I’m tired of boxes, tired of mechanical things not doing their jobs, and tired of having lots of reasons not to write.
On the upside, I found a treasure trove of notebooks I scribbled in about three years ago! Lots of notes on my first writings. Lots of notes to myself. Now I need many uninterrupted hours to work my way through them. Oh well, at least I know where they are now!
I spent the last couple of hours writing. No, not the reverse harem. Why? Because I’m not alone in my house and I can’t write sex with my kids peering over my shoulder. I write in the living room. Yes, you read that right. Normally, in the summer, I write from about eleven at night to about three in the morning. In previous years the kids have been young enough that I’ve had them well and gone to bed by ten. Not this year.
When anyone in my real life finds out I write a type of romance novel they immediately want to know if there are dirty parts. This is an interesting question for me. Because of where I work, I’m cautious with what I share. Currently, there are two women there that know about my blog. Neither of them has read anything I’ve written except an odd email. Also, I don’t talk about sex nearly as much in real life as I do here. I want to laugh at that, but it kinda bums me out too. I’m depressingly age appropriate in real life.
But I digress, what people want to know is how, how do I sit down and write a sex scene. So, for fun, here is my recipe.
First, find a deserted room. Preferably a whole house, but a single empty room is acceptable. Not to be creepy, but it helps if there’s a nice comfy bed in there.
Second, good earphones that will block all the noise except whatever you’ve plugged in to listen to. I like my son’s big, black Skull Candy headphones. I love the puffy ear covers. I can’t hear a thing once my music is going. I just have to trust someone will come to get me if the fire alarm goes off.
Thirdly, a door that locks. I know, I see the problems. It is what it is.
Fourthly, my laptop.
Once I have my stage set, I like to go to YouTube and watch some of my favorite comedians. Sometimes I’ll queue up Jerry Seinfeld’s Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, just let it run in the background. Then I’ll open my page and type the girl’s name. The girl comes first, possibly a couple of times. My first rule for writing sex. I’m equally passionate about it in real life. Wink.
This is where my real life and my writing part ways. Once, when I lived in Pittsburgh, I asked a therapist if something was wrong with me because I spent so much time in my own head. He said it’s a fine coping skill. I wondered if I should admit how much time I spent in my head. He said I had a family, a house, a life; I was doing fine. I left it alone.
So, I get comfortable, lay down, stare up at the ceiling, and think about my girl.
How to get the ball rolling? Let’s experiment a bit with my new girl, Charley.
Charley lives on an island in the southeastern United States. She lives in a modern-rustic home with three other men. None are related to her, we discover in the prologue. Here’s what happens in my head….
Three men, that’s exhausting just thinking about it. Let’s assume it’s not every night. Let’s give her a room they can’t bug her in. Okay, that’s good, she has her own space where she is off-limits. The guys are, what did I name them? (grab my notebook) Okay, there’s Rob, the Texas Oilman. Sam, a very big man. Mike, we don’t know a lot about yet. There’s also Nick, a former ATF, gruff, bearded, older. Also, there is a Cowboy up and coming. So she lives with three, soon to be four, possibly five. I might need a bigger house. Rob had his turn in the Prologue, Sam was there so next we take a trip to the hot springs. What do we know about Mike? What do we know about Mike? What was he doing last night when everyone else at the house was screwing around in a bedroom with the door open. No TV, no phones, what else. Cooking, he must have had an iron in the fire. Grilling? possibly. Something he couldn’t leave, brewing? That’s a very good possibility. Ok, he was brewing. (scribble note about how to brew) Ok, Charley, how do we make people believe that you like Mike just as much as you like Rob and Sam? Back to the laptop.
The rough straight from my head to the page.
Charley watched Mike hobble his horse. She’d staked out her usual spot in the river. Scalding water bubbled a few feet away from her its steaming water warming the rocks in the cold river. She leaned her cheek on her knees, her long hair tickling her calves in the current. He straightened, a little stiffly, and glanced over, pulling off his grey North Face beanie. He was 6’5″, heavy shoulders sprinkled liberally with freckles. Long muscled arms, long, long legs, he managed a crew for Nick, spent his days keeping the town running. A jack of all trades, he could fix anything. He kept his crew hopping keeping water pipes, electrical wiring, refrigeration and sewer up and running. At home, he was quiet, loved his vegetable garden and brought water grilling to an unbelievable level. People brought their beef from miles away to have him prepare it. Charley had tasked Nick with finding a Husky puppy for Mike, so convinced it would be love at first sight.
“You’re taking your sweet time.”
He tucked his beanie in his back pocket. “Is there something you need, Mistress?”
Charley’s toes curled in the pebbles. “How do you do that, with that ridiculous title?”
Mike grins, he’d shaved today. No more scraggly goatee. A smile teased Charley’s lips, she wondered what else he’d shaved as he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt.
And that’s how it starts.