I’ve spent a whole week of my life engrossed in six seasons of Grey’s Anatomy. Why do I get obsessed like this over drama? I’m not writing for the stage and screen and yet I’m hooked on hospital and forensic dramas on TV. This one is making me cry. Whatever the writers/directors/actors are doing, is working and I am caught up in their crises feeling the pain of their characters and falling into the stories. I love it, and the fact that I can stalk McDreamy all day and night – it’s a dreamy way to live.

Some people might say that I’m wasting my life by being so sedentary and unproductive but I feel inspired. This is a dreaming time. I’m thinking about the novel I wrote in November, trying to catch the right mood for my characters and if slobbing around consuming drama works for me then who’s to say that’s wrong? I am involved with the surgeons of Seattle Grace, in love with more than one of them and wishing I had created them myself.

I am in love with character but I can’t watch real people on these reality shows or cookery and grim social documentaries – drama is the best place to live in this world; it’s full of bodies squirming in physical or emotional pain and I don’t need to sacrifice anything to help. All I have to do is feel empathy, laugh and nod in recognition at depictions – even if I’m studying them it’s still an escape. But, I worry about dying and lying behind my door for weeks because I prefer fiction to real life.

After seven seasons, all those episodes where I lived with surgeons I am now suffering the pain of withdrawal. So, have I learned anything about characterisation and will I now steep myself in my own work? Perhaps. I know that I would like to be as good a puppet-master as the creators of Grey’s Anatomy. My mind is working on switches and strings and how to employ the perfect wrist movement to tweak that first chapter of the Nano novel. I am McDreamy, present but not fully functional yet.



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