My children asked me to make pancakes yesterday for Pancake Day and I made a hash out of it.
Because I used self-rising flour instead of regular flour. I didn’t know.
My husband said, “But you wrote How to Cook a Tart, a book all about a domestic goddess of a cook.”
“Yes,” I countered, “but she is not me.”
She is, in fact, my alter ego. The one I am not. She is a great cook. She is a patient person. She is nice. Oh, so much nicer than I.
Jasmine would have whipped up pancakes with a smile and then slathered them with fresh butter and sugar and lemon juice. And then lingered at the table while her children licked their plates clean and asked for more.
I plunked down leaden lumps of baked dough, shoved over the jam and barked, “Eat, get dressed and brush your teeth. I’ve got work to do!”
That is the secret of writing. You create characters who are not you.
Today is the beginning of Lent. It is funny that here in the UK my children learn from their state school what Lent is. My daughter came home discussing her options of self-sacrifice: chocolate, computer, complaining…
When I asked my eight-year old son what he planned to give up, he said, “That’s easy. I’m giving up smoking and alcohol.”
photo by melomane (flickr)