There is Fact to Fiction After All...

I’ve never been the biggest fan of romance novels. They’ve always come across as a little too fake. That sappy, sudden and intense love the characters develop never sucked me into a state of suspended disbelief. Life just does not work that way, end of story.

It takes months to develop a deep connection to another person (your own children not included.) Sure, lust can smack you in the face and blind side you, masquerade as love. Yes, you can care for another after only a few moments. But love, real love that transcends the physical connection and human compassion? Yeah, I didn’t believe it was possible; thus, romances never held much for me.

Until recently, very recently, when I met a man. I knew right away that we would hit it off. We have too much in common; share too many interests, beliefs and passions not to. Then there’s the physical attraction, the chemistry, that spark that muddles my head when he’s near.

We spend hours upon hours talking about everything and that connection deepened. Over the course of a week, the impossible happened and now I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. The first time we hugged, just hugged, I had an intense sense of homecoming. The void in my life didn’t just fill in, it disappeared completely, it was as if it never even existed.

I’ve never been this truly happy, my patience with my girls has expanded ten fold, I find myself wanting to play with my children, a passion I never thought I was capable of. I look forward to waking up each morning and I can roll out of bed and face the day without working myself up to it.

Each day my pain gets less and this morning I woke up without being all but blinded with pain, I didn’t have a headache, sore joints or stiff muscles. My stress and worries haven’t disappeared by any means but I am better equipped to face them now.

Yes, I’ve learned a priceless lesson-there’s fact to fiction. Those sappy romances do have semblance to real life. It may be crazy, it may go against social norms but I could care less. I’m a better person, a better mother and a better writer for it and that’s what really matters. 

Of Two Minds

At just before four in the morning I’m torn. Should I go back to bed, get a few more hours of sleep or should I take advantage of the predawn stillness and let the whispers guide my hand to bring life onto paper?

As I wait for the Bright Eyed Quill to slip once more into the land of sweet dreams the stories take shape in the sleep-fogged recesses of my mind. Three to four hours of rare uninterrupted writing time lay right within my grasp. I can all but taste the sharp tang of graphite dust, the promise of a blissful hit of my sweet addiction.

I yearn for that escape, the joy of watching worlds unfold across off white and the thrill of exploring the minds of unnumbered people. To cast aside all worries of my mundane life and simply exist would be damn near orgasmic.

Yet the responsible adult in me is appalled. I’m about to endure a long stretch of late nights and early mornings. I should sleep while I have the chance. I’d regret the lack of sleep as I make the midnight drive home tonight.

“You cannot count on a nap before work,” my mind says, “Sleep while you have the chance.”

“You sleep every night, how often do you get to write now a days?” The voices whisper. “You got a solid three hours already. Indulge your passion, your dreams and the rewards will be well worth the loss of a few hours tonight.”

I can’t decide as both hold equal draw, the same importance and mutual priority. Yet, I cannot simply remain in this purgatory. I’ll flip a coin and let it guide my actions.

Heads-I let my mind unfold across the infinite nothingness and allow myself to be possessed by those who need to share their stories.

Tails-I lay myself down to sleep with the promise of another opportunity as this and the knowledge that I’ll start the swing refreshed.

The coin is warm between my fingers, a testament to the heat that awaits the dawn. I close my eyes and send a slight prayer to guide the coin and flip it into the air.

Stark man-made light glints off the etched surface as it falls end over end. A regal profile, a majestic bird, heads, tails and back again. I shut my eyes once more as it nears the ground and wait for the muffled signal.

The coin, which was to help my indecision lodged into the tight coarse weave of the carpet. On it’s edge, nether heads nor tails.

Well shit.