Boy, it ain’t easy

Mentally, I'm sweating bullets here. A while back, Green Girl mentioned she had difficulties writing about sex – the "S" word as she put it -- and I found myself vigorously nodding when I read her post. From the looks of the comments, I'm not the only little darling who was in agreement with the sentiment. It's an idea that's been driving me slightly nuts every since.

"What the hell is the problem here?" I ask myself. By any reasoned definition, we're not women who are timid about sex. "Tie me up, spank me, and fuck me up against the wall. Harder. Yes. More. Harder." are all expressions I've employed on more than one occasion. So what is with the hang up about writing about it? I don't have a freaking clue. It's not that my boyfriend is going to be surprised about any of this. He's more or less twigged to the fact that I'm not a virgin (although I can play one if necessary). TMI? Probably but this isn't the Sunday school bulletin so no one reading this should be shocked. I'm not particularly ashamed of my 'bent' although I do consider it largely a private thing between Michael and me.

Word to the wise, girls, little darlings should not ponder these things within earshot of their Dominant partners. They tend to take this musing stuff seriously. So last weekend I found myself with a new writing assignment. I'm supposed to write a "publishable" erotic short story – theme, characters, setting, and details, entirely of my choice. The one restriction is I can't be mamby pamby about the language. No "penis" where "cock" is more appropriate, etc.

That was last Friday. A ridiculous number of hours of writing later and I'm about 1300 words into it. No kidding. Thirteen hundred and I've sweated buckets over at least 800 of them. Worse yet, some of them were conjunctions!

It's not that I can't write. I can construct a grammatically correct sentence with the best of them. Subject, verb, and object; watch your comma splices; paragraphing counts: It's not rocket science. People do it on a daily basis – some in more than one language, I hasten to add. I can knock off one of these blog columns, which often checks in around 1000 words or so, in about an hour, including editing time, once I get warmed up to my theme.

Sometimes really personal ones, like Changing Red Tides, took me longer because the subject matter made me slightly uncomfortable. Even then, it was only about three hours to write that. Actually, it was 40 minutes to write it and two hours plus to edit it to death. The point is, I got through it at something better than a glacial pace.

If nothing else, my writing has become more fluent since returning to school. I have a fair number of writing assignments and I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing them. I'm all about the "Wham, Bam" method of writing. Get the basics down fast and furious, fill in the gaps later, and edit the crap out of it later still. I can knock off a rough draft of a decent size term paper in less than five hours.

So where's the hiccup here? I don't think I'm a prude. I'm probably more adventurous and open when it comes to sexual exploration than your average Tinkerbell. I do have troubles talking about it, particularly outside the confines of my relationship. It's just not the topic of polite conversation, now is it?

Isn't that why we come to these blogs? They're a way to express ourselves without having to own all the consequences. It's a safe, sane way of working through ideas and issues without ostracizing the neighbors. Or having your boss taking you off the list of people he can promote because you're suddenly a little "suspect".

So what's my hang-up? Part of it and this is embarrassing to admit, but I've come to the conclusion, I'm a snob. I've rolled my eyes at so many tawdry attempts at erotica that it's a miracle I'm not cross-eyed by now. Descriptions of women that start with her bra size make me giggle. Mr Eight Inches of Throbbing Love Muscle makes me guffaw. And please, when describing sex acts, can we at least keep them in the realm of anatomically possible?

My unjustified sense of superiority is coming back to bite me. If nothing else, this assignment has been humbling. In my defense, I will insist that, to date, I have avoided all references to throbbing love muscles. Every other cliché appears to have made its way to the work.

Writing erotic fiction is just bloody hard work. It's a fine, delicate line between prissy and flamboyantly tasteless. Clichéd and clumsy seems to be what is coming most naturally to me. It's a little discouraging to read back what I've struggled to produce and think the words "Tiresome. Awkward. Stilted. Pedantic. Juvenile. Ostentatious. "

And before some kind hearted soul out there tells me I'm being too harsh with my self-criticism – I WISH. Actually, there have been long paragraphs that are actually all of the above and more. I will finish this story, preferably before my 80^th birthday. But for today, I'm going to put it away. The effort that's needed to avoid the throbbing member clichés is starting to make my head ache.

~~doll~~

 

PS: and for the record, this blog clocked in at 954 words including this postscript and it took me 47 minutes to write it. Good grief, that's sobering for me. I may have to rescind the "before my 80^th birthday" claim.