Writers—romance writers in particular—require drama. I mean, if it weren’t for conflict, books would be rather boring things. In real life it’s not so black and white, as no one likes endless jags of drama, fits of jealousy or continuous battle rounds—unless it’s The Voice. Still, whether drama is found in your living room or a novel, occasional emotional anarchy is unavoidable.

A recent Washington Post article put the topic of personal drama under a microscope, dissecting and classifying the scientific explanation of human turmoil, especially when it comes to couples: “During times of stress, the hormones cortisol (which makes us feel anxious) and oxytocin (which prompts feelings of love and nurturing) are released into the bloodstream. Men, however, produce lower amounts of oxytocin than women. As a result, men tend to respond to stress by becoming angrier and more aggressive.”

The article goes on to note that men often use the accusation of drama to end an argument, thereby watering down their significant other’s complaint.

It explains a lot regarding this specific human condition, as well as facilitating the scope of emotions available to the characters writers’ create.

As noted, I write romance—so I do a lot of thinking about how men and women react to drama: arguments, feelings of jealousy and even rage. Overall, the Washington Post article mirrored my general rule of thumb when expressing how men and women interact—particularly characters whose heartfelt emotions might overrule their intellectual response. To dumb it down, boys do it differently than girls.

A good example can be found in my upcoming novel, Ruby Ink—yes, even a romance novel can further the insights of the Washington Post. The scene I’m thinking of centers on the hero and heroine, who are reunited after a pain-filled seven-year separation. During that time, each character had to deal with the emotional aspects of the estrangement. By the time we get them in a room, the reader, Ruby and Aaron are primed for conflict, not to mention a healthy slathering of drama. As the fly on the wall that makes it all go, my job is to craft reactions that ring true to life, and even the Washington Post.

As the scene unfolds, Aaron is aggressive—and I don’t mean aggressive in a violent way. Remember, this is romance, so I have leeway in terms of how he reacts to being alone with Ruby—a woman he’s hopelessly in love with and that Aaron had never expected to see again. Ruby, on the other hand, approaches the moment from the opposite end of the drama meter. She pleads her case verbally, although emotion is clearly driving her thoughts, both dialogue and physical cues.

The tension builds as Ruby’s emotions begin to spill over, heightening the drama and hopefully encouraging the reader to turn the page. But as the scene concludes with the interruption of a third party, I’m brought back around to the reality of the Washington Post article.

In the end, it’s Aaron who can’t flesh out what he’s feeling or how he should respond to Ruby’s sudden presence. The scene fades to black, leaving a sea of unsettled emotion, and our hero feeling rather angry, almost stunted in his reply—hence that lack of oxytocin. For Ruby, it’s the opposite result. The return of her hero has opened a floodgate of emotion that is clear to herself and the reader. Throughout a novel, whether it’s the main characters or minor players, the writer must be conscious of nature’s natural order—or allocation of hormones as the case may be.

Want to discover the story behind Aaron and Ruby’s seven-year separation—what tore them apart and the incredible circumstance that brings them together? Pre-order Ruby Ink, on sale March 31^st!

While you’re here, enter to win a $100 Amazon Gift Card, celebrating Ruby Ink’s release, and don’t miss the Goodreads giveaway. I’m giving away 7 signed copies of Ruby Ink.

“A sultry story… intensely emotional and full of heart. L. J. Wilson is a discovery.”—Shannon McKenna, New York Times bestselling author

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