Amy Andrews | Love at First Sight

My name is Amy Andrews and I am a hopeless, unashamed believer in love at first sight.

The romance genre takes a huge hit over these insta-love storylines with critics decrying it as anything from dribble to anti-feminist to setting up unrealistic expectations for women.

WOW!

That’s a lot of pressure on a writer when they sit down to tell a story about two people falling in love (or three or, you know, a person and a werewolf/vampire/alien or whatever your particular hankering). I tend to think making women stay at home and cook and clean and pop out babies and have the pipe and slippers ready for when the man came home from work is/was a ridiculous societal expectation for women. Or, on the flipside, telling us we can have it all which just means we get to go to full time work but are still expected to do all the other stuff, too, is also kind of crazy.

Love and how people do and don’t do it, not so much.

I can tell you why I never listen to the people who tell me insta-love is a crock and it’s not because I often write books where people meet and fall in love pretty damn quick but it’s because I knew the moment I opened up my door as a sixteen year old to a twenty year old blonde spunk that I was going to marry him.

I shit you not.

I hadn’t yet said a word to him - not even a hello – but I was a goner.

Now here is where I need to clarify that I’m not a person given to flights of fancy. Most people who know me would probably describe me as pragmatic - even as a teenager. I don’t believe in a lot of woo woo stuff. I’m pretty much a show-me-the-evidence kind of a gal. I’ve never astral planed or convened with spirits.

Fine if that’s you. I have no problem with you believing/doing whatever it is you do. Just sayin’ it’s not me.

But that day all those years ago it was like I was having an out of body experience. I could almost feel myself floating above my body and shouting down at myself, “Himmmmmmmmmmmmm!”

Ah, but I hear the critics say, "That’s just sexual attraction."

Lust. Hormones. Pheremones. Good old teenage horniess.

But it wasn’t. I was sixteen. I didn’t have a freaking clue what lust was. I had read quite a few romance novels by that stage in my life where brooding bosses lusted after their virgin secretaries, but I’d had no personal experience of lust with a man. Sure, I’d liked a few guys, checked heaps of them out drooling and giggling over them with girlfriends. I went out with some and even shared a few heated kisses, but this guy was different. He hadn’t said a word to me, and I was feeling feels I’d never felt before.

I didn’t think, oh lordy, lordy I want to rip this guy’s clothes of and do him sooo bad. I simply thought with every cell in my body – him. He’s the one. I’m going to marry him.

When he left I said to my friends, that’s the guy I’m going to marry. And I did. And we’ve been together pretty much from that day to this.

So I believe in it because I know it happens. And think about it, is it really that hard to wrap your head around? Quantum physics, how a freaking aeroplane manages to stay in the air, the conflict in Ukraine. These are all things that are difficult concepts.

Since when did love become such a difficult concept? Critics decry insta-love as a complete fantasy (and hello that is one of the reasons why women read and love romance) like it’s some kind of mystical force or being. Like aliens making crop circles or a freaking unicorn. Like it doesn’t exist. Like it’s unattainable. And it is true, most people won’t have an instantaneous experience. For some it will take longer. Weeks, months, years and that’s fine.

But it can happen in the blink of an eye too. And that, I am here to tell you, is pretty freaking glorious.

Giveaway

So, what say you? Insta-love yes, or insta-love no? I’d love to know everyone’s thoughts. I’m giving away a copy of NO MORE MR. NICE GUY (the book before ASK ME NICELY) to one person who leaves a comment.

About ASK ME NICELY

She craves what only he can give her. But he's not giving in without a fight...

Veterinarian Sal Kennedy's lost her mojo and is desperate to get it back. In fact, as the anniversary of the tragedy that destroyed her life looms large, she'll do anything to erase the painful memories, including overdoing the tequila and making a pass at the most annoyingly inappropriate man on the planet. Fellow veterinarian Doyle Jackson is her flatmate and her employee and therefore strictly off-limits.

Unfortunately, Doyle knows how to bring the goods and make her mojo sit up and beg. Doyle is only too happy to oblige Sal in her hour of need, but then she demands more, and she's perfectly happy playing dirty to get it. He wants more, too—more than just sex, that is, and it's something Sal's not willing to give. But Doyle is in this for the long haul now, and he's prepared to fight even dirtier to get what he wants. Even if that means they both keep losing all their clothes in the process…

About Amy Andrews

Amy is an award-winning, best-selling Aussie author who has written forty + contemporary romances in both the traditional and digital markets. She has written for Harlequin Mills & Boon, Entangled, Harper Collins, Momentum and Escape. To date she's sold over a million books and been translated into thirteen different languages including manga.

She loves her kids, her husband, her dogs, cowboys, men in tool belts, cowboys in tool belts and happily ever afters. Please, DO NOT mess with the HEA! Also good books, fab food, great wine and frequent travel - preferably all four together.

She lives on acreage on the outskirts of Brisbane with a gorgeous mountain view but secretly wishes it was the hillsides of Tuscany.

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