Task 36: A Valentine's Day Challenge

There can be few genres as badly done as ROMANCE. Bookshop shelves are strewn with dire, cloying, unoriginal attempts at expressing on the page that most mysterious and inexpressible of emotions: love.

I defy you to find many examples of romantic fiction which aren't overladen with cliches. Furthermore, in all my years of teaching, there is no genre I have seen attempted as badly in reams and reams of KS3 and GCSE coursework as the good old love story.

But Valentine's Day has come and gone, and I thought it churlish not to give you all a stab at proving all my cynicism wrong. Perhaps it is still possible to write convincing, believable and original romantic prose. Perhaps romantic fiction does not need to be so weighed down with sickly-saccharine sentiment that the reader is more likely to choke. Perhaps your attempts at ROMANCE will possess all the qualities a good wordvoodoo submission should have: originality; freshness; and an addictive hold over your reader's attention from start to finish.

Part 1

First of all, please read through the five excerpts I have emailed to you all. These are not all from novels which would be classed as romantic fiction in themselves; however, the excerpts I have chosen all depict a romantic scenario, and, in order to incorporate some 'action', they all culminate in a kiss.

Which of the five excerpts do you like the most? Which do you feel best brings to life a romantic moment in an original and effective way? Can you identify why it is effective? What ingredients does the writer use to achieve this? What do you notice about how their use of language contributes to the overall romantic effect?

Using these questions, write a brief analysis of your chosen excerpt, explaining why you think it is particularly successful.

Part 2

Now write your own narrative around a romantic moment or event.

Remember that we do not need to know the whole backstory, any more than we need to know what happens afterwards; you can afford to leave such details out, unless they directly impact on the moment you are describing.

You do not have to culminate in a kiss; however, it might help you if you do, as this will give your piece a clearly defined narrative thrust and provide you with something to work towards.

• What person will your narrative occupy - 1st (i.e. I/me); 3rd (i.e he/she/they)?
• What about your tense - past; present; or even future?
• Will it be a positive depiction of love, or a more cynical portrayal?
• How will you avoid the temptation to regurgitate romantic cliches?
• Will you concentrate on atmosphere, action or dialogue - or a mixture?

Now see if you can construct that rare narrative beast: a piece of original romantic fiction.

Same length as usual: 200-350 words. And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make sure that what you post is a FINAL draft: don't embarrass yourself by allowing any careless errors (spelling, punctuation, grammar etc.) to slip through the net.

The deadline for this task is midnight on Saturday 21st February. If there is some critical and unprecedented reason why you cannot meet this (and it had better be mindblowingly impressive!), you MUST seek permission from me by the end of Friday, in order that I can negotiate with your moderators on your behalf.

Good luck!

(Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!)

Here is my attempt:

The backdrop to the meal is apt: a reproduction of Klimt's "Der Kuss", glossy and new inside the narrow, clean birch of its IKEA frame. They bought it at the same time as the table - also birch. Theirs is the copied generation: their songs are covers; even their movies are remakes - and here they sit, dissecting song lyrics like love were a mathematical conundrum, whilst love itself sits, quietly, by their side.

I have counted the lines on your face, long roads we have travelled together. I have washed in the resplendent green of your eyes, cloudy now, but not to me. That body, frail as you reach for the wine, I have crushed beneath mine; still do, when we lie, alone, together.

I remember the Galerie Belvedere; we were young and we marvelled at the flowers and vines in their hair. We kissed. And I lean across the briefly empty chair - seize the moment and take you by surprise. For a moment, my lips are wet amid the gentle folds of your cheek.

And then the children come running back, drawn by the smell of hot dessert, and the seat is occupied again. But the feather of our kiss floats in the air between us, and a coy breeze carries it towards the wall, where it does not need a frame.