as I mentioned, I write nonconsecutively.  I’ve now finished:

  • The first three chapters
  • The first kiss
  • The first time they have sex
  • And a bit of the epilogue.

All things considered, this is about 25% of the novel.  It’s not 25% of the word count;  knowing how I write, my revision passes will probably increase the word-count by at least 20% or so.  Incidentally, in case you’re curious, this means that about 8% of the novel, so far, is spent on sex and foreplay.
The next thing, I think, to work on is the chapter after the first time they have sex.  It’s a tricky chapter for me to write.  Also, I’ve been having difficulties writing Chapter 4 (hence all that other work on other chapters).  Then I realized:  bingo, it’s because nothing happens in chapter four except:  they meet, and one person doesn’t say anything.  Easy solution:  They don’t meet.  He still doesn’t say anything.  Far superior, and probably advances that storyline more than anything else.

But I’m inordinately proud of myself for having finished a sex scene.  Not that it’s particuarly good, mind you.   But it’s a sex scene, and I wrote it.  I wasn’t sure I could.  There are obvious problems with the scene–she starts off wearing very little clothing–and I’m not even sure the premise is entirely believable.  But some of the unbelievability, I think, stems from the problem of writing regency-set historical romances in the modern day and age.  Here is a comprehensive list of impossibilities in romance novels acceded to by virtually every romance author:

  • It’s always good.  She’s a virgin?  There may be a little pain, and a bit of blood.  Luckily, she rides horses, and so…  He’s a virgin?  He’s a natural.  There’s no fumbling, no embarrassing lack of appropriate lubrication (not even in the era before they started manufacturing substitutes), no difficulties finding a rhythm, no premature ejaculation.
    • Except if it’s sex with someone not the hero.  Then the sex is bad.
  • He’s a rubber octopus.  I don’t know how many times I’ve read about heroes banging the girl at just the right angle, while sucking her nipples, kissing her, and rubbing her clitorus with their fingers.  Don’t these guys need leverage?  Support?  And where do their fingers fit if they’re pounding away so hard?
    • Corollary:  direct pressure on the clitorus in a romance novel makes her come.  Instantly.
  • Clothing.  It comes off easily.  Nobody ever curses at the bra strap or the stays.  Instead, they press the magic button and everything slips off.  Amazing.
    • Exception:  there may be a great many buttons.  If a romance author shows a dress done up with a hundred buttons in the back, it is guaranteed that said dress will lose 20% of those buttons as he shreds it.
  • Leverage.  Friction.
  • Nobody’s arms ever get tired.  Not even after doing push-ups for hours in a row.
  • And then there’s the Lake Wobegon effect for penises.  Everyone’s above average.

I’m totally okay with all that.  Why?  Because it’s fantasy, and the fantasy is that the sex is hot. Nobody wants to read about the small-dicked guy that gets laid despite his poor sexual performance.
Also, it’s really hard to refer to the guy’s penis.  If you’re writing sex, he kinda has to use it.  In the romance vernacular, however, “penis” is usually referred to as “his turgid” something.  His turgid staff.  His turgid rod.  His turgid woman-lover.  You get the idea.  I find the word “turgid” to be every unsexy.  Turgid makes me think “turgid prose.”  Which, um, is often the case as well.  So there are some issues referring to penises.  And vaginas.
Part of what made writing my sex scene so fun, though, is that I really felt it worked with my characters.  I really hate the novels that have beautiful characterization right up until the hero and heroine start macking, at which point you can throw bags over their heads and change them for any two other hot people in the universe.  I’m a big believer in individualized sex.  And so I managed to cook up some foreplay that was more fun to write than anything I’ve done so far in this story.  Does it fly?  I’m not sure.  But maybe, just maybe, it levitates.

~ divider ~