Good morning! Just write it (this is me talking to the spinn-y, writing self) — just write it.
I’m sending thanks again this morning to Karma Waltonen at UC Davis for setting up yesterday’s Conversations with Writers presentation, and, too, to Rae Gouirand, for connecting us up! It was a wicked fun presentation, we all wrote together (!) and I’m so grateful to have had the chance to think about and discuss why it’s important — yes, still important, even now, especially now, at this time of revolution — to talk about erotic writing: remember what they said about that army of lovers? Right: we cannot fail. Consider the possibility of an embodied revolution that can envision and reach for their the world they desire — that’s what I hope for.
Gorgeous group of folks there last night, and so attentive. I’m unaccustomed to folks taking notes while I talk about writing practice. Such an honor.
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For anyone there last night: the author of The Joy of Writing Sex: A Guide for Fiction Writers is Elizabeth Benedict. I highly recommend the book for anyone looking for more encouragement around creating realistic sex lives for their characters.
Also! The prompt I offered yesterday for our 5 minute write together was, Write about a first time. (First kiss, first romance, first make out session with someone in a car, first sex ever, first sex with a particular somebody, first particular sex — we have so many firsts!)
We had a couple of very brave readers (especially considering that the session was not only being taped, but that the video will be shared online), and then, because I was wanting to move into the audience-interaction part of the presentation, I forgot to read my own! So I’m offering it here:
Firsts — this is what it looked like: at first you weren’t afraid of me, and then you were. There was this body between us, this me, bent ove rbackward and naked, too exposed, too honest in her wanting. And I watched you stretch out a hand toward her in your quiet bedrooom with the wide eyes of morning uncloaked by shame or curtain, and then pull your hand back. The neighborhood hawk stretched out over the cars and I watched myself unending, comfortable, prodounced and diffident — too much. I watched as I tucked a small part of myself away, the part with the mouth that asked favors, the part with the cropped hair and green eyes, the part with the body that unfurled just as I liked her to, that part I put back behind my belly button. That part I hid away again for later. Then I watched you reach forward again, comfortable, safe, easier.
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Today’s nablopomo prompt: What is the moment that you leave childhood and enter adulthood? (Guest Post by Catherine Gildiner, author of After the Falls)
Again, a couple of choices today for prompts. Where does your writing feel like going? Or you could combine them — was there a ‘first time’ in your life (or your character’s life) that occurred at or led to the moment of entering adulthood?
Be easy with you today; hold on always to that good breath entering and releasing your body. Thanks for your persistence, your beauty, your words.
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