I call myself a writer of erotica. No, scratch that, I deem myself a “lusty word whore and naughty bloggess”. I also claim that sexy things flow from my fingertips.
Somehow, I feel like I hardly live up to that epithet. What I’m writing doesn’t seem lusty at all. More an expression of need and passion.
Which might be lusty. I don’t know. I get confused by my own writing a lot.
I don’t know if I can actually do a proper sex scene. I’m trying to write one right now, and so far, it’s involving masses of spag bol. Not during the fucking, of course.
I did write a M/M scene yesterday, which had a much better flow to it. And I have no idea why!
I’m terribly insecure about my writing. It’s little pieces of me that I put out there. There is a lot of my own want and need in the stories.
Sometimes, I just need a kind word to assure me that I am doing good in writing what I write. I set my goals way too high, I think. I want perfection.
Why can’t I just write my arse off? Why can’t I flow freely across the page?
Write Your Arse Off.
Hmm… I’m getting there.