I've had a story plaguing me for a few weeks now. I finished it, but it wasn't quite right. There was just something off in the big sex scene. (Why, yes, it was about a certain cock-blocking sheriff) It was explicit. But awkward. I couldn't quite figure out what was off, so I had no way to fix it. It left me feeling unsettled, almost dirty in a way, because I couldn't clean it up.
A member of my critique group (thanks, Harper), pointed out it was it was descriptive, but mechanical.
IKEA sex. Instructional. Boring.
Well, duh. No wonder he was blocking me. I didn't give them any emotion.
Sex is about passion. Releasing some kind of emotion. I certainly don't mean to say it's impossible to have sex without strings. It happens all the time. But, it's still about some sort of release. Even the get-your-rocks-off, just-passing-through kind of sex requires some sort of emotion to get the ball rolling.
Hunger. Need. Lust.
Love? Hate? Anger? Possession. Belonging.
Once I processed that little suggestion, the words started flying through my keyboard and onto the page, like a copious, and well placed, money shot.
Now, I'm ready to kick back in a big bathtub. Preferably with a cowboy. Or an unblocked sheriff.
~xxx~
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