Sunday, March 4, 2012


No, I'm not writing about the new comedy that's recently been released in the States. Rather, I'm commenting on the desire to travel that hits me often--some people would say too often, but many of my family and friends are rooted to the earth like plants. I love 'em, but that's a fact. I, in fact, am happiest when I'm removing my shoes at Louis Armstrong Airport and boarding a plane to Anywhere.
So into travel am I that I experienced a moment of delight when a colleague who sponsored the school's European trip needed bypass surgery. Knowing behavior such as vying for her role might be ghoulish, I controlled myself and didn't run to the principal, begging for the role of chaperone and moderator. This sounds awful, but I was actually sad when I learned she would recover. The trip will take her, the students, and another lucky chaperone to France and Germany. I'm dripping green envy juice. Okay, I know I'm going to Hell. (By the way, I really didn't wish my colleague any harm. i don't wish ill on my fellow creatures).
Maybe my love of travel is the reason I write historical fiction. I live a very ordinary life by most standards (aside from the steamy scenes I put in fiction). I think most of us live dull lives. For me, historical fiction helps me disappear into another time and another world-- at least within my head. I've created WWII spies and soldiers who fought the good fight in Europe and Asia. My soon to come manuscript is the life of Grace O'Malley, the Irish pirate, and even my contemporary heroines engage in affairs with exotic, foreign men.
Wanderlust! I feel you calling. I hope summer comes soon.