Vicarious Living

By Gwen Masters

I am a cardiac heart specialist.

Surprised? Wait until you hear the next part:

In my spare time, I’m a NASCAR driver.

But wait, it gets better! When I’m not burning up tires on five-hundred laps, I’m an international assassin with four different identities.

And when I’m not doing that, somehow I manage to step into my time machine and become a housewife in the 1940s, trying to keep my family together during the height of World War II.

It’s not a movie sound stage, and it’s not multiple personalities. It’s writing, and being able to become whomever I want to be in the pages of my books, in the paragraphs of my short stories. It’s living vicariously through my characters.

If there is something I have always wanted to do, but never had the chance, skills, or other necessities by which to do it, I can write about it – and through the magic of my PC, a lot of research and a little bit of luck, I’m right there.

When I was lost in the depths of Leigh, the cardiac specialist trying to save the life of the bastard who just ended their relationship, you can bet I could almost feel every tiny gasp of breath as I tried to pound life back into his cheating heart. When I was lost in Karen, the woman who entertained clients in her high-priced suite and offered them caviar and champagne after their encounter, you can bet my heart was pounding at the thought of having all four of those men in bed.

All four...at once.

Ummm...ah, give me a moment...my mind just veered off into the direction of satin sheets, strong muscles, broad shoulders, magic hands, moans of ecstasy...

Ahem. Excuse me. Where was I?

Ah, yes. Living vicariously.

That’s one of the joys of writing, one of those guilty little pleasures tucked away in the back of my mind every time I sit down at the keyboard. I might have hours stretching before me, empty time to fill with all the imaginings of my mind, and it’s all about what I want to do, what I want to feel, and what I hope to accomplish. It’s a selfish pleasure, make no doubt about it. I write for the money, honey – but most of all, I’m writing for me.

Making that perfect stranger fantasy a reality? Being the center of a BDSM party, my body bared for the lusty gaze of dozens of men and women? Riding out a hurricane? Assassinating leaders for the cold cash in my Swiss bank account? Having sex with a ghost? Not in real life. But in my pages – yes, yes, and oh, please, yes.

I’ve been a frustrated wife, lusting over the priest while I should be in Confession. I’ve been a married man having an affair with two different women. I’ve been an older woman with the lawn boy, and the younger woman with the college professor. I’m just as likely to be a junkie as a marriage counselor. I haven’t become a vampire yet, but just give me time. It all depends on the mood of the day.

Sometimes living vicariously though my characters leads to living vicariously...for real. For the cardiac specialist, I spent two days in the ER at the invitation of a good friend, who showed me what ‘controlled chaos’ really means. For the former CIA agent, I spent long days at the firing range, learning about weapons. I’ve been storm chasing in Oklahoma. I’ve been behind a bar in Atlanta, shadowing a bartender. In that particular venture, I learned what a proper Jack Daniels hangover feels like. Saying it wasn't pretty is an understatement. Hey, I never said this living vicariously thing was easy all the time, did I?

This time it’s something a bit more sedate. In a few weeks, I’m going to spend time with Iowa’s covered bridges, interview first responders, and delve into reams of psychological profiles – all research for Iowa, my latest writing venture.

And after that...well, there's a gorgeous, very experienced stripper, the one my fiancé seemed to like so much the last time we ventured into the strip club. She had many years of seeing things most of us can only imagine, and quite a life to talk about.

Besides, she gave great lapdances. A few more wouldn’t be out of the question. It's all for research purposes, you see?