The joy of writing sex.
So I'm writing this novel, Damaged Goods. My Heroine's a nineteen year old former hooker - former as in she quit in chapter 2 after meeting the hero. Needless to say her whole attitude about sex is seriously warped. Men must like it if they're willing to pay, but she can't believe any woman could enjoy the act. Then she meets the hero.

He's a little warped himself, let's just say that he hates women, has a very valid reason, and leave it at that. The point is, for the first time ever they feel something more than just a need for money or to scratch an itch.

She's actually looking forward to penetration, even if she doesn't believe the Earth will move or anything like that. And her lifestyle has taught her a few tricks she intends to use to make sure she pleases him, since she more than likes the guy.

Problem is, she never gets a chance to use them. As they begin emotion and feeling take over and her mind goes blank. All her tricks are forgotten as she surrenders to his gentle teaching. He administers some big time foreplay, involving two fingers and a thumb - need i say more, and she ends up with her first ever orgasm.

Talk about rock the boat.

She can't believe it. And hell, he's never been anybody's first before.

He barely gives her time to recover before he's at it again, this time with full penetration. She grabs hold and this time they ride over the edge together. I got hot just writing the stuff.
So naturally, the poor girl has to spoil everything at the end. She's grateful to his brother for persuading her to tell him the truth because man did the truth set her free. And as she falls asleep in our hero's arms, she whispers his brother's name.

Talk about a mood destroyer.

Girl's gonna have to pay big time for that little mistake.

I keep promising I'll be regular at this and I keep falling off the wagon. So today I'm back, and I'll do a bit on the perils of being a self-employed writer.

The boss is brutal. She always wants more than I have to give. I long for the GOD (Good Old Days) when my boss said, "work smarter, not harder." Someday I'll share my writing technique and you'll see why that's impossible. The hours are never-ending. Literally. I picked up pen and paper at 12:30 a.m. last night - this morning - because an idea came to me and I've learned from experience to write it or lose it.

The money is peanuts. I write a regular column for a quarterly journal at $50 a shot so it keeps me in McDonald's for a while. I do a little other freelance work - trust me, not enough to worry the taxman.

Only one thing makes this self-employed life worthwhile. The satisfaction.

The first time my column won me a fan letter I was walking on air. (And that for a story I almost didn't bother to send because the ending's anything but happy). And when my editor called me "a find" she had me for life. And I get to work on my novels. Writing "THE END" is so cathartic. (I love that word). Now I just have to develop my skills at the dread synopsis, and who knows.

Next time I'll blog on the joys of writing the sex scene when your heroine is a prostitute and your hero hates women.

The things we must do to turn our men on. Yum.

Really down day

Okay, so how does it happen that some days are truly wonderful and others I feel dead in the water. Yesterday I went to a memorial service for a friend and I haven't been able to feel perky since. I'm writing a novel and supposed to be sending a partial to an editor tomorrow, and I feel a huge case of BLAH. Add in a contest deadline also due tomorrow and all I want to do is go to bed and pull the covers over my head. And it's finally summer, so I shouldn't have an excuse. Here's hoping I get up tomorrow full of juice and ready to put the final touches on my submissions.

Losing friends

I had sad news yesterday, a long term friend died after being ill for several years. Tokiko Blaine was a lovely lady and I've known her nearly twenty years. Although she moved away two years ago because of her health, her death was still a shock. Tomorrow I'll be at her memorial service.

Okay, so I fancy myself a writer and I've been getting pretty serious about it. I'm going to start with a teaser from one of my books. This is the beginning of a killer of a suspense book I'm putting together.

The true test of a man is his willingness to do the dirty tasks others refuse to even think of. I learned early in life to face the hardest challenges head on – get the worst jobs over and done with early.

That’s why I did the toddler first.

Turns out murder wasn’t hard at all.

The kid did everything I told him to. He put his fat-fingered hand in mine and the second he touched me I knew I could do it. I felt the power. He came into the back room with me and climbed on the windowsill, all the while babbling about some lost tooth or something. His scream was a little grating. But he was already in the air by then and things were silent again in a second.

One down.