(Trust Me, I’ve Tried It)
Okay, fine—I admit it. I blow things up in my romantic suspense and sci-fi books. Fictionally. With explosions. Trust me, that’s me putting the fun in “functionally paced.”
Why Knocking Things Over Is Actually Good for Love:
- Danger = Ticker Tocker
When explosions happen, characters leap, chase, or duck—just like readers do. That tension is your emotional turbo-charger. - Pressure Makes Diamonds (and Smooches):
Nothing makes a stolen kiss feel earned like debris flying overhead. Danger highlights desire; it gives physical stakes to emotional stakes. - Conflict Drives, Literally:
A love scene that only involves two people and a hammock is sweet but low-energy. Add a collapsing ceiling or spaceship malfunction, and bam—now we’ve got romance with forward motion. - Banishing Boredom, One Boom at a Time:
Pace in romance isn’t about density of words—it’s rhythm. A well-timed explosion keeps chapters turning, keeps hearts beating, keeps readers up. - Bonus Humor Vibes:
Even a minor friendly fire incident can be hilarious—especially if your hero attempts chivalry mid-blast. (Pro tip: Spaceships won’t notice you overflow your smarts, but humor definitely fights inertia.)
Here’s my very first fictional explosion from The Spy Who Kissed Me:
Sunday morning I lay alone in my relatively virginal bed, staring at the ceiling and reflecting on life’s little ironies. How was it that I, wounded and smeared with lasagna, bandaged by the veterinarian who preferred my sister, assisted by the veteran who preferred my mother—how was it that I was the one in the dog house?
Okay, I should have mentioned to my mother about getting shot. Was that grounds for ostracism? Rebellion raged in my soul as I dressed for church, moving as stiffly as an old woman. Had I recently felt young? Oh, hubris!
Grimly I collected my purse, eased on a coat, and flying the flags of defiance, I let myself out through the garage so no one could see me in time to ignore me. Perhaps Reverend Hilliard would be inspired to speak on repentance or compassion. The guilt needed to be spread around this house a little.
My car was parked at the curb, where I’d left it yesterday in my hurry to contact the CIA. I inserted my key, then pulled open the door. As I stepped off the curb and bent to get in, the front door opened.
“Stan!”
What, was someone actually speaking to me? “I have choir practice, Rose. I’m almost late.”
“You’re wanted on the phone.”
I hesitated, then tossed my purse on the seat, closed the door and started to backtrack. “Do you know who it is?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s—”
What she thought was lost when the world exploded behind me. Heat licked at my back. The sidewalk curled up, then slammed me in the face.
And we definitely need a spaceship exploding scene from The Key:
A vague throbbing in her right temple towed Sara back to a consciousness she didn’t want to face, though she was a bit fuzzy on why…
She opened her eyes to zero dark thirty—a darkness somewhat lightened by an eerie orange glow.
Okay, starting to remember.
She not only wasn’t in Kansas anymore, she wasn’t in the cockpit of her bird. The roughhewn rock over head seemed to indicate she was in some kind of a cave, but how did she get from Dauntless to a cave?
She remembered…
…the dog fight.
…the double hit to her six.
…heading for the closest planet like a fast falling star.
…doing bat turns to slow her descent.
…seeing the long stretch of flat, white beach between tangled mass of jungle and sparkling ocean.
…endless feet-wet finally giving way to feet- dry.
The narrow beach had skimmed past way too fast as she struggled to manage her uncontrolled descent.
She remembered pulling her nose up long enough to clear a rugged tumble of rock spilling from high bluff into ocean, but on the other side ground was ground and no landing is a good one that ends against a tree.
Yeah, she remembered the tree.
And now back to our blog post:
So yes—explosions might sound extra, but pacing is emotional architecture. They throw characters (and readers) off-balance—in the best romantic way. You get a stride in the plot and a moment of “wow, they just kissed in midair.” That’s the sweet spot.
No cars or spaceships were harmed in the writing of this blog post. But my pacing might have exploded.