Join us in welcoming author Morgan Wyatt to Word Wranglers today.

We love the woman who is inept in the romance department. Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock, and even Meg Ryan, made major bucks playing girls who can’t get a date, or keep a man, or pick the loser every time. Books that feature a blurb on the back about some heroine or clever title indicating the heroine is a bad date magnet sell much better than Her Highness’ Royal Lover.

Not a real book, btw, but, please isn’t it enough she is already a royal. How sorry is a reader going to feel for a princess. Who has doubts that a princess can get her pick of men? The only way women might be vaguely interested in this is if it included singing animals and a wicked stepmother who is trying to kill off the royal princess. Oh, and the interested female needs to be under ten. American girls tend to view themselves as Disneyesque princesses thanks to the wonderful world of marketing.

We grow up and learn by the age of thirteen, that mice don’t make party dresses and princes don’t come to our door. Often boys ignore us in pursuit of Candi, the cheerleader, who later becomes Bette, the office bombshell. Through a series of bad dates and failed relationships, we come to the conclusion that most men have never watched a romantic comedy in their lives or they’d know how to behave better. That’s why we like books that reflect that aspect of our lives.

We, of the bad date sisterhood, enjoy our troubled heroines because they touch a responsive chord. They know they’d had some questionable relationships, yet hope for better. Don’t we all? Our heroine revives our hopes by finding the right guy and the happily ever after.

Peter Todd, in recent article in WIRED magazine used statistics to prove that people can find the right person after twelve wrong people. My fiancé sat down and did the math to test Todd’s theory. As an engineer, he’d made a spread sheet of the women he dated. I am not kidding about the spread sheet. I am lucky thirteen. I will admit to feeling lucky to have found him. My not so scientific approach was to try to remember. I was unsure if I should count the popular, funny guy I went out with twice in high school and dropped for his shy, socially awkward best friend. If I didn’t count him that meant my sweetie was thirteen! Should we have heroines rushing through men to get to the thirteenth one? Probably not, in a few years, someone will tell us, the lucky number always was nine, and she has the data to prove it.

All we really want is a romance-challenged heroine who finds love. I have several, but let me introduce you to Deidre from CUB IN BLUE who decides to take an abrupt turn form her dates with middle-aged men who whine about their lives to Curt, a young cop wounded in the line of duty.

EXCERPT

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she noticed a man staring at her intently. She slipped off her glasses, thinking it would make her look more attractive. It might be him. A square set to his shoulders, short military-style haircut, and he appeared to be walking in a direct line to her. Could be. She flashed a smile, a calculated smile meant to dazzle with perfect orthodontic work and promise. He stopped suddenly as if hit in the solar plexus.

“Deidre?”

Turning slightly, she allowed one long leg to stretch out and make contact with the floor before speaking. Falling off the barstool might not make the best first impression. “Curt?” Dare she hope this toned male with the almost crew cut was her man.

“Ah, it is you.” Curt grinned, taking her hand and helping her alight from the barstool. Nodding in the direction of her glass, he asked, “Is that your drink?” At her agreement, he picked up the glass and led her to a table.

Deidre shot a quick glance back at the bartender who shrugged his shoulders. Probably meant no key lime pie for her. Oh well, she didn’t come for the pie.
Putting her drink on the booth table, Curt leaned over and gave her a brief hug and kiss on the hair. Wow. Surprised, Deidre plopped down on the vinyl seat, causing it to make an embarrassing hissing noise. “It’s the seat,” she explained, sorry she said anything once the words came out. Can we say sophisticated older woman image up in flames?

“I know.” Curt acknowledged her remark, sliding in opposite her. A server showed up, handed them menus, and took Curt’s beer order.

The conversational ball was back to her. Argh. Her mind kept yelling “yummy,” but not a great way to start a conversation, or was it? “Curt, I couldn’t help noticing you are even cuter than your photo. Now why is it you like older women?”

His eyes lit up as he picked up Deidre’s hand and bestowed a kiss on it. “That’s one of the reasons I like older women, they cut to the chase, say what they mean.”

“Oh.” Did she do that? If she did, it wasn’t intentional.

The server brought Curt his beer and inquired if they’d like to order anything from the menu. The deal was you really needed to order food if you wanted to prolong your time together. Suddenly, she knew she wanted to extend her time. So far, she’d had more physical contact with Curt in the last four minutes than all her dates with Kevin combined, and she liked it. A lot.

Want to read more, one lucky commenter will receive a free ebook. The rest can visit:
http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=5&products_id=238, or Amazon, or my website: www.morgankwyatt.com

How many are now mentally counting the also rans to decide if you are now in your lucky thirteen relationship?