With Valentine’s Day coming up, I’ve come to the realization that I’m not very a good a romantic comedy writer.

I mean, I thought I was. (Or I’m trying to be, at least. Points for effort?) Two people meet. They clash at first, but wacky circumstances! A little kissing happens (but no sex; my mother-in-law, who is also an ordained minister, insists on reading all my books, so…no). (Possibly someday, if me and my husband are ever forced to flee to the country and change our names, maybe. I’ll keep you posted.) Funny stuff happens. They overcome obstacles and end up together. Romantic comedy, right?

The main problem is that I am not a romantic person. Like, at all. At least not in the traditional sense. The standard writing advice is “write what you know.” Sounds good, right? Unfortunately, that pretty much just leaves me with Cheers re-runs and hour-long discussions on whether or not the Pacmans had a good marriage. Flowers are not a recognized gift in our house. To me, flowers just say, “As a token of my love, here’s something you can watch slowly die!” (Also, handbags last for forever. Just saying.) My marriage is definitely more beer and pizza than champagne and chocolates. It also doesn’t help that I basically proposed to myself. Half-way through his speech, I blurted out, “Are you asking me to marry you? Omg, yes!” (To this day, I’m still kind of expecting him to sit me down and set me straight.)

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t write the steamiest scenes. I struggle with building romantic tension. Fun, flirty banter, I could write all day, but it takes more to tell the story of how two people fall in love. But I’ve never really experienced the angsty, will-they-won’t-they aspect of dating. I’ve always been pretty upfront with what I wanted and what I was comfortable with, and if I didn’t get that from a date or boyfriend, I had no problem moving on. Personally, I’m okay with that, but it didn’t make for a lot of dating experience to draw from. My husband and I share the same dry, sarcastic humor, so our idea of flirting is ripping on each other. (We have a strict “burn first, apologize later” policy. If we set each other up for the joke, that’s on us.)

So, what makes an admittedly unromantic person write romance comedies? I think romance can be found in the mundane, everyday interactions. To this day, the one of the best present he’s ever given me is a black and pink-quilled cactus that matched our couch perfectly. For the last fourteen years, we’ve cooked brunch together every Sunday. He gets up early to let the dogs out in the morning when he knows I was up late writing. He learned how to poach an egg because that’s how I eat them. When he travels, he makes sure to set aside time for us to talk every night. He keeps an eye out for Nancy Drew books I might need for my collection whenever he’s in a thrift shop or antique store. Going out in public with us is a nightmare because of all the private games and inside jokes. He lets me watch Harry Potter when I’m sick, even though he hates those movies.

Maybe that doesn’t sound like much, but I’d rather have a thousand small instances of affection and friendship than a handful of grand gestures. So, I write what I know.

And then throw in some aliens.

You know, just to keep things interesting.