Love at Any Age

Love after forty isn’t a rerun—it’s a rediscovery

When people ask me why I write stories about women in their forties, fifties, and beyond, my answer is simple: because their stories matter — and because I know them best. Romance permeates all of my writing—the mysteries, the police procedurals and the suspense novels all have a touch of romance, because it is part of life.

I write from the heart, and my heart belongs to characters who have lived a little — maybe even stumbled, lost something precious, or learned a few hard lessons along the way. I’m drawn to women who have known love, disappointment, success, and regret. Women who’ve raised families, built careers, or reinvented themselves more than once. They carry the weight of experience and the spark of resilience — and that makes for the most compelling kind of love story there is.

Writing What Feels Authentic

As a woman in my sixties, I can’t write a teenager! That’s the truth, and another example of “write what you know”. By the time we hit our forties and fifties, we’ve collected stories — and sometimes scars. Writing characters in that age bracket feels natural to me because I understand their hesitations, their humour, and the quiet strength that comes from weathering life’s storms.

It’s not that younger characters lack depth, but rather that the emotional landscape of midlife is rich and layered. Adult children are complex, aging parents, career changes, and sometimes the solitude of an empty house for the first time in years. Those realities shape how my characters see love — not as a whirlwind that sweeps us away, but as a choice, a partnership, and an act of courage, especially the second time around.

My characters, like me, are at a point in life where they’ve stopped pretending to be someone else. They know who they are. They haven’t quite figured out what comes next — until life (and usually a stubborn, charming someone) pushes them to find out.

In Rebuilding Hearts, for instance, a recent divorcee takes on a house renovation — and deals with a contractor dealing with his own emotional issues. It’s not about perfect romance; it’s about messy, hopeful rebuilding after loss. In Rewriting Hearts, two people meet through work, both nursing invisible wounds, both afraid to take a chance. And in Hearts Taking Reservations, Johanne leaves her corporate career to start a bed-and-breakfast — only to discover that the most significant recovery might be the one inside her heart.

These stories come from a place of recognition. I write what feels real, and for me, that means giving life and love to characters who have earned their wisdom and their wrinkles. The biggest thing standing in their way is the fear of losing again. They’d rather not take any more chances.

Experience Brings Depth (and Great Dialogue)

One of the joys of writing mature characters is the honesty they bring to the page. They’ve lived long enough to drop the filters and say what they really think — sometimes with sharp wit, sometimes with gentle humour.

A woman in her fifties doesn’t need to be rescued; she needs to be understood. She’s likely faced heartbreak, maybe raised a family on her own, or rebuilt her life after divorce or loss. When she opens herself up to love again, it isn’t naive — it’s brave, and it’s hard.

And her partner? He’s probably been through a few rough patches of his own. Maybe he’s been burned, or perhaps he’s learned that success doesn’t fill the quiet moments. He’s searching for something more profound this time around.

When these two meet, sparks don’t just fly — they ignite memories, fears, and longings that have been buried under the routines of life. Their connection is built on shared understanding. They know that love, at this age, isn’t about fireworks — it’s about warmth, laughter, trust, and showing up, even on the messy days. And both are fully aware that it doesn’t always work out. What they ask of each other at this time in their lives is very different than the first time around.

Let’s face it, they’re not ready to compromise, unless it’s worth it.

Representation Matters — Especially in Love

Let’s be honest: most mainstream romance still leans heavily on the young and beautiful. The twenty-something heroine with endless energy, perfect skin, and a list of romantic mishaps that always resolve before dessert.

But where are the women with laugh lines, with teenage kids or grandkids, with careers that have taken unexpected turns? Where are the widows, the divorcées, the empty nesters, the women who have loved, lost, and dared to love again?

When I started writing romances with older protagonists, I wanted to fill that gap. I wanted to see mature women in love — not as a punchline, not as “cougars,” but as whole, vibrant, complicated human beings.

I get emails from readers who tell me, “Thank you for writing someone like me.” That’s what keeps me going. Romance is not just for the young; it’s for anyone who still believes in the possibility of connection, no matter how many birthdays they’ve celebrated.

And here’s the beautiful thing: mature love stories remind us that passion doesn’t fade with age — it just changes shape. It grows deeper, quieter, more intentional.

The Power of Second Chances

I love a good second-chance romance and second chances at love. Maybe it’s because life rarely gives us do-overs — but when it does, they can be magical.

In my books, second chances come in many forms. Sometimes it’s rekindling love after heartbreak. Sometimes it’s learning to trust again after betrayal. And sometimes it’s rediscovering yourself before you can open your heart to someone new.

