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.



About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance Tell Me, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) Consequences (of defensive adultery), the award-winning rom-com (she's versatile) Cherry Pie Cure, and the just released TEXT ME, CUPID--a (slightly dirty) love story for 21st century adults who don't believe in love... but want it anyway. A sought-after speaker and present, Colette is also the author of 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, and the curator of the fab YYC Queer Writers anthologies Queer Christmas in Cowtown and Screw Chocolate. Coming in 2019: Once Upon A Queer Summer Night's in Cowtown.

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