Tales from the Bedroom…
- At April 03, 2013
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 2
That got your attention, didn’t it? Don’t worry, this isn’t that kind of post. It’s about something I heard on the radio yesterday. Apparently, the concept of a “double” bed, ie: for two people, doesn’t mean the same thing in Germany as it does here.
The clip I heard on the radio was from a woman, I’m guessing young, who was aghast at making this discovery while on vacation. She felt that sleeping under separate duvets totally destroyed the romance.
No snuggling close beneath the covers. No playing footsie. Etc. Etc.
I think, give it a decade or two, honey. You’ll be kicking those hot feet over to their own side, believe me. Having your bed-mate take all the bedding with him when he rolls over, now that damages the romance.
But then, so does insomnia and hot flashes.
If you’re lucky enough to be with someone who matches you annoyance for annoyance, and puts up with you anyway, you’ll probably be happy to sleep side by side in whatever bed you happen to find yourselves. Etc. Etc.
“Self-Doubt…
… doesn’t do anyone any good when you’re right.”
Or so said Hugh Laurie’s Dr. House, if I recall correctly.
Most of us are plagued with self-doubt at one time or another. I seem to have it a lot. Which doesn’t make sense, given that I’m also right a lot of the time. Or at least, pretty self-righteous. It’s an unfortunately combination, which may explain why I don’t go out much. It’s better for us all.
Or maybe it’s a writer thing. Nora Roberts said “Writing doesn’t make you neurotic; neurotics become writers.” So I guess it was inevitable.
But, writers, plumbers, doctors, ranchers or whatever, we’re all prone to human failings and frailties. It’s a fallen world, after all. Despite our best intentions, we all inflict bone-headed, self-centered, blindly stupid mistakes on those around us, for which we end up scraping for forgiveness.
And sometimes, we have to be big enough to do the same for others.
I’m at that wonderful stage in my book where my characters have slipped off each others’ masks just enough to see the true person beneath. It’s an ugly, painful experience, but wildly, truly, whole-ly human. I love being able to orchestrate this from above, putting true words into the mouths of made-up people, giving them honest actions and reactions in fictitious lives.
I wish it would come together the way I see it in my head. It would be The Best Book Ever.
But who knows? I could have it right already. And self-doubt doesn’t help anyone, when you’re right.