Writing Happy Endings, When Your Heart’s Breaking

Writing Romantic Comedy When Your Love Life is a Tragedy

I love romantic comedies. That’s why I write them.

People tend to think of Rom-coms as a female centric genre, but you can’t spell romantic without “man,” man. And you can’t spell comedy without “me.” That’s just Cody. Who the fuck is Cody?

I love love, and I’m not ashamed of it. So do you. It’s what we’re all looking for. Or at least it’s what society has programmed us to look for. Which is probably why most of us need therapy.

The main difference between comedy and tragedy, at the end of the day, is that comedies have a happy ending, and tragedies, well, don’t.

That’s why The Bear is a comedy, you guys. Carmy will be fine. There’s more nuance to it than that, sure, but that’s another post all together.

As a writer, no matter what genre I’m working in, the love story is the main story.

I’ve written about warring funeral homes, with silly bits about corpses with boners – it’s called angel lust, it’s a real thing, and it will probably happen to you – but that was all just window dressing to tell a modern-day Romeo and Juliet story. With a happy ending, cause, Romeo and Juliet, not a comedy…

That script landed me my first manager in Hollywood, by the way. Dead dick jokes play.

I’ll always be a screenwriter at heart, but I’ve had the itch to write a novel for a long time. During the writer’s strike of 2023 I did just that. Then I rewrote it for a year. Because writing is rewriting, folks.

On February 17, 2025, I submitted my debut novel to my first editor. Which is still surreal. It’s a major accomplishment. I should toot my own horn. But I spent the first Valentine’s Day I’ve been single in over a decade trying to put the final touches on a book that requires a happy ending.

I did this after my own storybook romance had fallen apart.

It’s hard to believe in happily ever after when you feel like your heart’s been ripped out and shit on by reality. The shit thing will happen when you die too, sorry.

I won’t bore you with the details, mainly because it’s still too fresh —and it’s none of your goddamn business— but I really thought this was the one. The person I was going to grow old with. The one who, if it all worked out perfectly, would have to find my corpse, with a boner covered in shit, and I wouldn’t have to live a day without her in my life.

It didn’t work out perfectly. Not a lot of things do. That’s life.

Since I was still alive, I had work to do.

I got a lot of great notes from my beta readers, who were rightfully delayed in getting back to me due to the wildfires in California, so I had force myself to buckle down and address them before my draft was due to go to the editor.

I love a hard deadline. I am a deadline writer. Give me a day I have to get something done by, and I will get it done at exactly 11:59pm the night before. Maybe it’s undiagnosed ADHD, maybe it’s Maybelline.

It’s probably ADHD.

Anyway, that’s how I was able to disassociate my real life from my writing. I had a deadline. I had to hit it. I had no other choice.

The Japanese have a phrase for this mindset, Shikata ga nai. I didn’t have the time to worry about reality shitting on my heart. There were fictional characters who needed their stories told. I didn’t matter. My heartbreak didn’t matter. Doing the work was all that mattered. Shikata ga nai.

While breakups suck, especially when you’re trying to write a book with a happy ending, there was one benefit in this situation. This novel is a story about two ex’s reconnecting. I was able to channel all those powerless feelings, all the rage and impotent hope for reconciliation that we all have in the midst of a breakup into my characters.

Some of the notes I got back from beta readers focused on going deeper into the character’s motivations. And man, oh man, did I have the context for those feelings. Those notes were, perhaps, over addressed. My draft ballooned from 68,000 words to 73,000 words. At least my editor will have work to do.

They say write what you know and, in that moment in particular, I knew what it felt like to love someone who didn’t want to be with you. It’s a feeling that devastates you to your core. It makes your heart feel like a black hole, draining any hope for happiness you may have.

It’s also a universal feeling. Everyone has felt this pain at some point in their lives. Unless you’re happily married to your high school sweetheart – and if you are, fuck you – you know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out. I’m hoping the fact that this is a universal feeling will translate to my novel being relatable to more people.

Romantic comedies are for everyone. Men, women, and everyone in-between. We all deserve love. Especially everyone in-between right now.

We all know how it feels when we lose the one we love. How overwhelming it can be to feel like years of love were thrown away as if they didn’t matter at all. And we all know how it feels when love is found unexpectedly. How euphoric and life affirming that can be.

I’m in a rough place right now but I’m lucky to have a career, the support of great friends, my family, and most importantly my dog. That’s real love.

Romantic love is great, but it’s not the only kind there is. That said, I still believe in love. It might be a while before I’m willing to let it in. Or let it find me. What I do know is that no matter what happens with this book, love is real. I’ll keep writing about it.

And The Bear is a comedy. I will die on this hill.