Clichés are poison to good writing and nothing is more cliché than the hero with broad shoulders, narrow waist, and rippling muscles. It never fails that his shirt stretched across his chest, his arms were hard to the touch, his form filled the doorway. And what in sweet heaven is a cute butt? Do men want cute, except to look at? (He has cute abs. Aren’t his pecs cute? Oh, look at his biceps. Aren’t they cute)? And we’re lead to believe the male paragon is unaware of his Adonis status.
Yeah, right! A mirror is a weight lifters best friend.
I watched a movie where an unremarkable, skinny man with thinning hair unexpectedly became the Romeo. He had no dazzling smile, piercing blue eyes, or wavy blond hair to recommend him. A delightful sense of humor, cleverness, confidence, and a deep sense of others were his redeeming qualities. As the story progressed, who he was overshadowed what he was not. By the end, the female protagonist was not the only one in love with him, so were the women in the audience.
Imagine revolutionizing chic lit romance with the Cyrano de Bergeracs and Colonel Brandons of the world as the idols of happily even after? Imagine revolutionizing the Bergeracs and Brandons.