A friend and fellow stand-up comedian called me a while ago to whine about the injustice of his debut novel being dismissed as a romcom.  Did I mention he's a man?  His agent felt there was no future for his masterpiece unless he either changed sex or, at the very least, gave himself a female nom de plume.  He was not prepared to consider either.  The idiot.

I've written two books, A Song For Europe (http://www.amazon.com/A-Song-For-Europe-ebook/product-reviews/B00492CQ2K) and Standing Up.  Both feature a male protagonist and the comedy, especially in Standing Up, is  edgy and acerbic.  But here's the thing - they're both unashamedy romantic comedies. And I'm a man.  Let's be clear about that.

A Song For Europe is about a middle aged, middle class family man whose life disintegrates when he is made redundant.  His wife's career soars as his prospects diminish.  It is in music that he finds redemption, eventually (and circuitously) becoming Britain's entrant in the Eurovision Song Contest.  I'll say no more (read it, for Chrissakes!  Please?) except to say that at its heart beats his love for his children and, ultimately, an old flame.

Standing Up is about another loser, a single solicitor who stumbles into stand-up comedy in order to win the love of the woman he has obsessed about for eighteen years.  It is his beloved teenage daughter who keeps him grounded as he flounders, before eventually finding true love.  It's a bit more complicated than that, to be honest.  And funnier.

I'm a man.  I mentioned that, right?  And I like romantic comedies.  There, I've said it.  I got a bit of a lump in my throat at the end of Love Actually.   I suspect a lot of men did but are too macho to admit it.  What's wrong with having a bit of love flying about the place?  We all strive for it; even tough geezers with shaven heads and signet rings, I imagine.

On the page, I like my characters and situations to be believable - no horse-riding Lords of the Manor, no dazzling doctors with magical fingers equally adept in the operating theatre and the bedroom - and my comedy to be razor-sharp.  Schmalz, if it absolutely can't be avoided, is acceptable in small doses.  Call it romcom, call it chicklit.   It's irrelevant.  Is it romantic, entertaining, funny, well plotted, well written, believable?  Ok, then it's probably a decent book and that's the end of it.  Why shouldn't an author succeed in the genre without being called Tilly or Lucy or something?

I know there are a handful successful male romcom authors out there, but they are dwarfed in number by the avalanche of female authors, many of whom, I should add,  are quite brilliant - this tirade is not misogynistic.  But if romcommers are being discouraged - like my good friend - simply on the grounds of gender, something is wrong.  If anyone tells me One Day isn't a romcom, I'll...well I'll get very put out indeed.  Oh yes I will.  Somehow, David Nicholls's three excellent novels have avoided the romcom label, but that's what they are deep down.  If some bright spark had pigeonholed him as a 'mere' romcom author and suggested he change sex or give up, we might never have had the pleasure of his writing.

So here's my clarion call to agents, editors, publishers and the like - just read the book and decide if it's any good.  Don't judge it by its cover (wow, just thought that one up all by myself).  A romcom doesn't have to be narrowly defined;  it can have a male protagonist; it can be properly romantic and properly funny.  Several people who have read A Song For Europe have told me they laughed out loud and shed the odd tear (at different points in the book, I hope).  Job done. But it's still a romcom.  And I'm still a bloke.

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