A Short Critique of The Romantics: Ugh.

mjc-phone-hand-pendant-b&w and red

I hate the romantics. All of them. Shelley, Wordworth, Keats. Coleridge. That other guy whose name nobody can ever remember.

Most of all—Byron. Ugh.

They ruined love. They ruined sex. They almost ruined poetry.

Although they were part of the energy that made Mary Shelley write Frankenstein… and they inspired Darrah Teitel’s The Apology. after which I had phenomenal sex. So. I suppose.

Redemption.

mjc

About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance Tell Me (Harper Collins, 2015), the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) Consequences (of defensive adultery) (coming May 2 2017), and the rom-com (she's versatile) Cherry Pie Cure (releasing June 15, 2017), as well as the non-fiction collection of essays Rough Draft Confessions: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway (GENRES were made to be BROKEN, 2017). Closet poet. Currently torturing novels four, five, and six simultaneously. Which is not a good idea.

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