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One of the problems of being a writer is that at any one given time you are actualy living in two worlds and in my case, as an historical author, two centuries. To write the stories my readers love so much, I have to immerse myself, totally, in the plot. The characters I create are as real to me as my own family members and their problems, and how to resolve them, matter as much as if my longest standing friend, Dee, arrived sobbing on my doorstep.
My life is like living in a constant Star Trek episode, one of those where the action takes place in two parallel universes, because I live in both 2008 and 19th century East London.
I walk the same streets in both worlds but whereas when my brain inhabits 2008 I see cars and mobile phones, when I’m walking in Victorian London I see horse drawn wagons and bare-footed urchins dashing about. I can’t help it and it spills over to other parts of my life. I wander around Tescos throwing random items in my trolley as I mull over how I’m going to get a character out of burning building or how long did it take a stage coach to get to Bristol?
Of course all this mental time travel can make me appear to the casual observer completely barmy. People speak to me and I smile vaguely because they may have just cut across a particular plot twist in my head. My Long Suffering husband finds the jam next to the TV and wet washing left in odd places around the house because, on my way to peg it out, the knotty idea I’ve been worrying about for weeks suddenly solves itself and I have to get it down right away.
I drift off, or escape really, into the parallel universe when I’m cornered at a party by an accountant whose wants to tell me all about the audit conference they have just attended. It happens on the phone, too, especially if I’m on the my computer. I’m Ok unless I start to read the paragraph I have just written then I slip right out of 2008 and into Victorian London.
If it’s one of my three daughters on the phone they know when it happens because I go into an ‘Mm!’ mode and they shout, ‘Come out of the programme, Mum!’ crossly down the phone.
Of course there are times when it’s particularly useful. A few years ago, because there was no one else was free, I was sent to represent our department to an IT strategic meeting. I knew nothing, and I mean nothing, about the IT systems we used or had any idea how we could improve on them but instead of spending a two hours in utter boredom I just whisked over to 1832 and scribbled away at the next scene.
I’d recommend it actually, especially if you can do as I did and pick up just one thing in the whole meeting that you knew something about and pipe up every time that’s mentioned. This gives the impression that a) you’re actually listening and b) all the scribbling of copious notes is so you are going to feed back to your colleagues at a later date. Of course, to ensure this strategy works, make sure you’re not sitting too close to the person next to you. Having a note pad with, ‘Nathan and Prudence on the Pirate Ship’, as the heading is a bit of a give away that you are not fully engaged with the meeting.
So if you should see me sometime and I look a little vacant just remembered although the body might be standing before you the mind may be somewhere else.
Jean
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