AUTHOR'S CORNER;

SHAMELESS CONFESSION

I am a writer of fiction; of make belief and fantasy.  I am, on page, not the same person that my friends and family know me to be.  In reality I am a mother of four, respectable and pretty much ordinary. There is nothing strange, weird, quirky or even a little out of the norm about me, and no, I am certainly not exciting, naughty or a scheming madam.  In fact, see me in the street and you wouldn't even bat an eyelid.  My kids know me as mum and my husband is used to me playing wife and preparing his meals, cleaning his house, raising his family.  When I talk, I do not talk as I write, in fact, I have been known to stumble on my words and confuse my sentences. There is nothing extraordinary about me, and basically me and suburbia co-exist very happily together.

But yet when I am at my laptop, typing away and my imagination is in full swing, I am far from that ordinary housewife who is so familiar to her husband and kids. I find myself untamed, and wild in my thoughts, I find myself to be quite the diva, the hateful scorned woman, the vengeful woman, the temptress so full of untamed passion and naughty, naughty thoughts! My spirit soars in fiction and my senses come to life; I am who I was always meant to be upon the pages of my world.  I am free and unchained and allowed, if only briefly, to live out the world as I ought to.  No longer restricted by the shackles of society and taboos which bind me to a culture which is basically man made, I find myself refreshingly light 

The word is my oyster and I am free to think as I please, see it as I wish and I wish it in passion and desire, anger and revenge, plots and plans!  I wish it in multi colours of peoples and unbridled ideas! I wish it in whatever takes my fancy and my fancy is never in suburbia, that's just where my loved ones are!

 I can be whatever I want, whom ever I want.  I can take my life and reshape it and do with it all I wish.  I can say it how I like it, be what I have never been and believe, if only for a brief duration of time, in what I want.  My characters are fiction, and my story is not based on anything real, but does that make my opinions or the view I portray in the story not real?  Is not the writer baring a little bit of their inner self when they endeavourer to share a little bit of their creativity?  My characters engage my senses as children engage a mother; she may not be able to live out their lives, but through their eyes she gets a brief taste of a new and different life. 

My leading ladies have led me to adventures I could only ever dream of.  All the while, whilst living it in my head and feeling it in my soul and losing myself in my imagination, I maintain a calm exterior and a motherly smile.  And I assure friends and family (who of course believe me) that this is all fiction, all stuff and nonsense and nothing at all to do with the real, calm, intelligent, respectable me!

 I am often found in my study, lost in a new novel, deep in thought, plotting and scheming, making the world around me wicked.  I am often seen by passers by as they walk past my window, pounding away at my keyboard, lost in lustful scenarios and passion filled days.  Putting rights the world in which man has so foolishly misused.  Making men pay for their trespasses against women. Corrupting women and abandoning children, emasculating men and rendering them weak.  And yet when I am asked how come I write like so, I simply laugh and mock them and say, 'Oh come on, it's all make belief!'  I grab hold of my children for good measure, all the better to appear respectable.  But there is a glow to my face and a lightness in my step....