Writing Between the Sheets

I remembered last night that I did have something to write by pencil and paper.  I’ve been on a mission for many months now to create love scences that are sigh worthy and honest and clean at the same time.  I think I’ve done that with the first two books, but I’m upping the stakes from here on out.  

Sex is a part of life.  So is death and birth.  I want to portray those things accurately in my books, and I want to find my own space somewhere between the “Yeah, right” of the ultra chaste books and the “Yeah, right” of the ultra wild books. (This is not an attack on either.  I have read and enjoyed both types.)

I want scenes that will flow with the rest of the story.  That won’t overshadow the rest of the plot or weaken the story line or seem out of place.

In short, I want art.

I want beauty.

I want tender moments of truth.

I know.  I’m such a girl.

Okay, I want to admit something!  If I ever were to write a romance novel, I’d write a parody.  (I’m writing fantasy novels if you don’t know.) The husband would come home and the parents would step over toys and bicker and then once the kids fell asleep they would go at it, unshaved legs and all.  And then after a tiny hand knocked on the door half way through and they got the rascal back to bed, they would hurry through and then fall asleep in the half exhausted manner that young parents sometimes (ha!) fall victim to.  

That never happens in the books.  Legs are always shaved.  

Anyway.

Every writer has a comfort level.  (So does every reader.)

I’m finding my comfort level in this third book.  I’m not as nervous about this as I was a year ago.  I’m okay with who I am, and I stand by my art.  

I stand by my art. 

Do you know how amazing that is?  How good it feels?  

I stand by my books, my writing, my art.  

I stand by my process, my life, my journey.

I write of love and loss and strength and weakness.  I write of death and birth and all the relationships in between. 

Today I write of tender moments between lovers.  Glances across the room.  Kisses, public and private.  Embraces under the sheets.  

Today I write.  

 Today I make art.  

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