Thursday, March 17, 2005

Worked on two scenes for Orphans in the Storm today, and the computer ate one. Harumph and hah. Harumph because it's always annoying to see the blue screen of death swallow hard-written words, and hah because I waved my notes and outline in its face and set right about reconstructing the lost parts. Neener, neener, puter. Take that.

I was going to make this a part three in my ongoing rant/musing/apologetic, even had a title for it (If you like the Pina Colada Song) but then the puter ate my pages, and I had to blab about it. All in all a good writing day today; the first scene I worked on has some definite read-through-spread-fingers quality, but that would be needed for what's happening and where they are. The second scene, I had to start for balance, which has a much happier occurance. Kind of like emotional bookends. (btw, "Bookends" is my favorite Simon and Garfunkel song. Except maybe "Overs." That bit about time rattling the teacups gets me every time. Yeah, I think they're tied.)

One of my romance imponderables is the escape/fantasy factor. Or more appropriately put, faaaaaaaantasy. Not the genre that is often stocked with science fiction, but as the DH mentioned last night when I related a questionable comment I'd heard toward romance fiction, "yeah, like good personal relationships aren't real." Thank you, honey. See why I married this man? Plus he can cook.

To me, "escape" has a dramatic, possibly melodramatic tinge to it. What exactly are we supposed to be escaping from, rabid wolves? My first instinct is to lump it with my other word weirdnesses. (Others include: lady, skit and attractive. But those are all other stories entirely.) I'll be the first to admit that during the really sucky times in life, I will at least try to read more, because what better way to give one's mind a break than to travel to another place and time with the sole purpose of being entertained and gauranteed a wonderful romance, but I can't shake the connotation that reading romance means not dealing with real life. (My hackles similarly rise whenever someone brings up the "real people instead of actors" thing -- umm, unless we're talking animal actors, aren't people the only kind there can be? Or are they fake? Yes, I'm babbling. It was a long night.)

For me, it's anything but. In romances, we deal with the whole schmiel. Birth, death, love, hate, politics, religion, faith,doubt, war, time, space, friendship, betrayal, family,etc. It's all in there. Romance is the stuff of real life. Don't most of us know what the emotion of love is? Romantic or otherwise, we know it, we crave it, we give it, we live it every day. How is exploring that getting away from what's real? I dunno. Maybe I'm too nitpicky. Maybe I need jelly beans.

More tomorrow, as I am off to soak and read some Pamela Clare.

1 comment:

E. Catherine said...

I think to some extent, all reading is escapist. Not that we can't "deal" with the real world...but that we need a vacation. Vacations are good. *Books* are the stuff of real life. Indeed!