Why is it that no matter how much you pack, you’re always missing something you need?

Like the kitchen sink, which is all that isn’t in my very wheel-less satchel at the moment. I know I’m going to be regretting that lack of wheels quite soon. As well as the five extra skirts, six books that seem to want to be bricks when they grow up, and more contact lens solution than anyone needs for just nine days away.

By the time you read this post, I will have been on a Greek island for a good five days (at least, I hope they’re a good five days– I don’t want to jinx myself by presupposing), attempting to impersonate a Mary Stewart heroine, only without the English accent or the assorted World War II era villains. In the meantime, I’m packing. I am packing, I have been packing, and I will be packing. It’s one of those processes that goes on and on until ten minutes before departure for the airport, causing agonies of indecision, interspersed with fits of mad flinging. Flinging of clothes into the suitcase, that is. Or sometimes next to the suitcase, behind the suitcase, or over the suitcase. My aim isn’t terribly good. Neither were my gym grades in high school, which might have had something to do with the whole aiming problem.

As you can see, I’m really working quite hard to avoid this whole packing thing.

We all have our favorite delusions about ourselves. One of mine is that I’m a light packer. Hence the choice of a wheel-less suitcase, since, clearly, as a light packer, how heavy can my suitcase possibly be? I can haul that lil’ ol’ thing through the public transportation system all the way from Athens to Piraeus. No problem. Currently, that lil’ ol’ thing looks like one of the foundation stones for the Parthenon and weighs about the same. If I survive the trip without being crushed under the weight of my own bag, I’ll let you know.

One of my favorite tricks as a writer is to write about characters who are similarly deluded about their own capacities and characters, the sorts of characters who say one thing but do another, strong-willed termagants convinced they’re sweet and meek, heroes who declare they’ll never love while being secretly little blobs of sentimental goo waiting to happen. [My internal editor informs me that goo is not necessarily a positive attribute in a hero– I would like to clarify that this is purely metaphorical emotional goo, not to be confused with Ghostbusters-type green slime. And now that we all have THAT image stuck in our heads…. I can promise you, all my heroes are goo-free. Really. As we all know, a rolling rogue gathers no goo.] Sometimes these delusions lead to painful awakenings for the characters; other times, they find themselves pleasantly surprised by the new things they learn about themselves, like Letty, the heroine of my third book (coming out in paperback next month!), who thinks of herself as a practical homebody, but discovers a hitherto unsuspected flair for adventure.

I do not think I will be pleasantly surprised by the weight of my bag tomorrow morning.

Who are your favorite deluded characters? Or your favorite Mary Stewart novels? Or your favorite ways to avoid packing? Any related topic, really– except goo. Even though it rhymes so nicely with “glue”. Which we all know is a very fun word to say. (And ten points to anyone who gets that romance novel reference!).

On a completely unrelated note, I’ve posted an excerpt from my forthcoming book, The Seduction of the Crimson Rose, on my website. I promise, it makes a lot more sense than this blog post!

Unless that’s just me deluding myself again….