some people thought I *might* be addicted to the adrenaline rush of falling in lust. You know, that whole butterfly-in-stomach sensation you get when you're faced with something fresh and exciting - like new "love."
But at some point - in most cases - those butterflies morph into moths, and that fluttering isn't desire, but more like an illness that festers until you realize you and your beloved have nothing in common, his kisses make you go "eww" instead of "aww," the thought of intimacy makes you throw up a little in your mouth...
The rose colored glasses are not just off, but rather smashed on the concrete and ground into the sidewalk.
In the interest of honesty, I admit, I often hit that stage quickly.
While some (*cough - insert ex-boyfriend name here - cough*) blamed the "break-up" on my love of obsession with romance novels back then (I mean, who really can compete with the likes of Jamie from Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series, or Roarke from J.D. Robb's In Death series...), I believe now that "some people" may have been right. (Celebrate that admission with a GG & DC, hon.)
After two near-alter experiences, even my husband was a little worried as he waited for me at the end of the aisle last year. But he didn't need to stress - the minute I met him, I knew my addiction was cured.
At least in my personal life.
I haven't quite figured out how to draw the boundary lines when it comes to other affairs of the heart.
You see, I'm an ideas person, and sometimes they spew out of me with utter abandonment. If I've shared it with you, it's because I trust you, and expect you'll share in my joy...even if the lust lasts only a few hours. Because frankly, my excitement begins to wane when the romance gets limp.
I've spent a lot of time these past few months looking at ways to spark the creative fire that when lit, typically blazes out of control. Muse avatar Mondays (you're welcome), Dance Desire, becoming the proud owner of a new-to-me beautiful Mac... And though these tactics were meant to strictly fuel my writerly drive, my idea factory isn't a one-product-shop. Apparently.
Instead, the factory spits out prototypes that stretch my comfort zone and encourage collaboration, commitment...the ability to curb the addiction of falling in lust with a new idea and see it through to the happily ever after.
As I plug through NaNo (6,400 words!), I'm reminded of the many 3-chapter books that lay dormant in my bottom desk drawer. Like many of the prototypes from the idea factory, something turned the butterflies at the start of those stories, into moths. The thought of commitment got scary. Or the idea - story - concept - was somehow diminished by someone, or even myself.
It took a surprising wake-up call today for me to realize that I've invested too much time in relationships, ideas, projects, that are starting to make me throw up a little in my mouth.
I understand now that it's time to break up with them (yes, that means you 3-chapter manuscript, too!) and commit fully to the people, projects and WIPs who will not only work to keep the butterflies active, but who have also vowed to stick it out for richer and poorer, and through sickness and health.
The Book In My Bag Today: Fantasy in Death, J.D. Robb