Been sitting at the hospital a lot with my dad, and it's given us a lot of time to reminisce. One of my very first encounters with romance was actually in my dad's westerns. He read an author named Zane Grey, who wrote about miners and cowboys and rangers, always with tortured secrets and a beautiful love interest. They were like little John Wayne movies, like Roy Rogers encapsulated into a little play that you could read instead of having to rent or wait for AMC to show. They always had a happy ending, a kiss or two, a little heaving bosom at the end.
Even back then, I was pissed off with a less than happy ending.
Talking with dad made me want to write a historical for the first time in years. Maybe a menage, so I can have a heaving bosom...
Happy Sunday, y'all