Been racking my brain to figure out to how put this twist in my latest WIP (work in progress), but its been more futile than trying to teach my cat to fetch, or the dog to say, “I wuv you.” I’ve sat, laptop open, green tea at bedside, soft music filling in as white noise, a cool So Cal, High Desert breeze slipping passed the window, and fingers anxiously drumming across the keys. I wonder if I just start typing something–anything–if the words will come to me, but they haven’t.
Talk about an occupational hazard.
What is my dilemma? Same one I had in the last book. That stupid love scene. Yikes. Not that I can’t jot down some dirty, sweaty, hormone driven sex scene, it’s more than that. This is not harlequin, nor is it 50 Shades of porn, or–my favorite–NASCAR harlequin. This is twenty years of unrequited love being made. This is pent up longing and desire which only teeters at the physical, but gets abandoned in the pure passionate force of the mental. I’m talking two people who have walked this world always searching for that someone, and when they finally succumb to the fact that this soul mate has been there all along, they can hardly stay within their own skin, can barely contain this explosion of emotions which could most certainly ignite a display greater than Bikini Atoll.
How do you write that without sounding like a lust driven, hormonal teenager who just wants to skip to the dirty stuff?
Someone’s brilliant advise was to make love to my boyfriend and write it down. Ewww, gross! First of all, ugh NO! second of all, ugh … invasion of privacy, and ugh–NO! Third of all, i’m glad I didn’t say I needed to know how a killer felt when strangling someone who gave bad advise. Just saying, think before giving pearls of wisdom. The life you save may be your own.
Solution: short and sweet, just like the last book. Why? Because it’s not a romance story. That’s all I got. If I wrote romance then the love scene would be more in depth because that is what the reading audience would expect. If I wrote harlequin then the scenes would be steamier, wordier, have a ton more adjectives, and paint a more graphic picture.
Thankfully, I don’t write that, though it’s occurred to me that it may be easier to go balls to the walls than try and tip toe the obvious, but again, my honest opinion is that this particular scene is a necessity but not the holy grail. The story is bigger than two people finding each other, in fact, that’s just a mere sub-sub-plot that the characters threw at me recently. Stupid characters with their hidden agendas.
So, in the past few years, I have read so many indie books, some traipse the subject of characters making love, some put it in so often that I forgot what the book was about, and others leave no stone unturned. I’ve got my definite ideas about how to write this. Still, this is the question I pose as so many others have: How important is sex in a book? And how do you feel when you encounter these scenes?