Potatoes and Vampires

...looked around the room in desperation and pulled at the chains around his wrists and ankles. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure he couldn’t escape.

He flinched as the curtains slowly opened to reveal a garden full of gothic statues and water features. Under the moonlight, this would have been beautiful, but it was mid-morning and the sun was creeping across the lawn. Soon, it would filter through that window and across the bed...

Psssssssst fffffffffft sssssssssssssssss

What...? Oh no! The potatoes are boiling over.

Do I rescue the handsome, young vampire, or do I rescue the potatoes?

The question is rhetorical; the food always wins. So does the washing machine when it starts its daily walk across the laundry. Someone has to sit on it—and that someone is always me.

I’m a housewife. Simple, but true. I’m a wife and mother. There’s nothing special, or interesting, about me.

Every morning I shove my husband out of one door to work, then push the remaining adult son out another door in the general direction of his work. I attack the housework—feverishly sweeping floors, washing dishes, and making beds with near maniacal fervour—all so I can spend a few extra moments in the company of vampires, aliens, ghosts, fabulous beasts and sexy lovers.

I know I’m not alone in my plight. Oh, come on. Admit it. You’re out there nodding as you read this. You know what it’s like to slave over a sink full of dishes while your mind is on another planet.

And, yes, it is true. I have been known to walk around the house muttering Vedrathian curses while I rehearse dialogue that may or may not make it onto that bright, shiny electronic page of inspiration.

Hold on a moment while I throw my hero into the washing machine so I can rescue my cl... Oh, wait. That’s the other way around.

I’m back. Now... where was I?

Oh yes. Trying to keep continuity.

Um... continuity... yes... er...

Okay, so it’s time for a cuppa and to regather my thoughts... while I sweep the floor.

It is a miracle that I manage to finish any of my novels. Sometimes it takes years. No joking. Years! But here I am, and here I remain, with one leg shackled to the ordinary, domestic world, and the other foot planted firmly in mystery, mayhem and otherworldly desires.

What it comes down to is determination and discipline. The determination to get that next paragraph down before the vegetables boil over, and the discipline to keep returning to the computer keyboard to fill all those odd spare minutes with alien love scenes and gory murders.

That’s what I do. I’m an author, editor, wife, mother, farmer, who doesn’t yet have the luxury of calling “writing” my full-time job. It is a writing life. It’s my life, and as manic as it can be, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Over the years I’ve discovered the secret of how to accomplish amazing things in surprisingly limited amounts of time. Time...

Yikes, the potatoes!

Catch you next time.

Brittany K.