This week I stumbled upon a television version of Jane Austen’s Emma I had never seen before. This particular story is my favorite of Austen’s work. I’ve read the book several times and watched so many movie variations, you’d think I could have just turned the channel—but I didn’t, or maybe I should say couldn’t. It doesn’t matter I know every twist and turn to the plot, the story of Emma never gets old for me. It’s what truly sets Jane Austen’s novels apart, they transcend time. Yes, we no longer have the same social barriers she used as her backdrop 200 years ago, but her grasp of the intricate dance everyone goes through for romance is profound. From the longing looks infatuation brings, to the thrilling joy found when the one you want returns your affection. Whenever I write romantic interludes in my novels, I try to remember that. It’s not about the physicality of relationships; it’s the sweet buildup of growing tension that makes a reader squeal in delight.
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