There's no sex in novel 1 but I always knew there would be in novel 2 and I've been
And then the biggie...
"What are my parents going to think when they read it?!!"
I brought the subject up with my mum on the phone last week, or maybe she brought it up and asked if there was any sex in book 1. Anyway, I can't remember but the subject came up and my mum voiced her opinion which was something along the lines of,
"It's perfectly natural darling. Everyone does it. Your gran used to read the Danielle Steeles that Auntie Joan would send over from Canada and she didn't raise an eyebrow. You've got nothing to worry about."
You'd think those reassuring words would make me feel better wouldn't you? They didn't. They just made me think about it even more.
There's always a danger, with whatever you write about, that people will think it's somehow autobiographical. None writers don't realise that when you're writing from a character's point of view you inhabit them in the same way an actor inhabits a character they're playing and what they say, or do, is true to the character and not you. Yes, small parts of yourself might slip in (ooer) here and there but our characters are normally more outspoken, daring, witty or feisty than us (particularly if you're writing romantic comedies). If I wanted to write 80,000 words about me not only would I a) bore myself silly but b) I'd call it an autobiography and not fiction.
So anyway, when I sat down to write the sex scene this week I did the only thing I knew would get me through it - I poured myself a glass of red wine - and it was all going so well during the build up, the first kiss, the removal of clothing but as soon as I typed the word "nipple" my brain started screaming "YOUR MUM'S GOING TO READ THIS! YOUR MUM'S GOING TO READ THIS!" and I suddenly felt self-conscious (more self-conscious than my characters that's for sure. They were steaming drunk).
So I did the only thing I could do.
I had another glass of wine.
And then another one.
And finished the scene.