If Music Be the Food of Love
Shakespeare knew what he was writing about in “Twelfth Night” when he wrote those words. Music is an important component of all emotions, for me, but particularly of love. Even in a movie theater or concert hall—think of how the score of a movie enhances what an unfolding love scene. What about the wave of emotion that washes over you when you hear a pianist play a Chopin nocturne or a singer deliver the lyrics of a Gershwin song?
It works in writing, too. Especially for a romance novelist like me. Music sets the stage for scenes in my stories, often defines my characters and puts me in the mood when I’m writing. For each of the four books I’ve had published, I have a playlist which I develop as I fill in the backgrounds and personalities of my characters. I listen to it when I’m writing about them. I mention at least part of it someplace in my book. It’s often a shorthand way of telling the reader something out of the ordinary about the character—a cop who likes classical music—or it confirms who the character is—a slightly outrageous gallery owner who loves a majorly outrageous singer.
In my latest release, “Trusting Again,” I use music to subtly define the differences between my hero and heroine. Cynthia, who has never been outside her home state of Washington, loves hometown Seattle groups. Marius, a Cuban-American coffee broker who travels the Americas for his job, loves Latin music, a nod to both his heritage and his travels. On the first day of their romantic vacation in the San Juan Islands, Cynthia plays her Death Cab for Cutie CDs in Marius’ car. On the last night before he leaves on a long business trip, he tangos her into bed.
But maybe you’d rather read an excerpt:
She raised her arms over her head and began to deliberately rotate her hips in time to the sultry music that was playing. When she saw the desire spark in his eyes, she slid her hands down her sides, then up under her breasts. “Come closer, lover,” she said in the same husky voice. “Watch me dance for you.”
He took two steps toward her, grabbed her around her waist and said, “I’d rather dance with you than watch, mi amor,” and slowly, tantalizingly, moved her, one sensual dance move at a time, around the room and then toward his bed. She put her head back and he dipped her so she almost touched the floor, holding her there as he kissed and licked his way from between her breasts to the hollow at the base of her neck.
Why, she thought, did she trust him not to drop her when they were dancing when she had such a hard time believing he cared enough about her to return to her after his trip? Was physical trust so much easier than emotional trust?
What’s the music on your playlist for romance?
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