I’m back on.
I know you have to just make yourself love what you’re writing, or at least make yourself keep writing ’til you’re done and you can edit into something you love, but I’ve been freaking struggling. This story… It seemed like the greatest idea ever, and it’s been coming out so tired.
The solution? More sex. That, and a shot of inspiration from my wee little writer’s group of three. We had a wonderful meeting tonight, focusing on query letters and the business side of writing. Actually, we only talked on that topic for about 15 minutes, then we just chatted. And that’s the best part. We chatted about writing, and being writers, and loving our writing.
Then writer #2 and I adjourned to the Avenue, where we proceeded to get a bit more pissed and a bit further along in our stories. I got one steamy, bondage-soaked scene out, and I’m happier with my story than ever before. This is SO the direction it had to go in. I don’t consider myself an erotic fiction writer, but sometimes, damn if it doesn’t go that way. I can’t help it if that’s the only way my characters can express their power issues in their 23rd century world. They go there on their own, I swear!
Anyway, I am a happy few thousand words further along, and only reluctantly calling it a night. Because the hiccups are starting, and my laptop is bouncing. No, I don’t need alcohol to write. But it does make it a teensy bit more fun.
America, The Strange 
Yes!