I love rain! I admit it. I absolutely love rain. I know how weird this may sound coming from the same person who wrote about his hatred of snow and the cold, but it’s true. I love rain in all its forms.
I love the “early morning drizzle” rain when you’ve just left your house. Everything is damp and tranquil, and there is a light fog hovering from above. One of those mysterious mornings where you half expect to stumble upon a lost magical village in the Highlands of Scotland on your way to work or run into a band of undead pirates who recruit you to help them find a boundless cache of buried treasure.
Then there is the “hot muggy day” rain. That rain at the peak of summer during the week when all the heat records going back to 1892, when records were first kept, were broken. That day of deliverance, when every leaf, stem and root’s prayer was heard and the parched earth finally received its long awaited respite. Those are the days that I want to sprint out of my house and dance around with my hands lifted up towards the heavens in thanks (yep, that crazy person you saw was me!). Those are the days I want to call all my friends for an impromptu game of soccer and get everything covered in mud. Those are the days that I simply want to lie down in the grass taking it all in, until you can’t tell where water starts and little boy ends.
But my absolute favorite rain is that “dark peaceful Sunday afternoon” rain. That rain where you don’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon and you never bother leaving the house or doing anything productive whatsoever. That rain where all you want to do is spend the day on the couch with somebody you love, an enormous old quilted blanket, a bag of popcorn, and a stack of classic movies in black and white.
- Carlos de la Gringa
A pile of romance novels from the 80s lies in front of me. Suddenly I’m flooded with memories of high school: our PE instructor hiding whatever she was reading when the guys would arrive for gym class and female classmates blushing and laughing while they read books together in closed circles during recess. I remember, as a young boy at the beach, seeing a topless lady reading that same “impossible love crap”, relaxing with her sunglasses on and a cigarette in her mouth. And then I understand what this big pile of trashy books is trying to telling me.
I should write pornography for women!
I can copy some shit here, paste some shit there. Our hero, Armando Mendoza, is a sensitive Spanish gentleman, romantic but strong, sure of what he wants. He is the type of guy that seems almost plausible but yet impossible to find in real life. One day Armando runs into Anita, who never has met a man like Armando before. She is awkward and insecure, but Armando gives her everything she has ever dreamed. A few sex scenes: everything soft. All psychological introspection and sensations and bla bla bla. And here we are. That’s some good shit. I could even turn it into a trilogy. No, wait! An entire series!
I’ll become a national bestseller. I’ll be in every girl’s bedroom! Waiting under the pillow to be read! A good friend, always willing to help in those private moments in the bathtub, somebody who will never let you down. I can see it now. Easy money and fame. And lots of free time. Screw it, I’m going to become a romantic novel writer! Why should I work my ass off and suck up to everyone, only to get fucked over by somebody higher up?
Fuck everything, screw everybody: from now on, Simone la Cuercha is a freelance writer of cheeky sensational romance novels!
- Simone la Cuercha
-Ed. Let us know what your favorite romance novel is in the comment’s section below. We won’t tell!