I have discovered something about myself. If I stray too far from historical for too long, I begin to miss it like crazy. To the point where I start to go a little crazy. I begin to talk with an accent or develop a Scottish brogue. Or I'll speak with a slow drawl and start peppering my speech with words like 'yip' and 'I reckon'. Yesterday, I didn't leave the office; I decided it was time to git along and then I moseyed on down to my vehicle. I'm pretty sure I even had a hitch in my step.
This foray into writing contemporary has taught me one thing. While I love the contemporary stories waiting to be told, and I've found some great contemporary authors I will continue to read, my first love is historical. Contemporary is--in the words made infamous on Grey's Anatomy--my dirty mistress.
It adds variety, a little spice, some fun. It takes my mind off the drudgery of historical research and manners and proper speech. It satisfies my roving eye.
But I love historical and I'll never leave it to take up with contemporary full time.