I told someone at a pub once that I write dark romance and she looked genuinely disturbed.
"Like…the violent kind?"
And I sat there for a second trying to figure out how to explain that yes, sometimes, but also no, not really, and also it's complicated, and also can we talk about literally anything else now please.
I didn't used to have a good answer for that question. I have one now. It took me a while to get here.
What I used to think dark romance meant
When I first started reading in this genre, I thought dark romance was bodice rippers 2.0. More obsession, more violence, more morally questionable men doing morally questionable things to women who loved them anyway. I thought it was the genre equivalent of a horror movie. You go in knowing it's going to mess with you a little and that's the appeal.
And sure, that's part of it. But the longer I read, and then the longer I wrote, the more I realised that's not actually what's happening on the page, or at least not the interesting part of what's happening.
Dark romance isn't really about how dark the hero is. It's about how much someone is willing to risk to be loved properly, even when properly looks nothing like what anyone else would call healthy.
The thing I had to get over
Here's what actually embarrassed me, if I'm honest. It wasn't the content. I've never been precious about violence or possessiveness or any of the more extreme stuff that shows up in this genre.
What embarrassed me was admitting I found it romantic.
Worse, was admitting it turned me on.
That it helped me find my own sexual freedom.
That it taught me to ask for what I want, always, while respecting the boundaries of those around me.
There's a difference between reading something dark and being moved by it. The first one is just consumption. The second one means some part of you recognises the longing underneath it, the part where the hero burns down half a kingdom because he can't fathom existing in a world where she doesn't love him back. And admitting you find that romantic, rather than just narratively interesting, feels like admitting something about your own wiring that you didn't necessarily want to look at directly.
I spent a long time pretending I was above it. That I just liked dark romance for the craft, the tension, the world-building. Very intellectual. Very above-it-all.
That was a lie I told myself for years, and it made my early drafts worse, because I kept softening the parts I actually wanted to write. I'd write the obsessive hero and then immediately have him apologise for being obsessive. I'd write the morally grey choice and then spend a paragraph making sure the reader knew I, personally, did not endorse it.
Even the other day, I released a book, then went back and removed the scene with non-con, then went back a week later and put it back in (sorry to the buyers that got the sanitised version…I did send a newsletter offering the proper one!)
Nobody wants a disclaimer in the middle of their romance novel. I had to stop writing like a legal team was reviewing my drafts.
Why the genre works
I think dark romance gets dismissed a lot, by people outside it, as a genre for readers who can't tell fiction from reality, like wanting to read about a possessive, dangerous love interest means you'd want one in your actual life. I find this a strange critique, mostly because nobody says it about literally any other genre. Nobody assumes thriller readers want to be stalked. Nobody assumes horror readers want to be murdered. But suggest a woman enjoys reading about obsessive love and suddenly there's concern for her wellbeing.
What's actually happening, I think, is that dark romance gives you access to feelings that are completely unreasonable to have in real life. The desire to be wanted that badly. The desire for someone to choose you over every rule, every kingdom, every reasonable argument against it. These are enormous, slightly unhinged desires, and most of us have them somewhere, and most of us will never get to act on them, because acting on them in real life tends to end in restraining orders rather than happily ever afters.
I also feel it gives you a space to relive experiences in a safe area and unpack how you truly feel about them…what fits in a nice way and what crossed your boundaries, ultimately giving you the space to retroactively realise when your boundaries were, in fact, crossed, but that's another essay.
Fiction is where desire gets to live safely. The hero can burn down the kingdom on the page. Nobody has to actually evacuate.
What changed when I stopped apologising
Once I let myself write without the disclaimers, the actual book got better. And weirdly, I think I've been able to write a much more honest romance, because the tension wasn't coming from within me trying to sanitise myself.
That's the version of dark romance I actually believe in: choice, with full knowledge of what's being chosen.
So now when someone asks me what I write, I just tell them. Dark fantasy romance. And if they make the face, I let them make the face. I've made my peace with it. I'd rather write the book that scares me a little than the one that's safe enough to explain to strangers.
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