With the husband’s business going strong and the writing and spring and the saving the world before bedtime stuff going on, the priorities around the house have shifted a bit. So the husband suggests, as far as household stuff goes, pretending I’m not home during the day. I’m away at the office, which doubles as his company office and my writing office. Then, like all other working moms, I leave the office at the end of the day and clean my house.
The problem, of course, is the short kid. Needless to say, he and his needs run amok through my oh-so-professional office. And that’s okay. I trained myself long ago to be able to get up in the middle of a sentence, be gone ten minutes, and come back to the sentence. The problem lies in his overwhelming desire to be outside. The deal has always been that we pick the tall kid up at school in the afternoon, and from then until suppertime (bedtime if we barbeque) it’s outside time.
Well…that’s when I’m supposed to be cleaning my house. So during this experiment in priority shifting, my house has suffered. Badly. But the writing’s going well, so we don’t want to skew the experiment too much. The answer—the digital voice recorder. All during the day I can roam around talking into the microphone, feeling very much like a dork, then set up a chair outside and transcribe it all into Alphie. (I can’t actually write during that period—I drag in the afternoons.)
The fun part of writing erotic romance: there are a TON of words I can write—that my characters can say—that I can’t say out loud. *g*
His hips moved ever so slightly, rubbing his aching…you know against her stomach. He pulled his head back, away from her neck, before he gave in to those base urges he thought heâ€™d conquered long ago.
Tomas gazed, instead, into her dark sapphire eyes, and bent his knees slightly, bringing his…you know what lower. Even through the fabric of her shorts and his own pants, he imagined he could feel the heat of her, and he moaned with his need.
I can’t share the sex scene I’ve been working on without giving away the story, but it was riddled with you knows, and his…things, and her yayas and you know whats.