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.
