My life is crazy. It’s full of nonstop action, and it’s big, loud, scary, sexy, fun, dramatic and spontaneous. I live in my head most days, caught up in my little worlds that no one else has seen. I am constantly swept away to another reality. No, I’m not crazy, I’m creative.
It’s a fine line, I know. And I ride that line every single day like a boss.
I have more on my To Do list than most. I want to ride a horse through the Highlands, kill a bad guy and save the day, swing a sword, snap my fingers and set a fire, cast a spell, read minds, sift through the air, change the weather, and maybe, if I have spare time, I’ll call the dragons.
I’ve worn many hats in my day, but none fit better than the imaginary ones I try on when no one else can see me. I have a brain and it’s filled with f*cking awesomeness and adventure, passion and excitement.
That’s not to say my ordinary life doesn’t have those things in it.
Believe me, it definitely does.
But we all have those fictional characters that take our breath away. You’re a book reader, I know you understand this way of thinking. We get tied up in those characters, start to think like them, want to live like them, wish we could actually meet them one day.
I have plenty of those folks living in my brain; they could occupy a small village, a large city, and possibly an entire universe. I find myself in certain situations in my day-to-day hum-drum where I wonder: What would one of those fantastic characters do if they were in a similar situation? It automatically beefs up my inner awesome meter to maximum power and I am suddenly a skilled mastermind that turns the ordinary into extraordinary.
I love books. I love them with a capital L.O.V.E. I will probably die with a book in my hand. And I get just as hooked on someone else’s imaginary people that I sort feel like we’re all family. I worry for some of the characters I read about. Honestly. I scream, cry, laugh and fret over the folks in those stories. I can ride an emotional roller coaster page after page, one chapter at a time. I get totally attached to them, I mourn for them, I love them, I hate them, some I just want to have a beer with, some… I’d like to do more. You know what I mean?
Yes, you do. Don’t deny it.
I’m prepared for some of the more dramatic events that haven’t played out in my reality yet. I’ve learned a lot of precious life lessons and survival skills from books. Hell, I consider myself a damn expert now, a jack of all trades and master of none.
I am confident that I can single-handedly take down a vampire with the skills of a well-seasoned executioner. I believe that if a Sidhe tried to mind control me, I’d be clever and strong enough to fight back and null their fairy a$$es right there on the street. Zombie apocalypse? You have no idea how prepared I am for that sh^t. I hope like hell I could outrun a demon, at least I’m willing to give it a try. If I don’t succeed in escaping them, maybe we’ll just cuddle and be friends. And I for damn sure know that I could sit back and have a couple of shots with some big, sexy, over the top vamps if they ever wanted the pleasure of my company. I can hang and I’m not afraid of fangs.
Bring it, big boys.
So I say it again, my life is crazy, because my life stretches beyond the normal. It’s substantial. It’s unbelievable. It’s impossible. Life is too short for the coulda, shoulda, woulda’s folks.
Grab life by the balls and give a tug. Make it moan. Make it scream. Make it amazing. Life needs all the awesomeness we have, in any way we can offer it.
This is why I write.
So to the readers out there that made it to the end of my rant, thank you. I hope you get a chance to read my book. Enjoy it. There’s plenty more to come.