Death and other realities

My maternal grandmother passed away early this morning.  She was 94.

This is the second death for The Charming Man and I in one month.

I'm numb with grief. My grandmother gave me my love of history and my love of writing. She was the only one who seemed happy that I chose history as my major and pursued that love to an MA. She was the one who inspired me to study the Ancient World and the Middle East. She also gave me my love of romantic stories.

Everything that swirls around a death - the rituals, the services, the pain, the bizarre family in-jokes, the potential for the eruption of uncomfortable truths - creates a sense of drama and mystery. Life is sharper, fiercer, and more precious than ever.

Someday, I will write a gentle, historical romance story for her.

Thank you, Grandma, for loving me. You never gave up on me.

Moving Slowly.

Last Friday, I visited the Tao of Tea in the Lan Su Chinese Garden. I drank chrysanthemum tea (good for sore throats and allergies), ate steamed dumplings, and then reveled in moon cakes. Moon cakes are a secret obsession of mine.

Outside in the Garden proper, two people were moving through Tai Chi forms. One was a tiny Chinese woman wearing a loose fitting pink martial arts uniform. The second was an older Chinese man who had been playing music for us in the Teahouse.

Tai Chi can be done quickly. But it is usually seen with slow, graceful movements

There is something truly beautiful about moving slowly. I'm always in a rush - afraid to miss anything before death comes for me. This fear drives me to exhaustion - I don't write fast enough, I don't dance enough, I don't give enough to my loved ones. It has ruled me all my life.

The idea of going slowly, of every move being clear and deliberate - is alien to me. I cannot slow down, no matter how much it hurts me.

But the Tai Chi artists outside in the sun- their movements were focused, strong, and deliberate. Somehow, they are getting to where ever it is they are going without fuss or bustle.

What would happen if I slowed down? Just the thought of it fills me with panic.

That panic is a good sign of something I need to try.  Does going slow tie in with my idea of Dare to be Average? Could there be a way to be ambitious without being tense?

I think it's a worthy experiment.

Writing and alcohol

Vino Vixens, 2929 SE Powell Blvd.

Last week, I visited Vino Vixens Wine Bar. A good friend of mine is a bartender there. Between his encouragement, glasses of Monte Velho Portuguese White Wine, and delicious grilled cheese, I was able to get myself back on track.

I really tied one on that afternoon. For me, that means TWO glasses of wine, instead of one. Yeah, I know. Writer's Gone Wild, right here, baby!

I rarely drink. I drink alcohol and write even more rarely (I usually prefer a nice hot chai). On the occasions that I do combine the two, I receive sudden insights into the Lost Generation and their love affair with the lovely booze.

It can silence those endless litanies of your inadequacies.

It can make you feel more relaxed.

It can make you feel like a genius.

However, booze means I can barely read my handwriting. It gives me nasty, sucky headaches. It's expensive. And to top it off, I really love my liver and my brain. So I'll take the gift of grape and yeast, but not revisit it anytime soon.

With all apologies to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Eliot, and Dos Passos, I'll avoid their creative elixir and write like a romance writer - unstoppable, alive, and with all my faculties.

Now these are some SHOES!

Vivienne Westwood Bondage Boots!

Whose fantasies are they?

When I told my fellow writers that I was posting my characters' sexual fantasies, they said, "I can't believe you are sharing your sexual fantasies with the world!"

I was startled. These postings haven't been my fantasies. They are the heated imaginings of imaginary people.

"But doesn't that make them yours?" I can hear you asking. The answer is, not really. Oh, of course, every character a writer discovers has elements of that character inside of the. Like Sophia, I am very organized and often overwhelmed by the dominant personalities in my family of birth as well as in my family of choice. Like Celeste, I love flamboyant clothing and have trouble believing that people will help me. And for my delicious hero, Gabriel, I, too, am afraid of my temper. Like Zane, I have vast ambitions.

But they aren't all me. These characters also have elements of people I've met, other fictional characters I've read, and experiences I've heard from others.

For example, I have never fantasized about sex on a horse. (My poor back! The horse's poor back!) Then where did this idea come from?

Back in 1990, Laura Kinsale wrote her groundbreaking Prince of Midnight.  (Thank heavens it has been re-issued. Read it! It's brilliant)

The final love scene between Leigh (the heroine) and S.T. (the hero) is one of the most passionate, intimate love scenes I'd ever read. Let me repeat. This was in 1990. Over twenty years is a long time remember one love scene in one book that I read once.  I cannot forget the visuals of the sunlight in the riding ring where S.T. was practicing his horsemanship, how he coaxed Leigh onto the horse and onto his lap.

I will point out, I read a LOT.

The memory of that fictional encounter inspired me. Can *I* write a love scene worthy of the gifted Ms. Kinsale? Can I pull out the emotion, the passion, the emotional connection between those two very different people that Laura did? Can I express the pleasure that she so skillfully wrote?

Like I said. I have vast ambitions. If I'm going to challenge myself, I'm going to do it big.

Whose fantasies are they? I hope the ones I write will be yours, too.

Fantasies for all: Part four

One's most coveted 'secret material' is sure to portray the subjects most unspeakable tragedies and regrets. Sexual fantasies are the lemonade we made of the most bitter fruit. Susie Bright's Journal: What I Know About Osama Bin Laden's Porn Stash. May 26, 2011

When I explored my characters' sexual fantasies - the liaison du cheval, the group sex, the enthusiastic blowjob - I learned their deepest issues.

Celeste dreams of a family of lovers - so that she will "never go hungry again". After her beloved Henry died, she was agonizingly alone. Her family didn't think to give their independent aunt support, so she was desperate for touch, warmth, and comfort. If she were surrounded by others who love her, she would never be in that place again.

Gabriel believes a blowjob - not an unusual sexual act at all - could unseat his tight emotional control. He fears what would happen if he were to give himself over to pleasure, both on a psychic and physical level.

Sophia, my pretty librarian, was overwhelmed by her passionate, fiery family. Her appetites for attention and exotic sex reveals her need to make her own stamp on the world.

And I never would have known these things if I hadn't asked them what made them wet and hard.

What do your fantasies reveal about your bitter fruit?