sex talk

I'm back.

I've stopped writing for a while because it was getting in the way of my day job, which has really demanded my full concentration the past weeks. It still demands much of my time, and will continue to do so for weeks to come, but I figured since I have time enough to browse the internet and be active on some forums anyway, I might as well spend some time here as well. And so, I'm back.

I've noticed recently that for quite some time now I've had a bunch of sex-related stories floating around in my head. I just never got about to actually writing them because I haven't the slightest idea where these things are supposed to begin. Does a story begin after the act, lying in bed, when she realizes she betrayed her sister? Does it begin in the grocery store, on lane 23, the first time he saw her smile? And then there's the problem of actually writing (or deciding not to write) the gory details of the act itself. What are the boundaries of good taste?

Sex is a fascinating topic. It can bring people together, tear people apart, mend them, break them. It is a basic instinct and it is an expression of love. And it is an expression of hate. It is nothing. And it is everything. All at once.

How very curious.

Sex brings about all sorts of complications within a human being that my stories of monsters and gods and suicides and death do not measure to half its intricacies. And it's real, and it's around you. It's around me, at least. And I want to write it.

Needless to say the stuff I write will be based on true events, because if it's something about sex, more often than not it's been done. A friend's story. Something on the news. An old, old tale that has changed through the years but has not once ended happily ever after. There are so many stories to tell.

I'll start writing again tomorrow. I don't know what story I'll start with -- probably the one about What His Brother Taught Him -- but I hope I write it well.

Good luck, me.