You asked me what sacrifices I make for the sake of my writing.
Silence is my preferred companion, but I’m not totally alone. Spitzli, my mini Schnauzer, sleeps contentedly at my feet while my muse draws words from my fingertips, like a leech sucking blood.
Have you been hungry enough to eat wild boar from a spit in a forest, Mr Reporter, surrounded by your enemy? Have you been locked in a dungeon with a wizened old crone and only a hunk of stale bread and mug of ale to share between you? I have. It took quite a lot of figuring, in the confines of my study, to work out a suitable means of escape from that jail. On the other hand, have you danced like a fool among peasants in a medieval square or searched an alchemist’s lab and found barrels of silver and gold?
Some sacrifices are worth it.
However, Mr Reporter, by sacrificing a ‘normal life’, I’ve donned the cloak of guilt and selfishness. I do feel for my family. I hardly see them. Thank goodness my husband is a wonderful cook or I wouldn’t be as robust as I am. The ironing is piled high, a small sacrifice since I use this as an escape; a respite from writing.
Christmas and birthdays are a blessing. On these occasions I venture out into the rest of the house and clear away the cobwebs, polish the floors, wash the windows and air the dog. I fill the house with roses and gardenias cut from my husband’s garden and bake a cake. But those little pleasures are fleeting and vanish too soon. I return with Spitzli to my study, boot up the computer and disconnect the phone.
Since I left the Middle Ages, I’ve been quite lost. I tried to get a grip on reality by writing a draft for a modern murder mystery, but that didn’t feel right. Then joy of joys, along came a majestic dragon queen, evil to her claws. She is hovering now over the forbidden boundary separating Pravlica and Zares – my two realms of Fairytale and Reality. At least one of my characters must cross over. Oh dear, the ironing must wait. I’m trapped in a new story where hidden danger and betrayal fester in the deepest darkness. Chaos reigns. Writing is so liberating. #