TMI? I dunno...

[j00licious]

I was going to friends-lock this, then thought 'why bother?'

THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO (okay, actually it was about a year and a half ago) when I first got my mitts on a copy of Smoke and Mirrors, I read in Gaiman's introduction to the story called "Tastings" that this little story had taken him four years to write. Why? Because this little story is

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[anonymous]

I was going to friends-lock this, then thought 'why bother?'

THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO (okay, actually it was about a year and a half ago) when I first got my mitts on a copy of Smoke and Mirrors, I read in Gaiman's introduction to the story called "Tastings" that this little story had taken him four years to write. Why? Because this little story is about sex, and Gaiman kept getting embarassed as he was writing it. I thought, Tee hee! How cute!

And now, because the writing gods have a twisted sense of humor, as I am faced with the incidence(s) of sex in my novel, I find that I, too, am getting embarassed. What's pathetic is that I'm not planning to write about sex itself- just the implication of sex. Suggestive conversations (I think, anyway...), wedding night foreplay, pillow talk, and so forth. There will be no actual bedroom gymnastics ('cos if I wanted to write pr0n, I'd write pr0n. But this is a novel.)

The only reason I can come up with for being so nun-like about this is a fear that when people (maybe even some of you...) read the finished product, you'll think you've had a glimpse into the sex life of the North American Julia. And frankly, my mom got scared
And said youre moving with your auntie and uncle in bel-air

I whistled for a cab and when it came near the
Licensplate said fresh and had a dice in the mirror
If anything I could say that this cab was rare
But I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air

I pulled up to a house about seven or eight
And I yelled to the cabby yo, home smell you later
Looked at my kingdom I was finally there
To settle my throne as the prince of bel-air