So, I had this dream last night. I was whisked away from a comfortable seaside home and was en route to a brooding boarding school on a high, heathery hill with endless curving switchbacks. (I remember, because I was driving.) In the backseat: a brooding, gorgeous, dark-haired boy. Just the kind of boy you’d expect to see in a YA novel where the protagonist doesn’t know whether to hate him or swoon over him. He may have even had hints of a paranormal past. As we drove to the brooding boarding school where plot was likely to happen, I remember him talking to me in this low, intense voice. Can’t remember the words, sorry.
After I woke up, I sat down and pounded out the first chapter of a thrilling new YA paranormal romance. Just kidding. What I really came away with was the feeling that this guy was an absolute douche-bag. All his brooding and inability to express his tormented emotions resulted in him being really annoying. I was driving to the boarding school to get away from him, actually, but he insisted on following me, obsessed with his love for me. I guess it was love. It wasn’t obvious, beneath all the brooding.
Funnily enough, there was a little follow-up scene about the boarding school. The teacher was reading something in French and butchered the pronunciation. I raised my hand to offer a better reading, but Mr. Brooding cut me off, proved his mastery of French, and flashed me a smoldering smile. That was it. Any chance for a fictional romance was off. In dreams, as in real life, I’m revolted by chauvinism.
Now, the moral of this story. I’ve heard many explanations for why we like to read about romances where the girl picks the exciting, brooding guy over the boring, nice guy. Why settle for safe, he’s-my-best-friend love when there’s the optional of unpredictable, even dangerous, passion? Even I am guilty of writing stories where the girl snubs Mr. Next Door for the smexy mysterious stranger. But my dream last night unpleasantly reminded me that mysterious strangers often have a tendency to become nasty. When the smoldering wears off, there’s not going to be any fun walks through the neighborhood or dishes done in companionable silence. Mr. Brooding is too busy with his own weird hang ups.
I know, I know, romance novels are most definitely not real life. We make much better romantic choices in real life. Usually. Though I have known friends who did actually pursue the brooding guy, and now talk about their relationships in uncertain, bittersweet words. Even sadder, other friends have talked about getting together with guys who seemed darkly exciting, only to later escape an abusive relationship. I seriously think there are many YA novels out there today where the obsessive passion and weird manipulative behavior depict nothing more than unhealthy, harmful so-called romances.
It’s rather icky, to say the least. Why, then, can we not have our fictional girls go for the nice guys?










