Sandra Wright

eleventy-billion:

poppypunch:

writing-while-female:

“Brett pulled his tank top up over his head and stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He pushed down his jeans, then his boxers, and imagined the moment when Jennifer saw him nude for the first time. His feet were average-sized, and there was hair on his toes that he should probably take care of before tonight. He liked his legs just fine, but his thighs were wide and embarrassingly muscular. He tried standing at an angle, a twist at his waist. Some improvement. In that position, it was easier to see his ass and notice that it was not as pert as it had been at 22. He clenched both cheeks, hoping that tightened its look. He sucked in his tummy and pulled his pecs up high, trying to present them like pastries in a bakery window. Would she like him? Were the goods good enough? He pouted his lips and ran his hands over his thighs, masking their expanse. Maybe.”

---

“There is a particular look about a teenage boy that lets you know what kind of man he’ll be. A certain fullness of lips, a frank sensuality in his gaze. We all know what the word for that is, but it’s not polite to use it until he’s proven he’s that kind of boy.”

---

“But I don’t get it!” Shea was panting, trying to catch up to Michael as he fled. “The monster ate everyone else. How did you escape?”

Michael reached the boat first, flinging himself in. He waited for Shea to follow him and take the oars, guiding them smoothly away from the shore.

“It’s because I was different from the other boys,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear and looking away.

“What do you mean, different?” Shea’s muscles rippled and flexed as she rowed them to safety, and Michael could not tear his eyes away.

“Different. Pure, the monster said. Because I’m… I’ve never…” He looked away again, and the moonlight caught on his throat, outlined his clavicle.

“You’re a virgin,” Shea said, realization dawning. “What a waste.”

Michael blushed.

“If we get out of this alive,“ she said. “I’m going to fix that.”

---

Do go and read the others, they’re brilliant. 

https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/if-women-wrote-men-the-way-men-write-women

Snorting

Ha!

Susan, I know this will trigger the inevitable question, and to forestall that, no the writing is not going.  I should do something about that. Probably. One day.

sacrificethemtothesquid:

first law: write the fic you wish to see in the world aka goddammit do I have to do everything myself around here

second law: it’s going to be longer than you think. much longer. hahaha so long. why are you crying 

third law: the time spent writing is inversely proportional to the amount of smut present, dammit

fourth law: flesh out your secondary characters. make them real people. have them take over. oh god. put them back. somebody please help 

fifth law: the time spent researching canon is directly proportional to the amount of time you’ll spend altering your plot. that one person on the internet 

sixth law: the time spent researching in general will eclipse the time you spend writing. the nsa agent monitoring your internet search history is curled up in a corner. his boss wants to know if you’re a threat. “I don’t know,” the agent sobs. “I just really don’t know.” 

seventh law: at some point, someone will ask what your favorite hobby is. you will feign a heart attack to get away

So, SO true.

So I’ve just had a book title pop into my head that sounds really interesting, but here’s the thing:  I have NO idea what the story is.

Oh and for anyone that might be curious, it’s Swallowing Diamonds.

I have no idea where that has come from.

So in the last week I’ve emails from two lovely readers telling me how much they enjoyed Take the Cake.  Given I’m on a new project in an even more remote location than usual, it was just the shot in the arm that I needed.  Both of them very politely asked when the next book was coming out.

It’s been four years since TTC was published, so I can see their point. I really must finish the last chapter of Net Recovery, and soon.

Thanks, Faith.  Thanks, Jim.  Your words were very much appreciated, and I hope that the next book will offer some sort of thanks for your lovely emails and patience so far.

Should I be crying this much while I’m writing?  My characters are really getting to me, and all the while I’m just sitting here transcribing the little movie unrolling in my head, pulling out the words that describe what’s going on.

I started to map out at a story arc for this book to try and get past the writers’ block I’d been experiencing, but it’s not needed any more.  Day two of working on the plan was when my characters came roaring back to life and too, over.

People often ask me what the writing process was like, if I’ve got some kind of nine to five routine in my downtime when it comes to working on the storyline. I don’t, because what I write is dictated to by this whole world of fictional characters in my head.  As a random example, I got back to my room late last night on camp and while I was in the shower I suddenly discovered what Suzy’s blog/website is called.  Flim Flam.  I don’t know where that came from, but she likes it and that’s good enough for me.  Sound odd?  Yeah, welcome to my world.

I’m working on a tight word count with Net Recovery, and trying to put some sort of deadline on it.  Let’s just say I’m hoping to have this one done by early next year.  Bear with me, and after all the tears that these guys have made me shed at key points, I hope you’re going to like it too.

This is ironic, given that my last book was about a guy with writers’ block, but I’ve totally hit the wall on Tailor Made.

I don’t know what to do with the story arc, and will see what my beta has to say.  In the meantime I’ll get to work on the other storyline I had going, which was Net Recovery.

As much as I love the characters, I’ve just run out of steam.  Trying to force the words takes all the fun out of the writing experience, so I’m going to take a break from one story and let the other one run off the leash for a while to see what happens.

*sigh*