Gah… I promised Shay MacLean a guest post some time ago and finally pulled out my computer to write it. A vague feeling of What the hell do I write is chasing around in my mind. Maybe I need to head to the Wicked Muse Tavern.
With my laptop slung over my shoulder, I step within, shock stealing my breath. I’ve been here before, but I am always shocked that it’s so much bigger inside than out.
My eyes are adjusting to the shades of the room and I look around, seeking an empty chair.
I know I can order any kind of drink, but I need a kick that is only available from a good strong cappuccino…
The lovely Seraphina (well she is quite imposing with those green eyes and presence… and I’m worried she’ll look over my shoulder so I’ll play it safe and go innocuous) takes my order, then returns with my drink of choice while I set myself up. My mind is churning sluggishly until I get my first sip of the brew.
Yeah… Just what I needed.
Okay, back to the matter at hand, something I find hard because the processes keep getting in my way, this morning. Taking the kids to school, feeding the animals, making the bed…
It occurs to me that life is like this huge big process. Sure we get passion, but it’s the day to day stuff that can clog the arteries of a writer.
Think of it as artistic atherosclerosis. One many can suffer from, when writing sex scenes (among other things, but I’m an erotic writer, so it’s something I write a few of! Lol). Don’t get me wrong! I love writing sex scenes… when I’m up to them in the story.
Beforehand though I dither around like a crazy cat on a hot roof. Do I have another one in me? Will it be process but no passion? Will it draw the reader in?
It’s a constant battle to make sure books featuring intimate scenes are passionate, exciting and worth reading. And I know many others who suffer from the same P.V.P. (Process Versus Passion) syndrome as I do. And it’s something I learned right back at the beginning. Sometimes when a writer is first starting out, it’s easy to be so caught up in the process of writing the scenes that they fail to include the passion and focus instead on the process of part A fits into part B.
What do I mean? Let me show you.
She put her hands around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
Now I read that and go “Meh!” The words are there… The process is there but I’m not feeling any passion…
Let me see what I can do with it…
Carla slung her hands around his neck. Her body vibrated as it rocked against him and she shuddered. “Oh Reid! I need you…” Her words trailed away as she leant in.
The whisper of his breath teased her lips and she had to wet them. Sensual delight spun a web around her as she inched closer. Her eyes fluttered closed and finally, their mouths touched.
This time I’m feeling the passion.
How did I change it to include the passion? That’s not quite as simple as knowing which words to add… but it’s a matter of painting the world around them, concentrating on the emotions and feelings. It’s about making the reader able to feel the actions and emotions the characters are experiencing.
Have I read stories with process and no passion? I sure have. But you know the problem with that? I walk away feeling dissatisfied… like I’ve waited for my caffeine hit, only to get a… Decaf! Urgh! (See? Can’t think of anything worse – well so says me as I sit here with my cappuccino in hand.)
Anyway, to be honest, I did think that at some point writing these scenes would get easier. That I’d be able to scroll them off… instead I’m just as concerned as my first. Why? Because now I have the added concern of ensuring they are fresh. Sigh.
So far, I haven’t found a cure for PVP. If you do, be sure to tell me, right?
Darn. Coffee cup drained… Seraphina is heading my way and I have to quickly decide if I order another or if I should head home and get stuck back into the process and passion. Hmm I’ll probably be bouncing off the walls. So maybe I better go…
I drop some coin onto the table and a quick nod from me toward the bar while I pack up. I’ll have to come back again someday soon…
Meanwhile, I’ll just leave you with some promo items from my latest release.
What happens when wrong and right collide amidst indescribable passion?
Jonah Fielding has been brought in to clean up the Department of Authority on Centauri. In the course of his work, he captures Kadie Frost, the young woman who managed to escape his sting operation. Kadie, an orphan, now almost destitute illegal parts runner, is shocked to find herself falling for the man who arrested her.
Jonah’s world is one that Kadie doesn’t understand and fears. When he offers her a deal, she agrees to help him with the investigation. Now they must fight an impossible attraction, find the bad guys, and along the way they’ll even end up getting married…purely for the sake of the case, of course.
In the middle of upheaval they find themselves surprised by the scorching promise of passion while bewildered at how it all went awry. The clock is ticking and anything can happen next. Will they survive when work and pleasure collide?
Content Warning: This book contains a sexy, hot man in uniform and a wayward, hotheaded woman, as well as lots of adventure of the futuristic and bedroom variety.
The man that arrested her, Captain Jonah Fielding, she had heard of. A straight man, everyone agreed. He didn’t associate with the old, corrupt Authorities. But at this point that’s cold comfort. How can I possibly explain that I have nothing else except my little Sugar Plum Fairy and that’s why I took the chance? Her stomach rebelled and she dry heaved right there in the cells as catcalls and laughter from other prisoners filled the air. Thank the Lights at least I am in a single cell. Her head ached brutally and she wavered slightly, waiting for Captain Fielding to send for her.
“Kadie Frost? Captain Fielding wants to see you.” The clank of the cell door told her someone was coming; she struggled to her feet, lifting tired, sore eyes.
A young man, little more than a boy really, with a freshly pressed uniform marched in, unfastened her from the restraint loop, and pulled her out the door and into an anonymous corridor.
Hoots and hollers met her ears as she allowed herself to be paraded down the long walkway. As if cattle in a moon-cow yard, she thought, closing her eyes as the Authority man pulled her toward a heavy, metal door at the end of the corridor. He stopped there and she opened her eyes, reading the sign on the door.
Interrogation Room One. What a great name, she thought snidely. Really inventive.
The door opened slowly and she was quickly thrust inside. The door snapped shut behind her as she looked around the bare room. A table and two chairs sat, scarred and ugly, in the middle of the floor. The metal was cold and glittering in the cool air as the air circulators pushed currents around the frigid room. She made her way over and sat down, waiting for the captain to enter. Her head drooped to the table and she let it rest, seeking the refreshing cool on her overly hot skin.
Her hands stung and her eyes burned. She felt sorry for herself as she thought about the mess she had gotten into, and she turned her stinging hands to check the damage. They were bright red and radiated heat. The deep scratches were swollen and weepy; sticky drops of goop coated the raw skin. Never a good sign, she already knew that.
She started. Obviously, the woolly, heavy feeling in her head had overtaken her and she had dropped off to sleep as she waited. Her skin burned against in the coolness of the room.
“That’s me.” Her head hurt viciously, but now she realized her throat burned too.
“Captain Fielding is my name. I believe you and I can discuss BXM parts?” He lifted an eyebrow and she noted the captain had the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen, teamed with long, black hair fastened at the back of his neck, high cheeks, and impossibly chiseled features. He had full, pink lips that would make a woman cry when they moved over hers. Huh? Where did that thought come from?
She blinked, dazed by the thought, and considered her plan of attack. “What? Oh, the BXM parts.” She swallowed and felt the razor blades she was sure were in her neck slashing from the inside which then proceeded to burn. “They aren’t mine. They never were.”
Beachwalk Press http://beachwalkpress.com/the-plan/
A mother of two, compulsive reader and bookstore owner. She lives in regional Queensland, Australia with her husband, 2 daughters, dog, cats and prize winning chooks. She has a particular fondness for Vampires, Star Ship Captains and things that go bump in the night.
She is also a firm believer in writing what you enjoy… something she strictly adheres to!
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