happenings

Lots has been happening lately.

The muse, it seems, is back. It's difficult not to question why (or what or whom), but so far, I've just been enjoying the feeling of being compelled to write and having characters in my head again.

Virginia and Lars, for instance, who are an abridged version of last year's truncated NaNo attempt (Price above Aubies), keep residence during the day, where they insist upon tempting me to write in google docs about their burgeoning communication. I just might end up making this next year's attempt, only with the original characters.

And if you can believe it, Michael and Alice have been on my mind lately. They've gotten really good feedback from the interracial erotica site (you should go check that out if you haven't already), and I keep seeing Michael, a little more stocky and bearded now, in my head in the evenings. Alice is a little different now too; her hair is natural now; she wears it in cropped curls, and has switched from chanel (she can't bear to wear it anymore - it was 'their' scent), to something a little more mysterious and moody. Less commonly seductive and more studiously so. Guerlain Vol de Nuit, I think.

I can't tell if they're in Charleston or Savannah, but wherever they are, there is lots of history, some dark, some romantic, and all of it much older than it seems on the surface. A lot like them.

But what is hard to see is how it happens. How they get together again. Because all I know right now is that they do.

The big news, though, is that I won NaNoWriMo for the first time. No small feat, and curiously enough something that couldn't have happened without two things: one, the encouragement of a great writing partner/cheerleader/foot-to-ass-er, and two, to vent the inevitable emotional roller coaster of one of your worst fears coming to pass, and then disappearing.

It seemed only right that I write a story that encompassed discovery, memory, loss, grief, redemption, and love. Because all those were completely front and center this past month. The novel is dedicated to her, and whether or not it ever sees the light of day, it always will be partly her creation as well as mine.

So I'm working on a few submissions in the next couple of weeks. Because at the beginning of the year will begin an even larger project: NaTheWriMo.

That's right: Thesis: take two.

Get your popcorn and bookies' numbers out, y'all. This one's gonna be a doozy.

Oysters & Chocolate anthology...

So the O&C anthology is up for presale on amazon, and I couldn't be more thrilled.  "Cherries" was one of my favorite stories to write, and to be included in the anthology is a great privilege; nice way to begin 2009, non? 

The Husband has no idea about this one. And I've decided to keep it that way. No need in letting it on, and potentially embarassing his family and friends, or him, either. A pity, though. As the chef in the family, you'd think that the prospect of making a  dessert that could make a woman come would be intriguing, at the very least. 

Everyone focuses on food this time of year: from Thanksgiving until New Year's is a culinary orgy, with everyone putting every type of savory and sweet in their mouths, lamenting about "oh, I shouldn't" and "This is sooo bad", and licking their fingers and lips, asking for the recipie, making those little moans of bliss after the first -- or last bites. And then on January 1, we're all remorseful, vowing constancy and celibacy and moderation, and hating ourselves for every morsel. 

Hell, it sounds like me after I gave HJ a blowjob so spectacular that it made me dizzy. I knew I shouldn't have eaten him: he was younger, I wasn't all that experienced, he wanted a relationship I couldn't have with him....but oh, he was beautiful, and sweet, and I gave in. To this day, I get hungry just thinking of how I asked permission before I knelt between his thighs, his cock in my mouth, the sensation of his skin sliding between my lips, hearing his breath catch, not knowing if the soft moans were his or mine, his scent, his taste as he came and I drank him down until i was full. I'd never known it could be like that, that giving pleasure to a man that way could feel so  decadent and lovely. 

But the next day, I was ashamed and horrified. I tasted him in my mouth, like icing on the tongue  long after the party. I wouldn't take his calls. We never spoke again. I vowed to be a good girl, and behave, and not be so damned slutty. 

And so here I am, a good girl -- a lady, even --  who writes dirty books and keeps it quiet. And wishes she'd known she hadn't even been bad.  So this year, I resolve just that. To not be good or bad, to just be.  What is good? 1200 calories a day? Making the bed every morning? Saying please and thank you? What is bad? Sucking cock and liking it? Pecan pie?  Doing week 1 of Couch to 5k for 3 weeks? 

Looking back with pleasure is far preferable to sighing with regret. 

happy new year, 

-A.