Katy Scott Allen

I am an expert on romance novels. Paperback, ebook, or audio formats are all accepted. I’ll pay full price for the bestsellers, but I’ll also happily binge the discount rack with (almost) no shame. I’ve familiarized myself with every style, subgenre, and trope. So if you’re looking for an enemies-to-lovers fantasy, I can probably point you in the right direction, even if I think the kinky stuff with velvety wings is a little weird. Even so, I’ve read it. How about a story about a staunch feminist who meets a hunky mountain man and struggles to rationalize their budding love with modern ideals? Yup. I’ve read that one, too. And don’t even get me started on the holiday titles riddled with snow puns. During my more difficult weeks, I can finish a book a day. And yes, I have time for that, although I still don’t think the trend reflects well on my self-control. But the escape into another world filled with someone else’s drama is a balm to me. The predictable format gives me a cozy nest to burrow into, safe from the uncertainty of my own life. And although some are trite and simple entertainment, others are deeply moving, teaching me about nuances of human relationships and the mystery of life itself.

You may be asking if I need romance novels to fill a gaping hole in my life, or even if I need these books as a tutorial for finding a life companion, but I don’t. I am living in my own love story. Currently, I am in the midst of the longest act of every love story: the epilogue. Every romance novel worth its dime has that final chapter. Our hero and heroine watch the sunset from the kitchen window in their quaint cottage as their children lovingly play in the field beyond, chasing fireflies and junebugs as another beautiful day turns into restful night. In a Little While. One Year Later. Ten Years Later. Some books have multiple epilogues. Bonus Epilogues. And in the more realistic plots, maybe this final peek into the story is more complex. She continues to work through her abandonment issues. He learns to speak up, even when it’s hard. They fight, but fight well. Sacrifices are made, but ultimately, there is a sense of satisfaction. It’s an Ode to a Life Well-Lived.

Here in my epilogue, my chronic illness takes center stage. My lifelong journey has been a battle to cope with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and the alphabet soup of conditions that come along with it. My incredibly supportive husband has loved me through this journey in ways that I can’t put into words. Yet. For now, it gives me great pleasure to dive into other stories about life and love. I need stories to remind me why I’m fighting constantly. I need stories to remind me that I’m enough to love and to be truly loved, even when I’m bedbound. I may not be taking long walks on the beach, drinking mai tais, but I’m doing the work to love the beautiful life I’ve been given, day after day.