Game of Thrones is one dot that I have not punched on my Geek Card.

Early on in my relationship with the man whom I eventually married, he and I used GoT as a means to flirting. He had Season One on DVD and I had not seen it . . . perfect excuse for me to borrow something of his and strike up a conversation. Or better yet, to get together and watch an episode or two.

By the time the end credits of the pilot episode rolled across my television, I know that the show simply wasn’t for me. I checked out somewhere around “The things I do for love.” You know, that scene.

I never looked back.

Oh wait, I did try the books. After all, fair is fair, right?

Guess what point I put down the book. Yep. That scene.

So, I’m a bit of a prude when it comes to my entertainment choices. I’m fine with that.

But my husband continues to watch GoT. And, now being married, the living room is completely his on Sunday nights when the current season is being aired.

All that is background to this post, really.


Yesterday, due to circumstances, he had to catch up on a few episodes. And I figured that I could just hang out in the room and ignore it. (I have a half finished jigsaw set up in the corner of the room.) I thought wrong. GoT is hard to ignore. Really.

And so I found myself doing more watching and less puzzle-ing as the afternoon wore on. And as I watched, I found myself drawn to the intrigue and danger, the murder-y plots within plots . . .

And I went to bed, wondering if, perhaps, my writing is just plain old boring. I debated adding in death and dismemberment, sex and backstabbing nastiness. Because, after all, it’s compelling! We just eat that up. What’s wrong with me that I don’t want to write it? After all, I was drawn in with just an afternoon’s exposure.

And then I woke up. Literally. I woke up this morning and thought “Huh. But that’s not me.” Sure, the intricately interwoven plot of GoT is fascinating. But the draw, for me, is the dense, rich world of GoT. Not its murder-y bits and shockingly high number of naked women.

Because, even intrigued as I was, I had relied upon my jigsaw puzzle as a means for my eyes and ears to escape certain bits. And I think I’m fine with that.

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