As a romance writer there are two crucial questions I must answer for every book I write. The first is: Why do these two people fall in love. The second is: How do these two people achieve intimacy?

Now, sure, sex creates intimacy, but it should also be the culmination of intimate encounters. When it comes to structuring a romance novel, I like to think of intimacy as a progression–a series of gestures or tender moments that lead, inexorably, to a deep and abiding relationship between my hero and my heroine.

We all know the expected tropes. The hero saves the heroine from certain doom. The heroine is that one plucky gal who tells the hero where to go, and he loves her for it. Thousands of writers have used these techniques to create intimacy, and done so effectively. But what about trying something different?

Last night I was watching a film entitled Lie With Me. I’m not usually a big fan of independent art films–I gather that I’m just not smart enough to enjoy them–and there were many things about the film that annoyed or scandalized me. However, I was absolutely dumbstruck by the inciting incident between the hero and the heroine of the movie.

Picture it: She is drunk and stumbling about a smoke filled party. A man pulls her into a bathroom, presumably to get a little action, but when she stoops over the sink to splash her face, the man doesn’t undress her. He doesn’t even touch her. Instead, he gently cups his hands under the running water so that she can take a drink.

It was such a strange but courteous thing to do, one filled with beautiful symbolism, and it created instant intimacy.

So how can we use such techniques in our own work? I have a few ideas.

Reverse expectations.
If your hero is a policeman sent to arrest the heroine, intimacy can be formed when he takes the time to sponge her hands clean after fingerprinting. He’s supposed to be a gruff law enforcement guy, but this kind of consideration says more about him than you could have with hundreds of words. If your heroine is a tough-talking, no-nonsense kind of girl, but the hero sees her inner child come out at the sight of a carousel, that’s an unexpected moment of vulnerability that can help your characters bond.

Make Your Characters Vulnerable.
I’m of the opinion that intimacy develops through vulnerability. We all have faces we want the world to see, but no one can truly love us until the mask slips and they’ve seen what’s behind it. These moments usually come in times of pain or peril. If your hero is a hot-shot accountant, let the heroine be the one who sees him when he’s messed up a major account. If your heroine is a perfect mother, let the hero help her out when her kids are having a meltdown and she’s finally come up against the one parenting issue she’s never had to tackle before.

Put Obstacles in the Way of Intimacy.
In my debut novel with HQN Silhouette Nocturne, POISONED KISSES (October, 2010), my hero’s blood is the only thing that can kill my heroine. Being near him–especially when he has an open wound–might very well mean an excruciating death for her. And yet, when he’s hurt, she tries to stitch him up. Her instinct to help him is stronger than her fear for her own life, but her terror makes the moment more intimate than it could have been if she were a nurse, and this was part of her job.

So the next time you’re wondering how your characters fell in love, give them a few unexpected moments of intimacy to build on. My guess is that you’ll have a stronger story for it.

Author Holly Lisle just proceeded to annoy me–purposefully so–then grabbed me by the metaphorical lapels and shook me. She did this in her newsletter, and then said:

If you’re looking for a way to write a story that doesn’t step on toes, just pick up your toys and go home. You’re trying to play dead on paper. It can’t be done, you won’t do it, and if you try you’ll end up writing meaningless drivel.

If you are a writer, you give conflict a voice. If you fear conflict, you can’t be a writer—fiction is the art of pushing creative conflict to meaningful resolution through the actions of compelling characters in exciting places.

If you’re a writer, you’re giving a voice to the people who have struggled all their lives to give words to the same thoughts you think.

Her advice, though more lengthy than I can or should reproduce here, boiled down to: To be a good writer, it’s important to piss someone off.

It was sort of shocking advice for me. Given that I’m opinionated and argumentative, you’d think I would enjoy conflict more. But I don’t. It’s one of the reasons I left the legal profession. I could never find a way to leave any argument at work–it always followed me home and festered.

Conflict stresses me out because I get a little too passionate about everything. I prefer to be unstressed, and I also like to get along with people. Hence, a career change. I never think of myself as a provocateur, but given my recent reflections on why I write dark fiction, maybe I am. And I guess Holly Lisle would probably think that’s a good thing. Holly gives out a lot of good advice, so you might want to check her out.