Since we have once again arrived at the time of year when those of us living in America celebrate the Thanksgiving Holiday, we decided it would be appropriate to sit back and count our blessings…in relation to romance novels, of course…

The endless desire of so many writers to keep producing those stories that glue me to my seat.

Bookshelves that expand, and bookends that slide easily along them.

Those fluffy dustmop things that let me whisk off the worst of the dust in a hurry so I can get back to my reading, secure in the knowledge that I have, in fact, done housework that day.

All the genres that romance novels cover. I can fly to another planet, take a trip back into the past, or visit another country, all without ever leaving my chair or having to pack a suitcase.

Heroes, heroes, heroes. Tall, dark and handsome (and occasionally not), I am very thankful for the delightful hours I get to spend with men who don’t exist. Thus they do not require feeding, the remote control, or leave dirty sneakers where I trip over ‘em.

Cover models. Those delectable guys who do exist, and who often lend their faces to the above-mentioned heroes. I refuse to believe this select group hogs the remote control, and most of them don’t seem to be wearing sneakers (or much of anything else) anyway.

The Internet. I am now free to order the newest releases from my favorite authors with a simple click of my mouse. Shortly thereafter, they are delivered to my front door - if I’m lucky, by that cute UPS guy. At no time do I need to dress, put on makeup (unless it really is that cute UPS guy), or find a parking space. Perfection has been achieved.

The many friends I’ve made in the romance community. People like me who understand the absolute necessity of putting life on hold until that final chapter gets read. Who needs dinner promptly anyway? Not us!

The TV magazine. Along with that annoyingly stiff card, advertising something, that always gets glued inside. For those times when the two million bookmarks I have collected are all hiding somewhere else, there’s nothing better than tearing out that card and marking my place in my book with it.

My husband and son. Who now, in spite of themselves, know who Nora Roberts is. Whether they want to or not. And who patiently call out for pizza on those days when dinner does not arrive promptly on the table. (Although I had a tough time persuading my son he could NOT use a dozen Harlequin romances glued to a piece of wood as a dart board.)

Stretch jeans. The ones that let me curl one leg up underneath me when I’m sprawled on my couch, lost in my latest novel. It was never so comfortable in plain old denim.

And, of course, Thanksgiving Day. Turkey dinners, football games, family chats, and finally, those couple of hours on my own, when the guys are cheering on their favorite team, and me? Well, I’ve ditched the jeans (even stretch ones are hard pressed to handle that dinner!), snuggled into my favorite robe, and curled up with the one thing that has blessed us all…

A good, old-fashioned, romance novel.

Happy Thanksgiving from Celia, your Features Editor.