I don’t read a lot of romance these days, but this one by Helen Pollard reminds me what I’ve been missing. I talk about her sweet (that means no sex before love! how refreshing!) romance on A Women’s Wisdom today.
YOLO. I see it all the time and it is just not true. More religions and people in the world believe in reincarnation than not. We are here in our tight little world of Judo-Christianity or our dark sky of atheism and it’s all we see, but there is more. To a lot of people there is more. I can’t say I’ve reincarnated from another time or place, since I have not done a past life regression, but it’s possible. And that’s not the ‘much more than one life’ I’m talking about.
According to recent science, there’s the life you wake up to every day and the life you wake up FROM every day. And there are the lives you live if you are a writer. Ray Bradbury said our brains don’t know the difference between writing a novel or living those words.
Actors inhabit their characters to the point where they are that guy they’re playing. Then there are people who pass into other lives in other worlds. Like Gypsy. If you don’t believe in science: superstring theory and cosmologist’s recent findings of multiverses, they sound like magic. I never knew until I read about the science and became a character in a magical novel who experienced it.
The brain can’t tell between dreams and day life, and it can’t tell between a deeply imagined fictional life and one that looks like a person sitting at a desk or standing on a stage. So, how many books can you write? That’s how many lives you can lead.
Or maybe you don’t write or act but you have a rich fantasy life, maybe you enter into the you who you want to be and you meet the one you want to be with, who is not the guy snoring next to you. You’re lying on your bed, but you’re not.
Or you enter into the novel you’re reading so completely that you wake from it like a dream when your 21st century oven timer goes off in your dystopian adventure.
I’ve been playing make believe all my life. Most kids do. Adults do it too but we call it reading, or writing, role-playing. It’s real, baby. It’s all real. At least to your brain, and, you know, if the brain is dead, the person whose head it’s in is dead, too. Or maybe they’re just on to their next reincarnation.
I’ve been working on getting Gypsy up on Kindle. If you’ve never done this, it is in some ways so easy and in other ways maddening. I was having a bit of a hard time convincing Amazon I’d like the 70% royalty rate when suddenly I get a message “Done! Gypsy will be live soon”
There were more things I wanted to do first, but hey, I got the important stuff done. Except that 70% which is pending. I’ll make it happen. I’m determined. But so hey another book. I just keep popping them out like a bunny having babies.
This past week has been full of good and bad, I think if you’ve been following along, you’re pretty much filled in. Today everything caught up with me and I had a physical meltdown in the form of a nasty migraine. Took meds which eased head but made me sleep most of the day so got no school work done. When I’m feeling really down, my back up plan for pain relief is food. Today I just ate and ate and ate some more. Now it’s dinner time, I’m not at all hungry, and the migraine is knocking again.
I could go to my other “make it stop” activity, drinking a glass or two of wine, but no. Instead I made dinner for Al and checked Twitter, where I read a very nice review of Blue Heaven. This cheered me up. I looked at my bank balance, which cheered me up even more. I made just under $3 for my writing last quarter. Yep, you got that right. $3. That’s from my publisher. Amazon sends money to the bank when I sell $10 worth, and I didn’t have one of those.
Yes, this writing business is making me rich:) But I can’t stop. I don’t even want to. I love to write and now there are a few people in the world who love to read what I write. That makes me happy, damn the stupid migraine!