As my alter ego, a writer of erotic romance, I fall in love with amazing men. I watch characters emerge from the page with their own agendas. I wander down long dusty roads into the past to tease out details of a love affair between a maid of early Briton and her Roman conqueror.
As my real person, I dig into local history and personalities. I blog about travels and memories, Most recently I’ve blogged about issues in the news that stir my venom against patriarchy and ignorance. My blood is up.
Days have passed as I-as-my-real-self flogged the keyboard, brainstorming how to phrase in even more impactful ways all the harms caused by religious extremism. For now, I’ve mostly satisfied myself that I’ve read the reports, the research, that informs and elaborates on my ideas. I’ve put it out there. I’m done, at least for now.
All this time, I’ve longed to return to the misty hills of northern Wales where my maid awaits her next confrontation with the Roman commander. Her future is unknown, as is the future of the Roman legion camped a short distance away. The story will unfold only as I type the words.
I want to read this story!
But my blood is up. I’m restless. Arguments still echo in my real-person head. I’m finding it impossible to slip back into the green rocky hills where Caerwin waits, against her will, for Marcellus.
The solution for today’s dilemma? It was so simple, I don’t know why I didn’t remember it from the last time I ran up this stump.
Read. The magic word. I will read. No writing required.
I’ll set aside the real world and its daunting problems. I’ll indulge myself by investing in the latest novel by one of my favorite edgy authors, Tiffany Reisz. I’ll spend the rest of this day in her stunning world of sex and angst.
I’m relaxing now. Planning lunch. Birds chirp outside my window. From wherever I arrive by the end of her book, I’m confident I’ll soon find my feet walking ancient byways in long ago Britannia.