Page 23 of Guys Can't Write Romance
His story had a certain vitality to it, an energy that leaped off the page despite (or perhaps because of) its more outlandish elements. The characters spoke like real people, with distinct voices and believable motivations; that is, when they weren’t being chased by monsters.
The trouble for Daisy was, that given their newly instituted peace treaty, she wasn’t sure how to break the news to him that he was trying to adapt one of his horror stories into a romantic comedy. The slime monster was still terrifying the female lead more than seducing her, and the romantic tension came from fear rather than attraction. How does one tell a horror writer that his story needed less blood and more butterflies?
To her surprise, Chad did the same, actually offering constructive suggestions for her characters that didn’t have them getting eaten by zombies or possessed by ancient curses. He pointed out places where her dialogue felt stiff, where her male lead seemed more like a collection of resume points than a person, and where the conflicts could be heightened for greater emotional impact.
The trouble for Chad, was dancing around the fact that her characters were still dull cardboard cutouts. The male lead, in particular, seemed like he’d been assembled from a ‘Boring But Reliable Love Interest’ kit, with all the personality of dry toast. How did one tell a meticulous planner that her carefully constructed romantic hero needed to occasionally do something unpredictable or, heaven forbid, interesting?
They were both navigating this delicate balance, trying to be helpful without reigniting their previous hostilities, when the front door burst open.
“Yo, Chad!” Rhino called out as he came in the door, dressed in a sweat-stained tank top and carrying a protein shake in a blender bottle that had seen better days. “You’re never gonna believe what happened at the gym. This smoking-hot yoga instructor—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Daisy, his expression shifting rapidly from excitement to confusion to a poor attempt at composure. “Oh. You must be the neurotic girl Chad’s writing with.”
From the corner of her eye, Daisy saw Chad frantically waving behind her back, making slashing motions across his throat, while mouthing ‘Shut Up’.
“I mean... the very organized... uh... writer person...” Rhino trailed off, looking helplessly at Chad. “The one with the color-coded Post-Its? Not that that’s weird or anything. Organization is cool. Very cool. I organize my protein powders by flavor.”
“No, please,” Daisy said sweetly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she turned back to Chad. “Tell me more about what Chad’s been saying about me. Does he mention how I alphabetize my spice rack? Or maybe how I coordinate my closet by color?”
“Uhm... no comment?” Rhino said, looking increasingly uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Chad jumped up with the sudden energy of someone who’s just realized the building is on fire. “Hey, would you look at the time? We should probably wrap this up. Don’t you have to go organize your sock drawer or something?”
“But I want to hear about my neurotic tendencies,” Daisy said, enjoying Chad’s discomfort far too much. There was something deliciously satisfying about watching him squirm. “Especially from someone who apparently can’t tell the difference between a hamper and the floor.”
“Can we take a rain check on it?” Chad asked hopefully, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and pleading. “I promise to lock the door next time. Maybe even clean up a little.”
“Oh, we’re definitely picking this up next time,” Daisy said as she packed up her laptop, making sure each compartment in her bag was properly zipped up. She stood, smoothing her blouse with one hand, and turned to Rhino. “It was... interesting meeting you. By the way, your protein shake is leaking.”
Rhino looked down in panic at the dripping bottle, giving Daisy the perfect opportunity to make her exit. As she left, she heard their conversation through the door.
“Dude, I am so sorry,” Rhino said, his voice carrying easily through the door. “You should have texted me that she was here.”
“Bro, you have no idea how dead I am.” Chad’s voice carried through the door. “We just called a truce like an hour ago.”
“But she’s kind of cool, right? In a scary, organized way?”
“Shut up, Rhino.”
“You survived,” Chloe said, her voice carrying from the living room as Daisy closed the apartment door behind her. Chloe sat perched on a stool by the window, mid-paintbrush stroke on a ceramic mug, surrounded by her usual creative chaos of paints, brushes, and half-finished projects. “How was the apartment of doom? Do you need a tetanus shot? Decontamination shower? Therapy session?”
Daisy plopped onto the couch. “Probably. And calling it an ‘apartment’ is a stretch. It’s more like a hodgepodge of terrible life decisions condensed into 800 square feet.”
From her perch across the room, Chloe grinned as she finished her paint stroke on the ceramic mug, adding it to a collection of similar pieces drying on the windowsill. “Details, please. I need a vicarious adventure through someone else’s chaos.”
Daisy took a deep breath, as if preparing to recount a harrowing survival story. “Okay. Imagine a frat house and a hurricane got together and had a kid. That would be Chad’s apartment.”
“Sounds like a war crime.”
“That’s being generous.”
“Was there at least a bathroom, or do they just go off the balcony?” Chloe asked, eyes dancing with amusement.
“I was afraid to check.”
Chloe abandoned her painting project entirely, spinning on her stool to fully appreciate Daisy’s tale of suburban horror. “How about the writing? Did you get anything done, or did you spend the whole time cataloging health code violations?”
Daisy let out a long breath. “Maybe a little.”
