Guest post written by author Suzanne Ewart
After completing her degree with the Open University, Suzanne Ewart taught English to secondary school children in Greater Manchester before writing her first novel. In 2019 she won the eHarmony/Trapeze books Write Your Own Love Story competition. She lives in Warrington with her husband and two children. One Month of You is out now.
Romeo and Juliet, Rachel and Ross, George and Amal. When we look at the great love stories through the ages, whether they are tragic or sweet or painfully perfect, the one thing they all have in common is romance. We’re talking about can’t-live-without-the-other, pheromones-flying-all-over-the-place, twinned-souls romance. These are the stories we’re taught in schools, spend hours following on TV in the hope of a happy ending and pore over in magazines. It’s romantic stories we seek, romantic stories we return to again and again. The really good ones drive us to find our own stories in real life. Who doesn’t want their own version of George Clooney bringing them a Nespresso in bed every morning?
I look for romance everywhere. In films (even if it’s a sci-fi about the apocalypse), on social media (even if it’s people I don’t really know) and always, always in literature. It’s why I’ve long dreamt about writing a love story of my own. I got the chance a few years ago when I won a competition in the UK called #WriteYourOwnLoveStory and the prize was publication. I was getting to write a novel – a novel which people were actually going to read – and I had a plan. I was going to write a romance in the traditional sense of the word – two characters with great chemistry who learn they are meant to be together.
But from the moment I began, a funny thing happened.
In wanting to give a full portrayal of my main character, Jess, other love stories started to creep onto the page. There was Jess’ love story with her Mum, which unlike the romantic love story about to begin was approaching an ending, as Jess’ mum reached the final stages of Huntington’s disease. There was the love story between Jess and her mum’s carer, the love story between Jess and her friend, even the love story between Jess and her co-workers. Much as I tried to centre the love story around romance, my story had other ideas. I tried not to listen at first, but it kept telling me that a love story doesn’t need to be synonymous with romantic love and that I needed to broaden my definition. Whole chapters sprung up that weren’t about romance at all. They were nowhere to be seen in my meticulously detailed notes about what this story was about, but they demanded to be written.
It’s the job of a romance writer to show that romantic love is precious, and it is rare. For every Victoria Beckham, who has found her David, every Justin who has his Hailey, there are many thousands who haven’t. The connections we find in Jane Austen and Emily Henry come along once in a lifetime. In One Month of You, I wanted to show that, too. I wanted my romantic lead to be the kind of person you dream your whole life of finding. I wanted my heroine, Jess, to be lucky enough to meet him.
But when we shift our focus away from romantic love, it turns out that love stories aren’t that rare at all. In real life, it takes no time to stumble across a love story of some sort. It might be between a parent and child, siblings, cousins, friends, neighbours, colleagues. Going into a coffee shop, sure, there might be a couple or two looking longingly at each other or exchanging a kiss over their steaming macchiatos, but there will be other love stories playing out all around too. These might not be the love stories that are celebrated or dreamt about, most of them happen without us giving much consideration to them at all, but they are there, quietly taking place.
These were the stories that found themselves weaving in amongst the dates and first kisses and lustful flirting I’d meant to focus on. Yes, I wanted that big romantic and emotional pay off at the end of the story I was writing. I wanted my happy ending, but my story kept asking me if there could be more. Why not celebrate the love between Jess and her Mum, too? Why not have the support Jess’ colleagues offer her when she needs it be one of the most beautiful moments in the book? In the end, I gave up on my original notions of what I was trying to write. Instead of one love story, I wrote several, all existing alongside each other, all given the spotlight and celebrated in their own way, and I like to think my novel is all the better for it.
I’ll always be a romantic, but now, when I’m seeking out great love stories, looking for glimpses of magic in everyday life, I don’t just look at the couple in the corner of the coffee shop. I look all around me, and I find them everywhere.
