Today I wrote a little thing, it’s not a whole story but it’s the voice I’ve been groping for.
There has been this voice, you know it. It is the voice of this narrator muttering in my head for months. I’ve had false starts, a few attempts but I couldn’t quite catch her or hear her clearly.
I found her. I wrote a thing and there she is. Bad. Nasty. Unrepentant.
This is the idea for the erotic novella I’ve been chasing and chasing. I feel like I can make it happen.
Sometimes it hurts to write and it feels so good. Sometimes it just happens and it’s fantastic.
I realized a long time ago that certain moments when I write are very much like certain moments in my kinky life have been. What comes to mind was when I was a stunt bottom and got myself stuck with a lot of needles. A lot.
It wasn’t a big pain. It was small and sharp, similar to getting tattooed.
It makes me think of those nights when I was 17 and reading the Beats, jerking off thinking about being one of their boys and writing long yammering poems about writing being like fucking.
I made some more notes. I have a good idea of what I want.
That feels good.