“All you need is love”: lyrics from one of my favorite Beatles songs. Also, it appears, perhaps, the campaign slogan of democratic presidential candidate Marianne Williamson.

Love: the reason I like reading and writing romantic fiction. No matter what the conflicts, there’s always love to bring people back together. Love: something that seems to be dwindling today. Love has gone out of style.

Have you heard the saying, hate the message but love the messenger? It seems today we can no longer agree to disagree. If we disagree with the other person, we’re supposed to hate them. Republicans think democrats are evil, and democrats think republicans are evil. Christians think atheists are evil, and atheists think Christians are evil. The examples are endless.

Instead of debating our viewpoints, we scream them at each other. We cut people off mid-sentence and tell them why they aren’t allowed to speak. Instead of trying to lovingly educate someone who espouses a mistaken, maybe even disturbing, point of view, we label them with one or more of the ever-growing derogatory names available at the time. My mother taught me you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, an old proverb that never loses its relevance.

I started this blog with the intent of never making it political, but this week dozens of people were killed in two different mass shootings. The only stories of love I’ve heard are those coming from the people who risked their own lives to try and save others. Parents using their own bodies to shield their children; witnesses rushing toward the shooting to pull out anyone they could reach; the police officers who responded so quickly to disarm the situation. The rest of us, instead of sitting down together to discuss what we could do to hopefully prevent these in the future, all stand around pointing a finger at everyone else. It’s not OUR fault. It’s YOUR fault. Remember, every time you point one finger at another, you’re pointing three fingers back at yourself.

August is Romance Awareness Month. When I tell people I write romantic fiction, I inevitably get a snicker, a smirk, sometimes a sneer. “Sex books,” some giggle. “Mommy porn,” others call it with disdain. Yes, some of the books have sex, but not all. What they do all have is love.

And what’s wrong with that?