by Lillian Csernica on March 15, 2013
Now I could get all philosophical here and offer deep, profound insights on the psychodynamics behind why I write what I write. Or, I could just be honest with you and lay it on the line. I know exactly what fuels what I call my Idea Factory. Two crucial elements, closely related and occasionally simultaneous.
Allow me to define my terms. Chocolate is pretty straightforward. My best friend, partner in crime, and sometime collaborator and I have done extensive research in this area. She prefers Cadbury while I lean toward Ritter Sport, especially the dark chocolate with whole hazelnuts. (WHOLE hazelnuts!!!) We agree on Oreos, but we’ve sworn a pact that we will never again eat the Oreos that came out that one Easter with lavender filling. I’m not making this up. Lavender filling. That was the night I grabbed the scene we were working on and insisted we use the good guy’s shotgun to blow the bad guy’s Corvette so full of holes he could use it to strain pasta. Chocolate fuels writing. It’s that simple.
Now about the sex. Let me say right up front that I’ve been married for twenty-five years and I’m not going anywhere. However, since I do write historical romance, I have a serious weakness for men who look good in costume. This has been true ever since my first Renaissance Faire and later when I joined the SCA. Oh my stars and garters. The sight of a good-looking man from the Scots Camp or one of the colorful boys from the Landsknecht group or somebody more medieval with long hair and a wicked sparkle in his eye just sets my imagination afire. Given that I’ve been married longer than some of this walking eye candy has been alive, I’m not about to commit any serious indiscretion. (All right, fine, there have been a few minor indiscretions, but those were NOT with minors!) Maybe I can’t have a dream date in real life, but I can do whatever I want to Mr. History on paper!
Am I being too honest here? Five yard penalty, too much information?
This is how it works, folks. I have to come up with the zip and sizzle to write four hundred page romance novels over and over again. I’m a writer, so I can’t help being an observer. The fact that I spent most of the ten years of my retail sales career in some kind of historical costuming did a lot to shape my tastes in men. Did I mention that my husband is an epee fencer, and I met him while we were both working at the Renaissance Faire? I love swords, so I very much appreciate a man who knows how to handle his weapon.
Sex and chocolate. Chocolate and sex. Serotonin, theobromide, dopamine, and all those other creative juices. These are the necessary elements of my art and my craft. There are some lovely young men out there who should be very happy that I’ve found a way to vent my passions in a manner both profitable and restrained. In other words, writing my books keeps me off the streets where I might be whistling and yelling rowdy compliments at the lads in French, Spanish, Italian, Nederlands, and Japanese.
You don’t know what fun is until you’ve experienced the joys of being a multilingual hussy.