|photo credit: x-ray delta one via photopin cc|
It's not writing in my jammies. I'm weird--I like to be dressed when everyone's out of the house, in case there's a fire and I have to run for my life. Or in case the Cookie Girl comes to the door and I have to buy a case. Cuz, you know. Cookies.
It's not scouring the Internet for factoids--did you know there's a site to see if a Famous Person is dead or alive? And another where you can make your own jigsaw puzzle?
It's not even setting my own schedule or leaning back and letting a thousand story possibilities play in my head.
Nope. Of all those wonderful things, my favorite part of the job is having fun with sex.
Normal authors don't get to do that. Their sex is Always Serious. Their swears are always dark and cutting, d*** and f*** instead of things like "Bitch slap me with a bedpan" (Beauty Bites).
I get to write things like,
Dragan said, "Most people prefer a little mystery and delicacy."
"Most people," Nixie said pointedly, "prefer to cover up the reality that sex is a lot of fluids and really strange expressions." (Downbeat)and
Bo pushed me against a too-convenient parked car. I pressed my hips into him. His fingers plunged down into my panties, plundered me to within an inch of climax. I grabbed his head in both hands, insanely pressed his mouth to my pounding pulse.
Hot breath fanned over my skin. Something sharp pressed against my neck. I jerked in reaction. Knocked into the car.
The car alarm started whooping at a zillion decibels.
I shrieked. For me, Cupid's quiver was loaded with prank arrows. (Bite My Fire)Don't get me wrong. Sometimes I just start out scorching and seriously burn up the sheets. But if you like a little sparkle in the hero's eye with your sex, you've come to the right place.