“Romance novels, rom-coms, non-tragic love stories—they all run on a blissful sense that we’re moving toward something better. Percentage-wise, the majority of clues writers drop in romance novels don’t give you things to dread. They give you things to look forward to.

This, right here—more than anything else—is why people love them. The banter, the kissing, the tropes, even the spice … that’s all just extra.
It’s the structure—that “predictable” structure—that does it. Anticipating that you’re heading toward a happy ending lets you relax and look forward to better things ahead. And there’s a name for what you’re feeling when you do that.

Hope.

Sometimes I see people grasping for a better word than predictable to describe a romance. They’ll say, ‘It was predictable—but in a good way.’

I see what they’re going for. But I’m not sure it needs pointing out that over the course of a love story … people fell in love. I mean: Of course they did! I don’t think it’s possible to write a love story where the leads getting together at the end is a surprise. And even if it were, why would you want to? The anticipation—the blissful, delicious, oxytocin-laden, yearning-infused, building sense of anticipation—is the point. It’s the cocktail of emotions we all came there to feel.

I propose we stop using the hopelessly negative word predictable to talk about love stories and start using anticipation. As in: 'This love story really created a fantastic feeling of anticipation.'

Structurally, thematically, psychologically—love stories create hope and then use it as fuel. Two people meet—and then, over the course of three hundred pages, they move from alone to together. From closed to open. From judgy to understanding. From cruel to compassionate. From needy to fulfilled. From ignored to seen. From misunderstood to appreciated. From lost to found. Predictably.

That’s not a mistake. That’s a guarantee of the genre: Things will get better. And you, the reader, get to be there for it.

It’s a gift the love story gives you.”