Confessions: I Ate the Cupcake, Let Out the Cat and Spent a Whole Lot of Time Dreaming of a Man I Can't Have
So, I'm on day three of eating better and moving more. I don't have any illusions of making the next Olympic team or even competing at the Master's level in an upcoming "Sprint Triathlon." I did register, though, and totally plan on participating come September 7th. So I do this jog for two minutes walk for two minutes cardio pull for 45 minutes every other day and yesterday began doing push-ups, with the help of my 10 year old who keeps telling me I have "stink butt"--so I don't have the best form. Next, I'll add free weights and I might even get on my bike--a 17 year old relic from the days when I did compete.
I like exercise. The burn, the clear head, and especially the way my body hums for a few hours afterward. Finding the time is the challenge, but I have the summer off and have made this a priority.
I am under a strict rule of portion control and right now this seems like a kind of capital punishment. I LOVE food. I love cooking and baking and eating. I love breathing in the warm, yeasty scent of bread and the explosion of something sweet on my tongue. Both are no-nos right now.
So my first confession today is that I ate the cupcake that was left completely defenseless on the second shelf of the refrigerator. Velvety white cake covered in fudge icing. It was glorious. It was climatic, even, having been without for so long (I know, just three days, but denial is an extremely harsh task master). I did it under the cover of night, when the house was quiet and I had just finished writing a completely erotic love scene between Ethan and Shae (book 2). Probably the hottest I've ever written and certainly the most daring (am I brave enough not to apply some editing?). I did it when those who had plans of their own for the scrumptious delicacy were sleeping; when witnesses to my wicked, impulsive decision were not around to later speak of it. And this morning, when one voice rose above all others, "Where is my cupcake?!?" I became conveniently deaf and mute. Three hours later I continue to tread water as the accused, somewhere between the guilty and the innocent.
And now the cat. He was howling in the garage last night. He wouldn't quit. And I was writing (by the way, when you hear Ethan howling and Shae purring, you'll know our cat entered the story, the way only a cat can sinuously traipse through even the most delicate of scenery). Bringing him into the kitchen wasn't good enough. He paced in front of the door, pawed at the seam where a cool draft wafted in, stretched himself as though he were reaching for the door knob and let out plaintive calls for freedom. How could I deny him? I let the cat out. Yes, we worry about coyotes in our neck of the woods. But the dogs in the neighborhood always warn us with frenzied barking. And our back yard is completely fenced. I kept the security lights blazing. So to those of you who are disappointed in my decision: I watched him romping in the tall grass along the fence line I have yet to attack with the weed-whacker and he was in feline heaven. I kept the curtains opened and looked up from time to time, to see him batting moths and digging for lizards. I didn't forget about him last night. He wouldn't come when I called and dashed away when I approached. This morning, he was curled up on the patio lounger, having tommed around all night. I have no regrets and neither does he.
My final confession of the day: I cannot get him out of my head, and he doesn't even exist.
Writing romance novels is like slipping through a portal into a world of suspended belief--sort of. My characters have plenty of realistic quirks, issues, struggles--they are as human as you can find within the pages of a novel, and I prefer it this way, because I absolutely believe that there are men and women in this world who love passionately and completely. Yes, we all have troubles. Some of them we have to grapple with ourselves; others we certainly benefit and bond from the help of a special man or woman in our lives.
This man who dominates my unguarded moments is not one of those. And yet he takes an active part in my fantasy world, from pleasing me with physical attention to standing by my side when the world becomes too much to bear.
A few days ago, I decided to put a stop to this and began booting him out of my head whenever he showed up. I tried replacing him with other dreamy men. But damn, he's persistent.
Last night he entered my sleeping dreams (a very unusual occurrence--I have such an active daydreaming life that I don't often dream when I'm sleeping), made love to me with tenderness, and stood beside me as my child was wheeled into surgery (a looming reality that is causing me some worry).
I'm content now to let my fantasy life take its natural course--it's going to have its way with me no matter what. And soon it will replace him with another man worthy of a few hot and steamy moments of which good dreams are made.
I like exercise. The burn, the clear head, and especially the way my body hums for a few hours afterward. Finding the time is the challenge, but I have the summer off and have made this a priority.
I am under a strict rule of portion control and right now this seems like a kind of capital punishment. I LOVE food. I love cooking and baking and eating. I love breathing in the warm, yeasty scent of bread and the explosion of something sweet on my tongue. Both are no-nos right now.
So my first confession today is that I ate the cupcake that was left completely defenseless on the second shelf of the refrigerator. Velvety white cake covered in fudge icing. It was glorious. It was climatic, even, having been without for so long (I know, just three days, but denial is an extremely harsh task master). I did it under the cover of night, when the house was quiet and I had just finished writing a completely erotic love scene between Ethan and Shae (book 2). Probably the hottest I've ever written and certainly the most daring (am I brave enough not to apply some editing?). I did it when those who had plans of their own for the scrumptious delicacy were sleeping; when witnesses to my wicked, impulsive decision were not around to later speak of it. And this morning, when one voice rose above all others, "Where is my cupcake?!?" I became conveniently deaf and mute. Three hours later I continue to tread water as the accused, somewhere between the guilty and the innocent.
And now the cat. He was howling in the garage last night. He wouldn't quit. And I was writing (by the way, when you hear Ethan howling and Shae purring, you'll know our cat entered the story, the way only a cat can sinuously traipse through even the most delicate of scenery). Bringing him into the kitchen wasn't good enough. He paced in front of the door, pawed at the seam where a cool draft wafted in, stretched himself as though he were reaching for the door knob and let out plaintive calls for freedom. How could I deny him? I let the cat out. Yes, we worry about coyotes in our neck of the woods. But the dogs in the neighborhood always warn us with frenzied barking. And our back yard is completely fenced. I kept the security lights blazing. So to those of you who are disappointed in my decision: I watched him romping in the tall grass along the fence line I have yet to attack with the weed-whacker and he was in feline heaven. I kept the curtains opened and looked up from time to time, to see him batting moths and digging for lizards. I didn't forget about him last night. He wouldn't come when I called and dashed away when I approached. This morning, he was curled up on the patio lounger, having tommed around all night. I have no regrets and neither does he.
My final confession of the day: I cannot get him out of my head, and he doesn't even exist.
Writing romance novels is like slipping through a portal into a world of suspended belief--sort of. My characters have plenty of realistic quirks, issues, struggles--they are as human as you can find within the pages of a novel, and I prefer it this way, because I absolutely believe that there are men and women in this world who love passionately and completely. Yes, we all have troubles. Some of them we have to grapple with ourselves; others we certainly benefit and bond from the help of a special man or woman in our lives.
This man who dominates my unguarded moments is not one of those. And yet he takes an active part in my fantasy world, from pleasing me with physical attention to standing by my side when the world becomes too much to bear.
A few days ago, I decided to put a stop to this and began booting him out of my head whenever he showed up. I tried replacing him with other dreamy men. But damn, he's persistent.
Last night he entered my sleeping dreams (a very unusual occurrence--I have such an active daydreaming life that I don't often dream when I'm sleeping), made love to me with tenderness, and stood beside me as my child was wheeled into surgery (a looming reality that is causing me some worry).
I'm content now to let my fantasy life take its natural course--it's going to have its way with me no matter what. And soon it will replace him with another man worthy of a few hot and steamy moments of which good dreams are made.
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