The problem with creating fictional people and then writing a novel about them – is that you start to believe in them. You have chats with them in your head. You feel what they’re feeling and spend an inordinate amount of time musing upon what choices they’re going to make that day. In your novel. Which is starting to take over your REAL life. And an even bigger problem is when youre writing a YA romance. And the main love interest is an incredibly delicious concoction of man-ness. Called Daniel.
Why? Because you take all the very best bits of all the boyfriends you ever had. (And bits from all those you pined after and they never even knew you existed.) You add in a sprinkling of all the yummiest characteristics of every actor/celebrity/comicbook hero that ever sent chills down your spine. And then you mix it all up and ice him with everything you love/adore/lust for in your Significant Other. (In my case, my long-suffering husband of 17 years.) Then you let it all bake in a heated haze of creative fantasy. The man you end up with, then hops out of the oven and takes off running through your imagination. “Run, run as fast as you can, you cant catch me Im the gingerbread man!”
And he isnt always content to just hang out in your novel. No. He likes to spring out at you when you’ve had a long tiring day cleaning up the mess left behind by your family as they all dashed off to exciting lives at school/work. You contemplate your son’s filthy pit of a bedroom and you mutter darkly, “I bet Daniel never had a disgusting messy room like this.” And the Impossibly Hot ( and clean) Imaginary Man leans against the doorjamb and nods his head knowingly.
He lurks in the background when your husband is waaaaaay too tired from work to even have a conversation with you. Let alone take you to a movie. Or go dancing with you. And you think nasty thoughts – “Im sure if I was married to Daniel, he would bring me roses every day. And whisk me to Paris on the weekends. No reason, just because…” And the Impossibly Hot ( and never tired, never on a budget) Imaginary Man shrugs and gives me compassionate (steamy) looks.
The Impossibly Hot Man is never mean. Grumpy. Impatient. He’s wild and dangerous – without being unfaithful or insensitive. He’s rugged and rough around the edges – but knows how to dance the tango, iron his own shirts and make me fluffy pancakes for breakfast.He’s incredibly sexy but only ever wants to have sex at the exact same time i do. (wow, how in-synch is THAT!) And he thinks holding hands is as thrilling as watching ‘Kill Bill’. He’s loaded with money – but never has to go to work – so we can have exciting adventures together all day, everyday. Riding motorbikes, fighting off terrorists in Spain together, getting shot at while skiing together in Aspen, kissing at the top of the Eiffel Tower before we have to parachute down with a hankerchief to escape crazed assasins…Big sigh.
But probably the best part of the Impossibly Hot Man is that when Im with him ( in my novel…in my imagination) I am Impossibly Beautiful, Skinny, Funny, Clever, Witty, Exciting, Alluring, Powerful and Fascinating. Oh, and I always look like an entire crew of thousands did my makeup, hair, nails and wardrobe. Yes, together me and the Impossibly Hot Man are an Impossibly happy and beautiful couple. Run, run as fast as you can, you cant catch me…
Indeed, if I let him, the Impossibly Wonderful Imaginary Man would have me getting a divorce by the end of the day. Telling my children to put an ad in the “New Mother aka Slave Wanted” section of the newspaper. Packing my bags. And running off into the sunset. To live an impossibly happy life. Forever ever after. Where nothing bad happens. Where people never have to do dishes or laundry or worry about bills or raising naughty teenagers or look after sick preschoolers or yell at 7 yr old hyperactive little boys.
Which is why its a VERY good thing that this darn novel is five pages away from being finished. So i can stop chasing the Gingerbread Man and get back to reality. Because fiction is FICTION. And we should only ever escape in it once in awhile. Not let it run wild through our house, family or marriage.
(You hear that all you crazed Twilight addicts?! Edward is NOT REAL. I repeat…Edward is a gingerbread man!)