Note:  This is an old blog post written a year ago. Sadly, it is still quite relevant, haha. I’ve been kept from my usual blogging by a nagging book launch and a bout of influenza. Fear not! I’m on the mend and will be back to blogging in a day or so, but until then, a little something old.



So, I’ve been struggling to write.

I managed a short story at New Years.

I finished a long overdue edit on a novel.

I started a new story last fall that I love, but lately I’ve just struggled to put words down.

When I want to look productive so my kids will leave me alone, I sit at the computer, open my word document, pop in my headphones and lately, watched HBO’s Hung.


Yup, you read that right. Yes, it’s about what you’re thinking.

Someday when I look back on my forties, it will be with a secret little smile. It’s when I finally stopped feeling bad/guilty about sex.

What? Oh, you want to hear more about Hung? Okay.

It’s about a forty-something high school teacher, former jock, crashed out of the big leagues due to injury, hits a rough patch in life and comes to believe the only thing he has going for him is his big dick. No, I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve watched enough episodes that I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll ever show me. I’m listening to one now, flipping between screens when something sounds too good to miss. The actor starring in it is that guy from The Punisher, the hardly watched Marvel movie. I find Thomas Jane a bit unassuming, or so I thought. His version of Frank Castle did show up briefly in an erotic short story of mine. Maybe my subconscious knows secrets about me.

Maybe I should write in my sleep.

How can it be so difficult to do something I find so pleasurable? I’m talking about writing now. Everything seems to be plotting against me. My job, my life, my extended family. I feel like the things I currently write, get me nowhere. I write notes about students I work with, I write stupid attempts at blogging, I write notes to my children’s teachers, I write my name on checks, I write letters to my father, in short, I write everything but what I love to write.  I love to write happy endings, happier encounters and witty conversation. How I love good conversation!

Perhaps that’s reminder enough to bring me back and sit me down in front of my page again tomorrow. Well, that and Ray with his big problem solving dick.

0 thoughts on “Hung”

  1. Congratulations on your book launch! You snuck that one on me and Amazon had to let me know last night! I’ll be doing a quiet one about you know who in March but for now, CONGRATULATIONS and now I need to add your book to my secret next book boyfriend website LOL

    1. I thought I would have the paperback available quicker so I haven’t announced it yet. I’ll do a free weekend for all my followers in the next week or so. lol. I knew you’d be the first one to find it. crazy girl!

      1. Amazon told me! You were all so secretive, too LOL But I’m getting it today. I’m finalizing that *new* cover for Loving Riley and so it’s been crazy.

  2. You had me with fascination of “Hung”…so naughty. 😉Congratulations on your new book. So sorry the writing inspiration has been evading you. Coming out of the holidays and the madness of the new year come sap your energy but I’m sure you’ll be back in your groove soon. 😊

    1. I really enjoyed the show…and the title. I do feel sapped, what a wonderful word! Lovely to see I’ve lured you back, don’t worry, I’ll brush up my double entendre for the next post.

      1. Lured back in? Pretty girl, I never left😘 I was just off wandering the planet…my job is brutal in January. Hope you are staying warm…if not, I’d be happy to lend a hand😉🔥

        1. Interesting little clue to file. I get the feeling you enjoy wandering the planet, a little bit of gypsy in you. I get that. I’ve learned to love winter up here ⛄️ I’d also never turn down a helping hand😈 better be careful what you offer.

  3. As usual, I SOOOOO hear you. I know why I’m not writing at present, but that doesn’t really help. I think my life might be easier if I became a Buddhist and external reality didn’t matter, but then I wouldn’t have anything to write about either. Sigh. Hang in there.

    1. Yeah, if only we could come up with a way to live in external reality and not feel it but still work up the emotion to write about it. I’m sure there’s some mental disorder whose definition I just wrote.

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