My husband has been spending a lot of time in airports lately and decided to take my books for a whirl.  I must admit, when he called me and said that he was well into “Wait for Me,” part of me cringed.  I mean, my writer self is worlds apart from my everyday self.  In real life, I’m boring and kind of bitchy and definitely not a siren.  I’m a Scotch-Irish hard-head who doesn’t back down from a fight easily and admittedly has a sharp tongue when I’m tired (which is a lot.)  My writer self is a lot more fun.  I believe in sex on the fly, like to flirt shamelessly, and don’t worry too much about dishes or laundry.  My husband doesn’t quite understand that I am two separate people.  So, the inevitable happened.  When he arrived home from his business trip, there was a spark in his eyes.  Ladies, you know the one.  I nervously asked him, “What’s up?” and he told me that he had no idea that I was so sexually creative.  “I’m not,” I had to explain to him.  “My writer self is.”  Next, my blond husband wanted to know why so many of my male love interests have black hair but that’s a story for another day.  I think that writers are like actors.  A lot of us are shy, introverted even, self-doubters.  Through our writing, though, we are set free.  We can be whomever we want to be.  I can be carefree, funny, sexy…and all three rolled into one.  I can shed my earthly anxieties and explore the world in any manner I choose.  Writers live in a two-sided mirror; I’m not just one side or the other, I’m both.  I am serious and ambitious, but I’m also fun and exciting.  Just don’t tell my husband.