Over the past dozen or so years, the romance genre has begun to embrace LGBTQ equality. Because let's face it, love is love, and everyone deserves a chance to find their reflection in a book with a happy ending.

Romance novels are more than just Fabio books. They are also more than bodice rippers, mommy porn, trashy books, rescue fantasies, guilty pleasures, or any of the other "funny" but disparaging slang terms we have for them.

Once upon a time, a girl could find some bad ass cowboys in historical westerns, tycoons in turn of the century NYC, and medieval Knights charging in to save the day.

Sixteen years ago, when I started editing romances, I had an inkling that real love might not resemble the fantasy. There were a few similarities: the goose bumps, surprising emotions, nights out on the town, nights indoors, and the potential for that coveted walk down the aisle.

What makes a truly fantastic romance? Do readers want to gain entrance to a temple or buy a ticket to an amusement park?