I recently had surgery and, knowing I would be in bed for some time, I stole a box of books from my sister. These books are the kind that people may laugh and tease me about, of the variety that I’ve been addicted to since childhood - historical romance novels.  You’d think that this isn’t typical reading for a child, but let me explain a few things about myself to make you understand my life a bit better - some of which could be considered shocking for a child being raised in this age and era.

I was born in Dallas, TX, amidst a poor, urban environment. I was a hellion and I fear what would have become of me had I stayed in this environment. My twin sister and I were an amazing jumble of uninhibited twin-terror tomboys, constantly filthy and forever in trouble.  We could not be contained. My mother once had child services called on her for our hysterical screaming.  When they arrived on her door, she only had to take a toy from our hands and we fell down in a spoiled tantrum - to even think anyone would take something away from us!

Needless to say, child services realized that weren’t being beaten senselessly. I am sure they walked away in the disgust we so rightfully deserved. I don’t blame my mother for how we acted - if you knew my sister and I, well, you would see that we always were willful and obedient only to ourselves. This is a trait we learned to curb, but never lost, as we grew up - but only because of the changes we would soon face.

When we were eight, my mother met my soon-to-be stepfather.  He drastically altered the course of our lives for the better, even though I didn’t think so at the time. This man was a very dominant and strict; we had great fear of him and he definitely did not let us run amok and do whatever we wanted. We soon relocated to a small town in Wisconsin, in such a rural environment that neighbors were literally miles away.  A plot of forest was cleared for my mother and new stepfather to build their dream home, a home that would be the worst fear and shock to spoiled urban brats, as (*gasp*) it would be a log house without the use of running water, electricity or any other modern comfort you could think of.

Don’t ask me how this could be anyone “dream house”, but to them it was. They actually WANTED to live without modern day comforts and were the type to jaunt off to Renaissance fairs and Indian camp-outs (if that helps explain much).

Lo and behold, we were put to work like farm children in the days of yore, to build a home and a place for our parents. And I mean work. We peeled the bark off the green logs, laid the gray cement foundations, cut the planks of lumber with a saw, and nailed the wood with hammers just like it would have been done years ago. The outhouse went up, the garden was planted, kerosene lamps burned and the wood cook stove heated our bath water.  At the age of eight, this wasn’t such a bad thing to have happen - I enjoyed it as only a child could and made it into a fun adventure, despite the work involved.

It wasn’t until later, in my teenage years that I really rebelled against such a life, around the time I began wanting to lay out in the sun and tan but was told I would have to pick the rocks out the garden the size of a football field if I wanted “lay out”. (I never once thought about the Atari we had left behind until I began to reflect upon my life of gaming years later. It is safe to say, this is probably why I love all things electronic.)

Anyhow, back to the ever-trifling basics. What’s a girl to do in such an environment, with no entertainment and back-breaking labor? Why, read, of course… and so began my twirling decent into compulsive and obsessed reading.  I became an avid reader, as I had naught much else to do.  Both my sister and I could usually be found laying in our loft, reading by the light of the kerosene lantern, long into the night. We would get yelled at every night, of course, to blow out those lamps and go to bed, but in our truly rebellious and underhanded ways we became masters at subterfuge and stealth.  We built tents, above the bed that we shared, to block out the softly glowing lantern, which we turned down so far that the wick fell into the bowl below quite a few times (that could have killed us, you know, either by a blow-up or a fire with the blankets from our self-imposed tents).

I was the type of child who would go to the library and pick out the biggest and/or the most fantastical books I could find.  I soon made my way to the high school library, long before I should have ever entered (the elementary and high schools were attached, as it was such a small town). I always loved novels that took place in other worlds or times, and I guess this is why I have always loved gaming so much, as it is the same as reading as far as escaping reality and plunging yourself into worlds so unlike your own. 

My earliest remembered readings were those of J.R.R. Tolkien, Jane Auel and Alexander Lloyd - anything that would offer an escape to fantasy worlds I could dream to be a part of. One of the first romance books I REMEMBER reading was Jane Eyre, when my eldest sister had brought it home as required reading for her English class; from then on I was hooked.  All the other “respected” romance novels were quickly drowned in my hungry eyes as I dug for them - books such as Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights all met with the same end in my greedy rampage for love overcoming all obstacles.  I am not sure how I was introduced to the “trashier” romance novel (I think perhaps we bought a box at a garage sale once), but I know that I began reading these, along with my beloved fantasy novels, at about the tender age of 12, before I even knew what romance was.

As a pubescent teenager, these books came as such a fascination to me, at the time young girls begin dreaming of romance and romantic love. It most certainly was not for the sex scenes that some of the later books included, as I had no understanding of what those truly meant, although they did hold some fascination. It was the ever-alluring stories of people meeting, conflicts being overcome, and true love holding out to win against all odds that enthralled me.  I even shamelessly practiced for months to learn how to cock an eyebrow right back at the always arrogant hero in these novels. I did this, hoping for the day that my knight in armor would show up and dare try to throw his eyebrow up at me at our first meeting (that was how many of the hero’s always started out- arrogant men who are tamed by love).

Anyway, it is safe to say my love for romance never died, and historical romance novels still hold a big place in my heart. This, in all honesty, is probably the reason I love RPGs and MMOs, as they often deal with the quest for truth, honor, fantasy, and many times love. Being immersed in fantasy and love isn’t too unusual of a dream for many people.

You may wonder why I wrote this hefty blog, and to say the least I didn’t mean for it to include as much as I have written. I am simply misty at the last series of novels by Lynn Kurland, which I just gobbled up. There are no sex scenes in these books, so don’t bother if that is what you are after).  Her book From This Moment On, in particular, had me laughing, crying, and dreaming of knights and times which would make most feminist cringe in outrage. Indeed, it would make me shudder to my very bones to think of the actualities of these eras; however, you could say I have an “unrequited” love for the fictional romances and adventures that these novels offer.  It was also fun to reminisce about my unusual upbringing and how it made me love the escape into fantasy.

It’s not that modern love isn’t good or satisfying, yet fantasy will almost always be better than reality simply because everything is imaginable, attainable and always happy in the end - as much as you could protest otherwise, life simply isn’t like that. However, I think these fantasy and escapes are good for the soul, and good for helping to make real lives fun and exciting as we go about looking for our own knights in shining armor. And when you find them… well… just don’t expect them to cock an eyebrow at you OR bend on one knee professing love, and you’ll be alright.

Actually, in the last book I mentioned (one of the best novels I have read in a long time), the 12th-century knight was the worst in history in professing love and acting like a gentlemen. For some reason, that made him all the more endearing and lovable - so perhaps there is hope for the “modern” knight after all…