It’s Thursday afternoon and I’ve written nothing at all this week. No writing practice, no blog post, no words for my memoir. I’m stuck.
Instead of writing I’ve mopped the kitchen floor, watched twenty-three episodes of The Voice, read two books and half of three others (and lost interest), drooled over our new one thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and waited for something, anything to inspire me.
It’s not as though I’m on a tricky part, I’m actually writing about an enjoyable part of the story. It’s the bit about my relationship with the man I was with before I met Duckfish. I’m beginning to think that the hardest thing to write about is sex.
It’s either too pornographic or too cliché. Throbbing penises or throbbing hearts. I can’t find the words to say how it felt. Which is weird, because if you were to ask me what I know a great deal about, I would say sex. And not just ordinary anatomical sex, but tender, passionate, mind-blowing, enlightening, sacred sex.
And still I’m blocked and resistant to even trying. I’m frustrated and confused.
Maybe I should just fade to black like they do in the movies ~ “And then we had sex…”
What are some of your favourite sex scenes in books? Do you want to know all the details or have it left up to your imagination? How would YOU describe great sex?