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Every parent knows that moment when the kids are tucked into bed, and you are finally alone together behind that locked bedroom door. You think you’ll get the chance to actually have sex. Then, either at the beginning of the foreplay, or if they’re cruel, at that crucial moment, there comes that knock on the door. That cry of “Mommy!” Mood killer does not cover it.
I’ve had the equivalent of that moment off and on all day on the sex scene I’ve been trying to write. Business calls that couldn’t wait. No, really, they couldn’t wait. Either deadline is now, or it’s important enough to interrupt damn near anything. I’ve done a few sentences of the scene, finally get some rhythm going, and another interruption. Thank God, I finished BLOOD NOIR a month early. It gives me the time to deal with this kind of day. It’s all good stuff, necessary stuff, but business calls are not conducive to getting in the mood. I’m beginning to think I’ll have to put a tie or something over the doorknob of my office tomorrow, just to make sure everyone understands that I really need to concentrate on my imaginary friends. I guess it would be just as difficult if it was a fight scene, or an emotional moment, or a police action, to be so interrupted. But, it wouldn’t be half so embarrassing. You can take violent thoughts to a business meeting, or angry, or emotional, but sex just doesn’t translate well. It leaves me uncomfortable and vaguely embarrassed as if I was actually trying to do what I’m writing in the middle of the business day. I finally gave it up for a bad job, and stopped even pretending to make progress on the scene. Tomorrow doesn’t look any better for it. Lot’s of business.
Hopefully sometime this weekend I’ll finally be able to complete the scene. But then again, weekends are no proof against business. And, honestly, come a child free weekend I’m more interested in having real world sex than imaginary sex. Priorities; priorities; priorities.