All week, I’ve pretended I’m a full-time writer.
I’ve spent most of Spring Break working hard on Faith of the Heart, and I’ve also been watching a bunch of my oldies-but-goodies DVDs. I’m sure it’s not a huge surprise to anyone who looks over the titles on my shelves that most of them involve romance. Not all are traditional romances, although I have to admit I have more than my share — Pride and Prejudice being my absolute positive favorite. This week I’ve watched Cinderella (the 1957 musical version with Julie Andrews in all its glorious black and white), Guys and Dolls, and Shakespeare in Love. But I also watched several shows I consider to be romances. They just happen to have other things happening as well. 
The Music Man. Bridget Jones’s Diary. The Scarlet Pimpernel (the 1982 Anthony Andrews miniseries).
The one that has drawn so much of my attention is Enchanted. I drool at the notion of ever writing anything that witty, that charming, and that romantic. Such a simple premise too. Fantasy becomes reality. It just goes to show a good story doesn’t require an overblown plot to succeed. It needs to be plausible — even when a fantasy. It needs to include realistic and loveable characters. And it needs to call to the heart. In my typically low self-esteem way, I usually assume none of my stories have all three elements. But prepare yourselves! For once, I’m going to brag on my own work.
After my brilliant on-line partner helped me give Murphy’s Law a thorough polish, I hadn’t looked at it even once. This week, I read it. I didn’t critique it, I read it. I wasn’t looking for errors. I wasn’t trying to improve it. I just wanted to experience it like any other reader. And I was thrilled! For the first time in my “career,” I felt like a real writer. Someday, I promise this story will be behind a gorgeous cover, sitting on a shelf, waiting for someone to discover the romance inside.
Ah, but Spring Break has come to an end. It’s time for me to go back to being a teacher and put the laptop aside. I’ll still sneak away for clandestine meetings with it on the weekends, hoping my husband doesn’t get jealous. He’ll be conducting his own love affair because the horses start racing in Indiana again tonight.
But I’ll miss this week of being a full-time writer.