mom. But I also miss the girl I used to be, a girl with a wide-eyed belief in the sort of love that consumed the very souls of people. And I miss the kind of stories romance writers used to write – the ones where the hero or heroine would move the gates of hell to be with the one they loved – the ones where the hearts of the lovers were more important than the great orgasms they achieved together – the ones where you knew they would stay together forever and still be insanely in love when they were so old they didn’t care about sex anymore. The kind of love you think of when Barry Manilow sings “When October Goes,” or “If I Should Love Again.”
Nanowrimo is next month, and for the first time in years, I’m going to take the challenge. I hope some of you will as well. I also hope some of you will put your fantastic talents into creating the kind of story that kindles fire, desire, angst, and hope in the hearts of a reader - the kind of story that makes one believe in love all over again.