Page 1 of Guys Can’t Write Romance
Chapter one
Slime Monsters and Boring Male Leads
“Miss Fields,” came a small voice from the classroom. “Why are boys so mean?”
“Boys aren’t mean,” Daisy said, and she mostly meant it. There was one exception, a member of her writers’ group, but now wasn’t the time to dredge that up.
“Billy Rogers is,” said Cindy. “He threw this paper at me.” She held up a crumpled sheet of paper, shooting a frown at the boy in the row beside her, who had all but disappeared beneath his desk.
Daisy sighed and looked over at the young boy peeking out from beneath his desk.
“Billy. Did you throw that paper at Cindy?” Daisy asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Did too,” Cindy said.
Daisy rolled her eyes. Become a teacher, her friends had told her, it would be easy and give her plenty of time to write. Of course, none of them had ever taught first graders.
“Billy, I want you to apologize to Cindy,” Daisy said.
“But I didn’t do anything,” he insisted.
“Then why are you hiding?”
“I’m not,” he said, sliding up in his seat.
“Are too,” said Cindy.
Daisy groaned. “Billy. Either apologize, or no cookies.”
Billy frowned and let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. Sorry.”
Cindy seemed to accept the bribed apology, and with that, order was once again restored. Which was just how Daisy liked it.
For as far back as she could remember, Daisy had thrived on order. Some of it came from growing up in a military family, but most of it was self-inflicted. She just liked the way order kept her world sane and organized.
The girls in her class agreed; the boys took a bit more convincing.
For the first two months of the semester, the kids had arrived at school each morning to find their desks lined up alphabetically, with labels stuck to the tops noting where each kid sat.
This went on until the boys realized they could peel off the labels and stick them in girls’ hair; and that was the end of the labels.
But Daisy still kept her shelves in rigid order, with books arranged by height, and their spines set back exactly one inch from the edge.
Even the colored Post-Its on her chalkboard were squared off in perfect columns and rows.
The girls thought it made the room pretty and nice, with the pink, yellow, and blue Post-Its; the boys thought it was dumb and girly.
With order restored, the kids resumed their naptime.
Daisy turned back to the notepad where her latest romance novel was slowly coming together.
It would be her fourth novel, after self-publishing her first three.
Never mind that she barely earned enough from them to buy coffee, this one would be different.
It would be the ticket to her lifelong dream of being a full-time writer.
She could already picture it on shelves at Barnes just lots of female skin and monster-induced mayhem. Kind of like Chad himself.
Like Daisy, Chad had also self-published his previous books, with such notable titles as ‘Bikini Babes vs. The Slug Demon,’ ‘Cheerleaders vs. Zombies,’ and ‘The Bikini Monster Mash.’ Even Roger Corman was blushing in his grave.
It killed Daisy that he sold more books than her, thanks to a large social media following of frat guys, jocks, and other juvenile delinquents.
Fortunately, Daisy only had to deal with Chad once a week during their meetings and then have the rest of the week to detox. Unfortunately, that was tonight.
“Miss Fields,” came another small voice, snapping Daisy from her musings. She looked up to see little Becky Campbell standing in front of her desk, picking at something in her hair. “Can you get this gum out of my hair? Mikey Williams put it there.”
Meanwhile, across town...
Dodgeballs whizzed like comets across the inside of a school gymnasium, nailing kids with the occasional sharp ‘yelp’ and ‘ow.’
From his seat in the bleachers, 29-year-old Chad McKenzie looked up periodically from his writing pad to make sure none of the kids in his fifth-grade P.E. class got killed.
“No aiming for the head, Kowalski,” Chad called out to one of the boys, who had just nailed another kid in the head with a ball.
“Sorry, Coach,” fifth-grader Brett Kowalski hollered back.
“I think I have a concussion, Coach,” groaned the kid who’d been beaned in the head.
“Let’s have a look,” Chad said, tossing his notepad onto the bleacher and heading over to the kid. He held the kid’s head, turning it from side to side, then held up a finger. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Uh… one?” the kid said.
“You’ll live.”
“Sweet!” the kid said as he ran back into the crossfire of dodgeballs.
“But if you start seeing double of everything,” Chad hollered after the kid, “just lie on the floor until the room stops spinning.”
“Got it,” the kid called back, giving Chad a thumbs up.
Chad went back to the bleachers and began flipping through the pages of his latest masterpiece of mayhem and horror. This one had a slime monster chasing spring break coeds; not to be confused with the zombies chasing spring break coeds in his last book.
Writing was more than just a hobby for Chad, it was his outlet; his not-so-secret rebellion.
He got to scare people with his books, and have fun doing it; and fun was high on Chad’s priorities list. It’s what made him so popular with the kids in his P.E.
classes and the little league baseball team he coached.
They all saw shameless, unapologetic fun as an indispensable part of life.
‘Adulting,’ a word that gave Chad the hives, would come soon enough. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling him. But Chad was in no rush.
“Coach McKenzie!” came a girl’s voice. He looked up to see Lina Harper heading his way. “Kowalski’s cheating! He’s hiding behind Susan and using her as a shield.”
“Not cool, Kowalski,” Chad called out across the gym. “No human shields! Unless you’re under a zombie attack.”
“Right, Coach!” Kowalski called back, easing out from behind the girl.
“Thank you!” Lina said, then hurried back onto the court. A moment later, Kowalski got nailed with a loud whump.
“Nice shot, Stephens,” Chad called out with a grin.
When the gym clock buzzed, signaling the end of class, a collective groan arose from the kids. Chad blew his whistle. “Alright, team! Bring it in! Dodgeballs down. No, Kowalski, that doesn’t mean chuck it one last time.”
The kids walked over and gathered around him.
“Okay, solid game today,” Chad said. “Lots of good dodging out there. And best of all, no concussions. Quick round of applause for keeping it mostly injury-free!”
The kids broke into applause.
“Now, hit the showers, so the rest of your teachers don’t hate me. Too much.”
With a squeak of sneakers on the floor, the kids headed off to the locker rooms.
As Chad reached for his notepad, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was a reminder from Liz, one of the members of his writers’ group. As usual, she threw in a teaser at the end.
‘Writers’ group 2nite. Big announcement from Mags.’
These writers’ group meetings were a fun break in the middle of the week.
Several of the group’s older members were making a living as full-time writers, and usually had some helpful suggestions on his stories (when they weren’t rolling their eyes at his latest cockamamie monsters).
But the real treat was Daisy Fields, the uptight first-grade teacher who wrote romance novels she could market as insomnia cures.
Her stories, featuring interchangeable male leads with the personality of a dishcloth, were literally where fun goes to die.
And of course, she had choice words to say about his little works of genius.
It always made for an interesting evening.
Chad was already counting down the hours.