[dropcap type=”square or circle”] W[/dropcap]hen did you first start reading romance? I was asked this question twice last week. I thought about it a lot, especially on my way to a romance pilgrimage with my critique partners Cate Tayler and Laralyn Gill. We attended the author signing at Turn the Page Bookstore. Did I mention it was 15 degrees? Yet, the line, of women and men, reached the end of the block, turned the corner, and kept growing.
What possessed us all to brave freezing weather is simple and complicated. It’s also the answer to my original question. Part of it is the opportunity to stand in front of your favorite author and say: Thank you for the hours you book took me on a ride away from the everyday, sadness, and heartbreak. It’s also:
The Call of Romance.
My call came at age 15. Returning a friend’s copy of Sweet Valley High to the library, I stumbled into the section filled with 
Life would never be the same after that. I read my way through historicals, paranormals, contemporaries, and suspense.
You can’t ignore the call; it’s stronger than gravity. It will hold you to a chair, a couch, a bed for hours caught-up in stories that will make you laugh, cry and sometimes want to bust a cap on the villain.
The Romance siren—with its feminist views that a woman deserves to be put first—calls people of different ages, races, color, and languages. It makes us believe …
My goddaughter, a toddler, picks a Nora Roberts book every day from the shelf and brings it to her mom. They sit in bed and her mom reads to her (Not the sexy or violent parts … just to be clear). Sometimes she brings one for her dad and the three of them sit in bed, cuddled up with Nora. Doesn’t that sound like the sweetest epilogue you’ve ever read? The call came way early for Ysabel.
What about you? When did you hear the call?