Thursday, January 12, 2006

Sarah McKerrigan

Ahhhh.  That's a big sigh of relief.  I just survived another book deadline.
I always tell myself I'll take a week off now, kick back, get rid of those dust bunnies collected behind my computer, reacquaint myself with my husband and kids, pet the dog.  But it never seems to happen.
Little literary ideas keep creeping their way into my domestic thoughts:
What would happen if a mail order bride from New York traveled to California during the Gold Rush, only to discover her intended had died?
How would Heath Ledger and Natalie Portman work as a couple in a historical romance?
What if a medieval knight traveled forward in time and took a job as a reenactor?
If a train is traveling west at 120 miles an hour, and another train...
Oh, wait, that's not a literary idea.  That's a recurring nightmare.
I'm afraid I've discovered the sad truth.  Writers don't write for the money or the fame or even the accomplishment.  We write because we MUST.  For writers, ideas don't stop when we write THE END on our latest novel.  Stories tug at our skirts like nagging toddlers, plot twists writhe about in our heads, and we can't look at people standing in line at the supermarket without giving them all backstories.
So though I may spend some time polishing the furniture, kissing the dog, and scratching my husband behind the ears, part of my mind will inevitably be working on my next novel.
Sarah McKerrigan...
Stories to keep you up all night.
Riding to the rescue April 2006

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