Amnesia. Mistaken identity. Marriage of convenience. Accidental pregnancy. These are all classic romance tropes. At the moment I’m in the middle of my own romance trope.
Well, sort of.
I’m in a cabin in Yosemite National Park and snowed in. And the furnace isn’t working, which means that the only means of heating the entire house is the pot belly stove in the living room. I’m wearing my parka and boots and the only reason I don’t have my gloves on is so I can type this.
The Snowed In trope. Sibling of the Stranded On a Tropical Island Trope. And the second cousin to the Stuck In An Elevator trope.
The pot belly fire is taking a while to get going. The thermostat says 44 degrees. Fahrenheit. And I’m not sure I want to translate that to Celsius. The management of the cabin should be bringing some electric heaters soon, but the road was only just drivable when we arrived three hours ago and it has been snowing heavily ever since. And it’s now dark. Staying here in the cold is still preferable to getting back into the car and going anywhere.
I also did that City Girl Goes To The Snow And Wears Inappropriate Shoes Thing too, but it wasn’t cute. It was wet. And it hurt when I fell (I’m from Canberra, I’m wearing solid boots, but the grip on the sole has worn away just a bit too much and wasn’t up to the challenges of black ice).
I am here with my own hero – my wonderful husband. So far so wonderful. But our two kids are also here.
And my parents. And if the portable heaters don’t arrive it looks like we’ll all be hunkering down in the living room by the fire as the rest of of the house is too freezing to inhabit.
I’m not exactly living a romantic dream. We are all being very polite and trying to keep spirits up but the kids have been in the car all day and are exhausted. Oh and the satellite television isn’t working. Mr Lewis is getting twitchy from internet deprivation. And so is my father, though he doesn’t dare complain as this trip was his idea.
The DVD selection is dire. My mother and I think the book selection is pretty good, though she did rip the Kate Morton out of my freezing hands. The pair of us would be happy but Patricia Cornwell isn’t going to keep my five year amused.
So basically, I’m in the middle of a romance trope gone bad.
(So this post has nothing to do with any of my books. They feature a secret royalty/mistaken identity trope, a boss’s daughter/from different worlds trope, and my latest release features and older woman – younger man trope).
What’s your favourite romance trope?