I don't know if it is possible to explain to you why I am enjoying romance novels right now. Instead, maybe I should tell you what they are doing for me? They make me happy. On the long commute to work each morning, sitting in the subway car, yesterday's trash sometimes rolling down the train, I get lost inside a world that for a moment or two ...is pure escape. I don't have to concentrate that hard -- so the conversation in Bengali on one side or the one in Russian on the other has little effect or distraction. Nor does the loud voice of the conductor telling us which stop is coming next, often garbled by the rattling of the wheels against the tracks. I don't have to think too hard, it matters little if my eyes jump down a few lines, or I skip over a paragraph or two. And often the stories are about a failure to communicate or have witty dialogue that makes me laugh. And laugh. And laugh. It's like eating a hostess cupcake or a twinkie or angel food cake with icing (none of which I can have any longer) or drinking a rich expresso (also can't have) or eating deep dark rich chocolate bar (also off the menu).

The characters are in the past. They aren't real. There's no comparison, no worry, I can relax. No stress. When I get to work and sit inside my cubicle, flip on the computer, plug in the phone, and start my day...the story doesn't play with my mind or stick with me, at least not most of the time. I can concentrate on the task at hand. And when I sit to write my own stories, it doesn't effect them or change them.

The men are kind, the women are too. There's no violence. No killers waiting in the bushes. Just witty banter. It's sugar for the brain. Without the calories. Serotonen, without the nasty side-effects.

We read for different reasons. And different things at different times.

I wish at times we were like the characters in Sense8, where we could sense what each other feels. But alas we are not. So all we can do is rely on flimsy words...and hope for the best.