The Day of Blacking Out is over, and people had their say, corporate douchebags bloviated (I’m looking at you, Chris Dodd), and the fight goes on. Piracy is bad; having people like the MPAA tell me what I can do on the Internet is worse. Fight the freakin’ power.
Yesterday was one of doing things during the day, and chatting with people, meeting with folks, talking about personal things . . . and then writing. Lately, I’ve been doing my posts during the morning hours, and then waiting until about 6 PM, 7 PM to work on my stories. And, of late, I’ve been burning things up.
Tuesday night I got into Couples Dance about 6 PM, and 45 minutes I was 1,200 words richer. Then last night I got into the story about 7 PM, and after 90 minutes I rolled out another 1,300 words. It was all very, very good, and I left off at both points feeling like I was getting caught up in the story in ways I’ve never been caught up before.
I’ve stated before than when I’m writing erotica–and make no mistake, even with all the side story stuff going on in Couple Dance, it’s erotica–I usually don’t get hoisted by my own petard. Getting turned on by the words I’m putting up on the screen is something that just doesn’t happen. Why? Probably because I’m too busy trying to concoct the scene in my head, then take that concoction and put it into a form that makes sense to others.
But the scene I was doing last night . . . yeah, it was working on me in ways I’ve not had that happened before. I can’t say why that was: maybe it was just the feeling that I know what’s going to happen to the couple, and the sex in the story is helping lead up to that moment. Or maybe it was just a damn sexy scene, and despite what I’ve always said about not getting caught up inside my own scenes, I couldn’t help myself.
The story is up to 8,000 words plus, and I have a feeling that since I’m only half-way through the story (I’m near the end of Chapter 5 of 10 chapters), I’m going to hit 16,000 words easy. And I know Chapter 6 is going to be a good sized chapter, because it’s the exposition chapter where you learn about the former residence of the house where my main characters live.
And then I went to sleep, and the dreams came . . .
The dream I had was very, very long, but it seemed to be the same thing over and over. I was somewhere far away from where I normally live, and it seemed people were looking for me, but I couldn’t be found. Really. It seemed as if whenever I tried hooking up with someone, they couldn’t get to me. No messages, no contact, nothing.
All the while, though, I know they are looking for me . . . I just can’t get to them.
But there was a part where I was wandering through a serene countryside. I mean, it’s just the sort you’d want as an ad for the Napa Valley, or any other wine country with a low sun and calm temperatures. As I walked along a dusty lane, I saw sun dried tomatoes laid out upon a plank of wood, and I could sense my mouth watering.
That was when I heard the voice say, “You can’t eat this. You can only eat fish. You’re just like a penguin in Tuscany.”
I looked down at myself . . . I had long red hair, and a lithe body dressed in a yellow sun dress, and the tan espadrilles were open-toed, and I saw how nice my toenails looked painted a dark purple–
Yeah, just like a penguin in Tuscany, I shouldn’t be there. Or should I have been? After all, they’re my stories, and my dreams. They’re telling me something–
Eventually I’ll find out what.