I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet
No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m talking about the earthquake we had here on the east coast of the US on Tuesday. We don’t normally associate this part of the world with measureable techtonic plate shifts, so the incident was, predictably, blown completely out of proportion by the local media. Scare words. Public reaction. *eye roll* Don’t get me wrong – it was a bizarre sensation. The floor felt almost liquid. The view of the trees outside swayed for a dizzy, wonder-struck moment.
What I noticed most when they evacuated our building at work, though, was an astoundingly universal reaction. Everyone (with me, the lone luddite in the crowd as the exception) reached for their cell phones. Mothers panicked when they could not immediately reach daycare and school. Husbands railed at the terrible service when they could not reach their wives within milliseconds of their first attempt.
I stood and watched, an odd calm spot in a storm of tech drama and angst. The quake was tiny here. It lasted perhaps twenty seconds. There was no damage. The need to “connect” with loved ones and acquaintances every second of the day baffles me. No one has the ability to wait any longer. No one is permitted to have that personal distance we all need from one another sometimes.
Gods save me from all this connectivity.
I don’t own an i-Anything and most likely never will. My one cell phone is a prepaid, basic model (it only makes phone calls *gasp*.) I still have records (LP’s.) I wash dishes with my own hands. Perhaps that’s partly why I’m so drawn to historical fiction and always have been. More human contact, more thought, less info overload, more autonomy of experience, more room for independent thoughts brewing. From Rosemary Sutcliff and Mary Renault to Tamara Allen and Ava March, I love them all.
My own foray into historical fiction is out now at Amber Allure (and on Kindle):
M/M Medieval/ Fantasy
In the year 1288, Amiens Cathedral is still a hive of construction. Philippe works as a painter, cheerfully decorating the stone carvings. Lamed in the crusades, alone in the world, he feels he has found the perfect life, with a safe place to sleep and work he loves. He tells himself he is content, that is, until the night he spies a man in a scarlet cloak, kneeling in the sanctuary, clearly distraught. For Philippe, the world will be forever changed.
Lord Étienne Michelant has fallen far and fast. Once the beloved youngest son of a powerful family, now he has nothing and, unbeknownst to church officials, he lives atop the cathedral’s unfinished tower. In Philippe, he finds everything he ever wanted in a man, and he curses fate that they met now. Tangled in dangerous secrets and arcane enchantments, Étienne knows any hope of love is futile.
It will be up to a crippled painter to try to prove Étienne wrong and to navigate his way through the maze of enigmas surrounding him.
Oh my God! I cannot wait to read this one. Thank you for sharing with us today, Angel, and I am eternally grateful I live in England where if we do have an earthquake, no one but the sheep notice, because it would freak me right out!
Join me on the sofa again on Friday when I will be chewing the fat with my lovely dudette, Bonni Sansom.