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 (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.

Tell me...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s