I am suffering from a rather dramatic drug hangover today. I took some sleep aids to knock me out and give me a good night’s rest, and what time do I wake up? The normal time, what else? I swear, I’d give just about anything to sleep to about eight AM, and not crawl out of bed before six.
So the drugs are lingering with me, and it’s not a good feeling. I sort of feel dizzy all the time, and if you’ve ever had vertigo, it’s not a pleasant feeling. The mind feels like it should shut down and rest a while, but the body is like, “No, dude; we got things to do.”
And I’m stuck in the middle with these clowns. This is where I wish I could download my mind into another body and just get on with the day. Screw flying cars: give me the Black Widow clone body, stat!
I only managed to get in seven hundred words on Fantasies in Harmonie last night, due in part to discussing matters of an article with someone last night. By the time they vacated the Internet it was past nine my time, and I was starting to have a sleepy. Still seven hundred words was pretty good, especially when I spent about fifteen minutes considering how I was going to get my lady writers together for a week in the woods.
The thing that’s coming out from this is that I’m getting wordy again. I’m already twenty-two hundred words into the first part, and I’ve not even gotten to the magic. Most of the stories like this have people stripping to their knickers at this point, and I’m rambling on about month-long writing camps and word counts. This is why I’m not as good at erotica as, say, someone doing werewolf porn: I gotta do the set up and make my characters look like read people in unreal situations. The people writing the werewolf porn have psudo-wolves banging away by the fifteen hundredth word.
This is how I want to do it, though–it’s how I have to do it. I try to do more than write characters who vanish when they turn sideways. I’m sure I could write porn and, as one of my friends says, have them “bang at a thousand (words),” but if I did that, then one would never feel a connection to the girl who feels herself changing all over . . .
Naw, not gonna tell you. You just have to wait for the story to show up on Amazon.
This made me think about the dream I wrote about yesterday. After one friend read the post they said, “Sounds like a story there.” Oh, does it now? Actually, I’d sort of thought of the same thing, that maybe there’s a story in them there REM waves. A sexy story? Sure. A kinky story? You betcha.
The question becomes, do I write it? And what is it about besides latex clad women with multiple limbs getting their freak on?
Wait–do I really need more than that?