(Originally published Sep. 17, 2008).
I haven’t written a blog entry since June. I suspect the only person who cared or even noticed was yours truly, but guilt has finally prompted me to end my respite and pen new words of wit, wisdom, and wordplay (never, NEVER to be confused with foreplay, but I digress).
Summer is but a fading memory. Autumn fast approaches, and with it, a couple of major conferences where I plan to pitch Fur Ball Fever. This deadline gave me the necessary kick in the butt to get on with the elusive first draft. Today, I am pleased to announce that, according to my outline, I am ten scenes away to completing Version Numero Uno. <Insert drum roll signaling jubilation>
Oops. My mistake. Mea culpa. I fear I spoke too soon. Make that twelve scenes. In two places, I confess I skated merrily ahead, leaving a blank page containing only the words, “INSERT SEX SCENE HERE.” On the second blank page, I added a one-liner description, “Use light bondage.”
Avoidance carries me only so far. In the next few weeks, I will sit down, crank up the music, and write those sex scenes. They will be HOT. My challenge, as always, will be to make sure my characters remain true to their personalities, especially during lovemaking. To illustrate, here is the lead-in to the light bondage scene:
“Did I mention I have sex toys?” Nick asked.
That stopped Grace short. “Say what?” She shut the car door again.
He reached into her tank top with one hand, cupped her breast, and did some very interesting things to the nipple that caused her lower body to melt. As he leaned closer, his breath became hot, ragged. “When I bought my fetish disguise, I saw some furry handcuffs and a feathery tickle-toy –”
“I would rather have my eyes poked out with a blunt stick than play submissive,” she managed.
“– and bought them for you.” He slipped his hand to her belly and unsnapped the fastener on her jeans. “I thought we could conduct some research about the fetish scene.”
“You have a very inquiring mind.” She sucked in a breath as he found the zipper and tugged it down.
“You have no idea.”
“It’s one of the many things I admire about you. But the answer’s still no.”
He moved his hand south under her panties and zeroed in on the bull’s eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned chicken in your old age.” He teased her with a light flick of his thumb until she squirmed against his hands.
She arched her back to permit those clever fingers easier access. “No one calls Grace Donnelley chicken,” she gasped, “and lives to tell the tale.”
“In that case, I dare you.” He moved his finger rhythmically across the moist, throbbing flesh until she wanted to scream.
On a soft gasp of pleasure, the words exploded from her mouth before she could stop them. “You’re on.”
Somehow, I don’t think writing those scenes will be so difficult.
