If I were to be found in a romance novel, I would not be the Main Character (MC for short). I wouldn’t even be the lovable sidekick. If you found me in Sarah J. Maas’s universe or the world of Fourth Wing, I’d probably be dead already.

Parapet? Would’ve killed me.
Demons? Would’ve killed me.
Not having my meds? I would’ve killed me.

Take the parapet, for example. That death trap of a narrow walkway high above certain doom? Yeah, that would’ve killed me. One gust of wind, one moment of lost balance, and I’d be tumbling into the abyss with a dramatic scream that would echo for miles. The heroic MC wouldn’t even mourn my loss for two pages before returning to their epic quest. I’m not that character.

And demons? Oh, they’d have a field day with me. While the MC is out there slashing through hordes of otherworldly creatures with effortless grace, I’d be the comic relief hiding behind a rock, hyperventilating, and hoping they don’t notice me. Spoiler: they would. And then it’s game over. Cue the tiny sad violin 🎻.

Do you know what would really do me in? Not having my meds. Forget the epic battles and mythical beasts—just throw me into a world without my essential pharmaceuticals, and I’m burnt toast. It’s not fighting the evil dark forces that would end me; it’s the withdrawal symptoms. I’d be curled up in a ball, dying for a simple glass of water and some semblance of normalcy while everyone else is out there using some special power or saving the world. And if I even thought to use a magical artifact or spell, I’d end up botching it. Instead of summoning a mighty dragon, I’d end up with a tiny, confused lizard that I now have to take care of.

Real-life Side Note: This reminds me of the time I tried to follow a simple recipe for soup. It backfired on me. Soup is not for beginners. Or for people who can’t cook.

Running? Oh, I’d give it a valiant effort, for sure. A nice gallop. But after about fifty yards, I’d be hunched over, hands on knees, gasping for air like a plump fish out of water. My face would turn a lovely shade of tomato paste, and I’d probably trip over my own feet. Meanwhile, the MC would be sprinting effortlessly, with luscious hair flowing like they’re in a shampoo commercial. Why do these stories have so much running? And why do even their braids stay so perfect? I can’t even make a braid without stragglers sticking out. Can’t we solve anything with a nice, brisk walk? Or what about a scoot? I’m all here for a scoot scoot 🛵🛴.

Let’s not even talk about the love triangles. I wouldn’t be the MC caught between two devastatingly handsome suitors. No, I’d be friend-zoning everyone, too preoccupied with figuring out how to survive the next day to worry about romantic entanglements. Oblivious to them all, not because I wouldn’t be interested, but because I’m trying to balance staying alive, sleeping, and what to eat without losing my sanity.

Real-life Side Note: I remember once trying to balance my doctors, social life, and a new exercise routine from physical therapy. It was like juggling flaming knives while riding a unicycle with no hands. I ended up tripping over my own feet and almost setting the kitchen on fire. You don’t need hands to ride a unicycle. But you do for juggling flaming knives. Multitasking has never been my strong suit, just like surviving in a fantasy novel wouldn’t be.

If I were in a Maas or Yarros world, I’d be the character who knows all the secret hideaways, the best places to scavenge for supplies, and the quickest routes to avoid trouble. Not because I’d find them on purpose. Maybe I got lost and stumbled upon hidden archways. I’d also be the same character who, after gaining the trust of the others by finding these secret pathways, misinterprets a cryptic prophecy and leads the group on a wild goose chase for something completely irrelevant, like searching for a mythical flower that turns out to be a common weed.

Another Real-life Side Note: This reminds me of the time I got lost during a grocery store trip. I panicked. My wife eventually found me. But I realized I wasn’t great in a crisis.

I’d be the one with a witty and dry remark paired with a well-timed eye roll, the one who tells the MC when they’re being a bit too dramatic (because, let’s face it, they usually are). I might not be the star of the book or even a close runner-up, but I’d be the one adding a touch of humor to the grim situation.

So no, I wouldn’t be the brave warrior or the enchanting, busty heroine. I’d be the mostly flat-chested realist, the one who points out the overtly obvious plot holes and asks the uncomfortable questions. Like, why is the Suriel so closely named to cereal? And who decided it was a good idea to split up when we knew I couldn’t run?

Comments Poll:

What role would you play in a romance novel?

• The Hero (Main Character)
• The Sidekick
• The Comic Relief
• The Wise Mentor
• Someone Else?

Share Your Thoughts:

Leave a comment below and share your own funny experiences or how you’d fit into a fantasy romance world!