tell you exactly how she sees it. Offended? Tough shit, which she admits can get her in trouble, but more often than not, she doesn’t really care. Daysha’s specialty is dark romance.
Jasmine’s our resident sarcastic, snappy weirdo who bounces between Sci-Fi and Sci-Fi erotica. Younger than anyone else and still in college, she changes her hair color with just about every book she writes, often as a hint to her theme for her upcoming book. Like when she put a book in a Matrix-like universe, her hair was a bright neon green. As I walk in, I see that she’s still rocking her natural blonde, which probably means she’s between books.
The loudest of our group, though, is Becca. She’s pretty much our group cheerleader, which is funny because that’s largely how she put herself through college, on a cheerleading scholarship. Her time around both the ‘in crowd’ and ‘out crowd’ means she knows exactly how to overreact to everything at all times. The Space Deer coffee place is out of her favorite blend? Catastrophe. There’s a category-five hurricane in some far-off country? Equally catastrophic.
But Becca’s true talent has to be as a professional shit stirrer. She knows exactly how to get people worked up, and if she ever transitions to Hollywood like she says she wants to, she’s going to become a director. She’s that much of a puppet master, and her rom-coms are just as twisty. I could totally see her writing and filming twenty seasons of the same show and still managing to keep it fresh and surprising every week with stuff like ‘OMG, Jason slept with who?’ and ‘He died from a coconut hitting him on the head’.
“Hey, ladies,” I greet as I come in, hugging all around. I swear Aleria sniffs me as I hug her hello, so it’s a good thing I showered and washed my hair.
“Are you making the most of your 86,400 seconds today?” Aleria asks in her usual airy tone. It’s her way of gently reminding me to choose wisely and not fuck around on my deadline or I’ll find out what the publishing company really thinks of me.
“Well,” I admit, sitting down and pulling my laptop out of my bag, “I don’t know about that, but I’ve got great news today. My agent got me a spot at J.A. Fox’s upcoming workshop.”
What I love about my Wheezers is that there’s no real jealousy. Instead, it’s cheers all around, with Daysha adding on, “Okay then, you lucky bitch, better get to work so you can show her what you’ve got. Twenty minutes, ladies? Go.”
It’s a sprint session, one of the tools we use during our meetings. Twenty minutes, just type, and to hell with spelling, grammar, or any of that. Just crank.
My problem, though, is that as I stare at my keyboard, no words come to me. I’ve been stuck at this same love scene for Trouble in Great Falls for going on a week. I’ve written, deleted, and re-written this fucking thing so much that I literally have pains in my forearms, and for what? Nothing good, that’s what!
The main problem is with my two main characters, Amber and Ryker, and the stupid things that keep coming out of their mouths. Half the time they’re talking like robots, and the other half, I’m wondering why the fuck I should care about them. And if I don’t care about them, the readers damn sure won’t.
The sex scenes are causing me special trouble, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because I haven’t had actual sex with anything but my bedside buddy in almost a year. Seriously, even my memory of sex is getting hazy.
And that’s a problem. As an author, you’re supposed to either know or research the topic that you’re writing about. Quite frankly, watching Pornhub to get inspiration isn’t doing the damn trick any longer.
Besides, do people really do weird stuff like have sex on treadmills when the couch or floor is right there? I mean, rug burn’s a thing, but falling dick- or tits-first onto a whirling conveyor belt sounds way less sexy and is a good way to end up as a dirty meme on the internet.
“I think I need to have sex.”
Silence reigns around the table, all typing stopping instantly, and I look up to realize, to my total petrification, that I said that out loud.
“Shit.”
“Uh, that’s a hard limit. Even I don’t mix that into my sex scenes,” Jasmine says with a shiver. When I