I am far from being a professional writer. Some people actually like what I write, which continues to amaze me. I do favour the macabre, my stories often featuring a gruesome end for one of many of my characters. I am no good at fantasy, story wise of course give me a beautiful american, Karen Gillan a Nun’s outfit and a stick of Celery and I can fantasise all day!
Sex on wheels.. no?
I digress I have been challenged to write different genres, sci-fi and more recently romance. Now I class myself as a romantic kinda guy, the candles, moonlight, diamonds and poetic serenades have all played a part in my life. But writing romance for me is proving very difficult.
OK so it’s going to be published here. So I try therefore to keep it under 1000 words, otherwise no-one will read it. So that gives me a thousand words to establish at least two likeable (a stretch for me) characters who you dear reader will be championing, wondering will they, won’t they, but knowing that they will for it is a Romance after all. Believable dialog is also required along with some kind of tension that allows me to twist and turn.
Trouble is, everything I have tried so far is cliché central. “She looked deep into his steely grey eyes and trembled” OK not quite but close. I don’t want trembling in my story, not lips or knees (I have enough trouble standing as it is) I want strong characters. It’s too easy to write about a bewildered woman who cannot exist without a man. I don’t believe these women actually exist (if they do my email is in the about section.. just saying)
I know these stories are supposed to pander to a fantasy. A fantasy where the dragons and wizards are replaced with perfect men who’s farts smell of roses and has baby soft skin with the talent for fucking, sorry “making love” that rivals Neymars skills with a football. The rose tinted quest continues.
A thought that often crosses my mind. You see I write this from my bed, it’s a double and very comfy. It’s seen less action than a whole convent of nuns. (Sisters I’m open to offers… I’ll save you… I kinda look like Jesus) My bed is warm and even though my mouth is dry and I need to pee I have the compulsion to stay here until the very last possible second. It’s 11am, Saturday by the way so it’s not like I’m stupid late for work.
Workdays are even worse. I have 3 alarms with at least two hours where I know I can hit snooze. I still leave it to the last possible second. I have responsibilities I’m a adult, I should know better. I should be up preparing breakfast, doing yoga or as one of my colleagues does actually checking work emails. Three words… Get A Life.
I’m lazy but it’s not my fault. I blame snooze.
Which mental case invented that button? It’s more tempting to push than any button that says “Don’t Push” in fact I think it’s the one thing that unites the people of the world. From Nun.. (Call me yeah) to Whore.. From politician to pimp (sorry they are supposed to be contrasting things aren’t they) everyone has pressed snooze. Yes I know there are people without alarm clocks. But I also know they would find the snooze too difficult to leave alone was it present in their homes.
Don’t press it..
It’s the “drug pusher” of buttons. There on your bedside saying “go on just a few more minutes, you’ve earned it, you are a special guy” in your hazy lazy state you believe ol snooze and lay there. There are some people who are full of pep in the morning. I want to kill them all!! I believe these people are recovering snooze addicts. They pressed so much it made their noses bleed. (Because they ran into a door whilst rushing to work, late cos of too much snooze) These folks have to be full of the joys of morning because they live in fear that snooze will return for them.
Well at nearly midday guilt now fills me. I must escape the warm snooze enabled clutches of my slumber pit. Guilt my arse… I just want a cup of tea before I go to football. Maybe a few more minutes…