Writing
Writing Romance as an Aromantic Writer
Sailor Moon and How Portraying Love and Romance Is Complicated
I’m fascinated by romance. I have been since I first watched Sailor Moon as a kid. Watching Usagi and Mamoru (or as they were known then, Serena and Darien) fighting to protect each other and, at times, even sacrificing themselves because of the intensity of their love, I was in awe. Unlike the Disney movies I’d seen before, where “love” and “romance” weren’t really explored beyond a cog to keep the plot moving, Sailor Moon showed me what love was: a desire for another person and a need for them to always be nearby, but also a willingness to fight and even die for their beloved’s life and happiness. That love set a high bar for me and would influence the romantic subplots I would include in the stories I would later write.
It would be several years before I realized that while I loved the idea of romance and loved writing it, I had no desire to experience it personally. I was, and still am, aromantic.
If you’re unfamiliar, aromantic people, or aro for short, are people who do not desire or experience romantic love or attraction. Some of us are also asexual and have no interest in sex, though not always (I myself am bisexual). And no, this cannot be changed by just trying to fall in love or “meeting the right person.” Aromanticism is as genetic as hair color, eye color, or sexuality. Even if I could change it by finding “the right person,” there’s seven billion people on the planet. That’s way too much work! I have a better chance of winning the lottery.
That being said, there are aromantic people who do have long-term relationships that resemble romantic ones. The couples care for one another, enjoy each other’s presence, and do a lot of normal couple things. But they may not have sex, feel the need for romantic gestures, or have the emotional intimacy that a romantic couple would display or need. It’s not for every aro person, but there are people like that out there.
And guess what? You do sometimes see characters and couples like this in our media. In The Owl House, supporting character Lilith is confirmed aromantic and asexual, though she becomes very close to her sister’s house demon Hooty. In Japan, a TV miniseries called Koisenu Futari, or “A Couple Without Falling in Love,” followed a pair of aromantic, asexual teens in a relationship. And last year, Marvel’s character Gwenpool (basically Gwen Stacy meets Deadpool), realized she was asexual and aromantic while in a brief relationship with Julie Powers.
Now, returning to the main subject of this article — writing romance as an aromantic writer — let me be clear: I am not a romance writer. I am a horror writer. Ghosts, monsters, serial killers, and malevolent entities that prey on humanity? That’s my thing. But I enjoy putting in a romantic subplot or strong romance element to the stories I write. This can be seen the most in my Victorian Gothic horror novel The Pure World Comes, about a maid who goes to work at the home of a mad scientist. In between terrifying manifestations of monster hands in the bathroom and Jack the Ripper in the library, several pages are devoted to the budding attraction between the main character, Shirley Dobbins, and Griffin Avondale, the nephew of Shirley’s master.
Now, you may be wondering how someone who cannot feel romantic love and has no desire to be in such a relationship can write those plots and subplots. Well, it helps that, unlike other aro people out there, I can at least understand romance from an intellectual standpoint. For others like me, even a theoretical view of romance is a bewildering one. But even with that advantage, I still don’t have any personal experience and am unlikely to seek it out any time soon. And I can’t exactly follow my friends or family around and study their interactions. I don’t want to be charged for a crime.
So, how do I learn about romance, let alone portraying it in my stories? The same way any writer learns about a subject they are unfamiliar with or unlikely to experience themselves: lots and lots of research. And, for better or for worse, there is a plethora of material to use for research. The romance industry is a billion-dollar-a-year industry, with tens of thousands of new titles released every year. And outside of the romance genre, books, movies, comics, TV shows, music, manga, plays, and art often have romantic subplots that help carry the main stories and keep audiences interested.
Through this glut of materials, I have been able to learn not only the tropes of romance but also what counts as a good or bad portrayal and how to recognize them. For example, I’ve come to reexamine my beloved Sailor Moon and realize that as much as I idolize the love affair of Usagi and Mamoru, it’s pretty messed up in some areas. Depending on the adaptation, Mamoru is a lot older than Usagi, which makes it kind of creepy, and Usagi is kind of possessive when it comes to her man. Even her own friends or their future daughter aren’t immune from her ire if she thinks they’re getting too close to him. It’s played for comedy, but still, Usagi, chill out!
It’s also made me realize that a lot of famous “love stories” — Romeo and Juliet, Cosette and Marius Pontmercy, Cinderella and her Prince Charming, etc. — are based on love at first sight. This has led to a further realization that these characters aren’t in love or in a romance: they’re feeling a crush or initial sexual attraction. And while that’s good enough for fairy tales or for formats where the main romance must be established quickly, like ballets, it’s something that I’ve come to realize doesn’t usually work in real life. And it’s not something I like writing into my stories, even though I write about much more unbelievable things every day.
And finally, and maybe it’s because I’m aro, and outside that experience, I’ve come to realize how much emphasis many people put on finding and staying with a romantic partner, sometimes to their own detriment. I read advice columns every day, and many letters come from people, men and women, who are wondering how to fix a relationship that doesn’t seem to benefit them in any way, but they love their partner, or the latter makes them feel good, or they don’t want to leave for one reason or another. It makes me realize that, while I can’t feel that sort of love and attachment, I can sympathize with how difficult their situation is and how there are many reasons for any one person to be in these relationships. Even if doing so might not be in their or their partner’s best interests.
All this has helped me come to some important conclusion about romance and its fictional counterparts: love and romance are complicated. They require hard work, constant communication, and are never perfect. Love at first sight is popular but unrealistic and is more likely a sign you want to sleep with someone rather than spend the rest of your life with them. Also, portrayals of love should more often portray important factors such as partners being on the same page about work, finances, children, and all the other things that are not incidental or can’t be compartmentalized in life. Not just how passionate they are for one another or how long that fluttery feeling in your chest lasts.
And perhaps we can do more to portray romances dying. Not because of lack of passion, but for all the normal reasons. Differing life goals, disagreements that can’t be resolved, even the darker things that normally aren’t talked about. That should be portrayed, too.
This is how I, as an aro writer, approach romance in my work. Granted, how well I do this will vary from story to story, and my experience is different from other aro writers. And, in the future, I do want to write more characters who are openly aro like myself. Maybe even ones who are in relationships with partners who, if not also aro, are at least understanding and accepting of an aro partner. More likely, I would like to write characters who are happy as they are and don’t feel the pressure to change or lie to themselves.
Still, I know one thing for sure: when I’m writing a romantic subplot, I want my readers to look at my characters and have the same reaction I had as a child to Usagi and Mamoru on Sailor Moon. I want them to think, “Now, this is how you portray romance.”
Interstellar Flight Magazine publishes essays on what’s new in the world of speculative genres. In the words of Ursula K. Le Guin, we need “writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope.” Visit our Patreon to join our fan community on Discord. Follow us on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.
