Love is Messy, but I Love Writing About It

Earlier this year, I was sitting alone at a bar with a wonderful glass of Pinot Noir and a perfectly cooked salmon with risotto. I was traveling for work, and my colleagues hadn’t arrived yet, so, like any introverted, slightly antisocial woman, I glued my eyes to my phone.

But I wasn’t drowning out the noise or ignoring the world around me. Quite the opposite. I was listening intently to the conversation happening next to me. An older couple, dressed in matching uniforms of T-shirts and jeans, were discussing their son and how he needed to propose to his girlfriend already. I was amused, intrigued, and immediately needed to know more.

My eyes lifted from my phone and met the gentleman’s. He gave me a small smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping,” I lied. “But my brother has been dating the same woman for more than eight years, and he still hasn’t proposed.”

That confession opened the door to nearly an hour of conversation. I learned that the couple had been coming to the same bar for their weekly date night for more than 20 years. The gentleman was the more animated storyteller, eager to share their history, while his wife smiled, nodded, and slipped in the anecdotes and details he had forgotten. All the while, her knee remained pressed tightly against his, as if they were held together by glue. In that small point of contact, I could see an entire love story. I knew I had to write about it.

When I returned to my hotel room, I opened my laptop and feverishly typed out the thoughts and emotions the evening had stirred in me. Within a few hours, I had several story concepts. That is what I love to do: observe people and investigate relationships. I want to understand how other people experience love, what happens when it works, and what happens when it crashes and burns. I’m interested in the highs and lows, the perfect meet-cutes and missed opportunities, and the quiet gestures that reveal more than grand declarations ever could.

I observe it all so I can write about it all.

The best stories are the ones that hit you at your core, the ones that make you stop reading and think, “Oh my God, that’s completely me.” Love stories are not simply cute, sappy journeys toward happily ever after. They are investigations of wonder, lust, vibrancy, disappointment, misery, and heartbreak. They ask us to look closely at why people find one another, why they stay, why they leave, and what remains after everything changes.

To me, love stories are some of the hardest stories to write because they require honesty. I have to set aside my preconceived notions about who people should be and how relationships should work. I have to remain open, curious, and vulnerable, even when doing so is uncomfortable. I cannot ask readers to feel something I am unwilling to feel myself. But when I allow those emotions to pour out of me and onto the page, that is when the story begins to feel alive.

I hope my stories connect with readers on that emotional level. I hope they smile, laugh, and sometimes cry because they recognize pieces of their own lives in the words. Stories connect us. As a writer, my job is to notice those connections, explore them honestly, and keep them alive on the page.

So, if you happen to see a woman sitting alone at a bar, swirling a glass of wine while looking down at her phone, don’t assume she is ignoring the world around her. She may be paying closer attention than anyone else in the room. And she may very well be writing the next great love story.