The characters in these stories often start from a place of hesitation. They’ve been hurt. They’ve built walls. They tell themselves they’re fine on their own — until life nudges them into a situation where their hearts start whispering otherwise.

That’s the moment I love writing most — that flicker of realization when someone who swore off love starts to feel again. It’s not about starting over from scratch; it’s about building something more substantial with the lessons of the past still intact.

Love after loss or disappointment requires courage. It means risking your peace for the chance of joy. It means trusting that the next chapter won’t look like the last — and that’s precisely what makes it worth writing about.

Trust and Vulnerability

For my characters, falling in love isn’t the hard part — trusting that love will last is.

When you’ve lived through betrayal, grief, or loneliness, the hardest thing to do is open your heart again. But that’s what makes mature romance so powerful: it’s not about naïve faith, it’s about conscious choice.

In Hearts Taking Reservations, Johanne doesn’t just fall for Patrick overnight. She wrestles with doubts — about herself, her judgment, her future. She wants love, but she also wants to protect the independence she’s fought so hard to reclaim. Patrick, in turn, has his own shadows — a past that’s left him cautious and scarred. Watching them learn to trust each other again is, for me, the essence of second-chance love.

In all my romance novels, there is always a moment when the main characters start to entertain the idea that perhaps this relationship could work. That the positive outweighs the negative, and that they couldn’t walk away from this chance.

At this stage in life, vulnerability isn’t easy. It’s deliberate. And that makes every touch, every confession, every shared silence even more meaningful.

Building the characters

In crafting the protagonists, I refrain from precise physical descriptions. I’d rather the reader fill in the blank. Perhaps Johanne looks like them. I focus on personality and character. They dress their age, and they wear reading glasses. And the men…Ah! The men. Because I create them, I don’t make them perfect, but I make them worthwhile. No alpha males, no shirtless hunks. Just men, doing their best, giving up the status quo to take another chance. Looking at the other person differently, attractive, yes, but also in ways that have depth.   

Writing mature love stories allows me to redefine what “romance” means. It’s not about wild gestures or whirlwind affairs — it’s about companionship, laughter, and a meeting of minds as much as hearts. There is physical excitement, the slow burn of anticipation, a touch, a smile. But it’s more than that, and they know it.

In my books, the spark might begin over coffee instead of cocktails, or while painting a wall instead of dancing under the stars. But that spark is just as real — maybe even more so — because it grows out of authenticity.

Love at this stage isn’t about finding someone to complete you. It’s about finding someone who complements you. Someone who respects your independence but still makes space for intimacy.

And yes — there’s still passion. It might not be the impulsive kind, but it’s grounded in comfort, chemistry, and emotional connection. Mature love knows how to pace itself, how to appreciate the quiet moments, and how to laugh in bed at life’s absurdities.

My novels, under the Ginette Guy Mayer author brand, are closed-door romance, meaning anything hot and steamy happens in the reader's imagination.  There are markets for both. I would use a different pen name for anything spicy and open doors.

The Challenges (and Rewards) of Writing Mature Romance

Writing these stories does come with challenges.

For one, there’s the stereotype that readers only want youthful, carefree romance. But I’ve learned that’s not true. There’s a growing audience for love stories that feel real — stories that celebrate every line, every scar, every lesson learned. A publisher in Brazil recently picked up My Heart Collection. The company was looking for mature female authors writing mature protagonists.

The key is balance. My goal isn’t to idealize or oversimplify midlife romance but to honour it. I don’t shy away from the challenges — health issues, body image, family conflicts — but I also show that love can thrive alongside them.

And the rewards? It’s so much fun, and I genuinely like the characters I have created.

Love, Growth, and the Courage to Begin Again

At its heart, writing about mature characters and second chances is about hope. Not the naïve kind, but the kind that’s earned through experience. My readers love that; they like to see someone like them, making it through life, coming out of bad experiences, but not jaded enough to give up. My stories don’t change the world, but they offer an escape and a laugh for the time it takes to read them.

It’s about saying: yes, life can knock us down, but it can also lift us in ways we never expected. It’s about the quiet beauty of connection after loneliness, the warmth of laughter shared across a dinner table, the way love can sneak in when we’re sure the door is closed.

For me, that’s the truest kind of romance — not perfect, not effortless, but real.

So the next time you pick up one of my books, know that every character, every story, carries that message: love doesn’t fade with age — it deepens. It grows wiser, stronger, and infinitely more meaningful.

And if you’ve ever doubted that your best chapters are still ahead, I hope my stories remind you otherwise.

Because they are.

Share your thoughts: Have you ever read (or lived!) a second-chance love story that stayed with you? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below — your experiences and reflections often inspire the next story waiting to be written.