Adventures in Storyland

...And now, for something different!

I have a special treat today to celebrate the fifth day of Inn on the Edge. A romantic holiday letter, from Angie to Josh (the main characters of the novel), six months after their breathless escape from the Inn on the Edge Hotel and from the sex demon who held them captive there. Enjoy!

My Dearest Josh,

I've been in my studio trying to paint all morning, but I couldn't get anything done because I kept thinking about you. I miss you so much! I know you had to go to this training conference for your new job - but it's crazy hard to have you gone for two weeks. 

How can they DO this to people, scheduling the conference just before Christmas? Don't they know we're newlyweds and that this is our first Christmas together? Are they heartless?

Anyway, I wanted to tell you what I was daydreaming about when I should have been painting.

It's the Storybuilder. You never got to experience the magic Storybuilder necklaces with me when we were still at the Inn on the Edge, which breaks my heart. I know you've been reluctant to use them, but Josh - it's been months and months since we escaped the demon. We're safe now. We took care of Mr. Abiba! He's gone! We can play with the Storybuilder now. I know we can!

Still need convincing? Then let me tell you about my daydream.

Close the door to your office, my dear. Lower the lights, sit back in your swivel chair and make yourself comfortable ... prepare yourself for adventure!

First, we'll undress each other. We put Storybuilder Pendants over one another's shoulders. You arrange mine so that it falls perfectly between my breasts, and then you lean over and kiss me. (Like it so far?)

We say the magic words and the Storybuilder turns on. Colorful speckles of light scatter over our faces, our bodies, looking for all the world like miniature Christmas lights. Admiring the effect the light show has on our nakedness, we nestle closer to each other. Before long I'm settled on your lap. We kiss again, even though kissing isn't part of the formal script that activates the magic. (Now I KNOW you're liking it!)

The sparkling lights die down, signaling that the magic is ready. It's time to take turns building our Storyland. Quivering with anticipation - this is so fun! - I choose the setting: we're in a castle, a deserted castle in the middle of a dense forest.

We watch, wide-eyed, as real world of our bedroom fades away and is replaced with magic. Rough stone walls materialize around us. The ceiling is made of wide, hand-hewed beams. The flagstone floor is covered with a hand-knotted carpet. Amazingly, impossibly, we're inside a drafty, cool castle. It even smells old. (Did you expect it to look so REAL, Josh? I didn't, the first time!)

I decide the place should be decorated for Christmas, and more things appear: a fifteen-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, fat aromatic candles burning in a wide circle around us, bunting draped from the ceiling and doorways, and, permeating the air, the smell of cloves and cinnamon and eggnog. (Yes, that'll do nicely.)

Now it's your turn, Josh. You get to choose the characters we'll portray in our own private Story Land. You think about it for a moment while I gaze at your handsome flushed face - see? You're getting into this! - and then you smile and tell me that you are the Lord of the Forest, a rich and powerful man, who has had this charming wilderness castle built for one purpose only - to share with his secret love...the parlor maid.

(So I'm to be a PARLOR MAID? You funny, funny man.)

We watch as we're magically draped in rich velvets and supple leather (for the Lord of the Forest), and in a thin, ill-fitting frock (for the parlor maid.)

(Thank you very much, Josh. Would it have been so bad to let me have a ball gown?)

Then it's my turn to add to the Story again. I declare that we need a banquet table heaped with the best food and drink, fresh and savory and ready to eat. Because we're going to get hungry, after all I have planned for us.

Arching your eyebrow, you quickly add an enormous four-poster bed, complete with satin sheets and comforters and plenty of pillows.

I add a mirror over the bed. Why not?

You add a box of sex toys. Again, why not?

And there you have it, Josh. The beginning of a Story. The rest will have to wait until you are here, until we're together again. Until then, I'll be thinking of nothing else.

With all my love,

Your Little Parlor Maid

12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop...and RELEASE DAY for Inn on the Edge!

Blog Hop: 12 Days of Christmas

Event Date: December 1 through December 12, 2013

Hosted by: As You Wish Reviews & Confessions of the Paranormal
Sponsors: As You Wish Tours & Book Dragon Designs

~~~ Recipe ~~~

Mr. Abiba's Favorite Divinity Cookies

(from Inn on the Edge)

2 cups confectioners' sugar
1 heaping cup shortening or butter (do not use margarine)
2 cups cake flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup finely chopped pecans

Mix together confectioners' sugar and shortening. Add remaining ingredients and blend well using a mixer to form dough the consistency of stiff putty. Don’t over-blend. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Roll dough into 1 1/2 -inch balls and place on baking sheet about one inch apart. Flatten balls to about 1/2 inch thick. Sprinkle with extra chopped pecans if desired.

Bake at 350 degrees for about 8-10 minutes or until sides become slightly golden. Do not brown.

Makes about 24 cookies.

Release day!

Now Available!

http://www.ellorascave.com/inn-on-the-edge.html

Inn on the Edge
Erotic Horror by Gail Bridges

     

     Angela and her brand-new husband Josh have just arrived at their honeymoon destination, a romantic bed-and-breakfast hotel on the breath-taking Washington coast—the Inn on the Edge.

     But everything isn’t as it seems. The lessons that come free with the room aren’t for painting the lovely coastal scenery—the lessons are for better sex. Angie and Josh, shocked and titillated, immerse themselves in every sensual offering.

     It doesn’t take long for things to go horribly wrong. They discover that the old man running the place is a sex demon, who has been stealing their sensual energy. Worse, he’s dangerously in love with Angie and he has plans for her—plans involving an heirloom wedding ring.

Inside Scoop:  This book contains scenes of unbridled demon-inspired passion—girls with girls, boys with boys, twosomes, threesomes and more! A Romantica erotic horror romance from Ellora’s Cave.

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

Grand Prize: $150 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash
First Prize: One (1) eBook from Every Participating Author 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

For more Favorite Christmas Cookie Recipes & Giveaways - Hop along the 12 Days of Christmas Blog Hop!

You're Writing WHAT?

How I Came to Write Inn on the Edge,

an Erotic Horror Novel

     Not long ago, a friend asked about my new novel, Inn on the Edge. She wanted to know: Why erotic horror? Good question! It made me sit down and think about the genesis of my story, way back when the idea was nothing but wisps of unformed ideas, insubstantial yet demanding attention. My friend had good timing - this is a great time to talk about the very beginnings of the book, since the release date of December 6 is finally within shouting distance.

     It goes like this: 

     Just over a year ago, not long after my first erotic work was published, I had a conversation with Carrie Jackson, a lovely editor from Ellora's Cave, my publisher. I'd been lucky enough to meet her at the Emerald City Writer's Conference in Bellevue, Washington, and although she is not my own Ellora's Cave editor, she took the time to share with me what the publisher most wanted to see - at the top of the list: erotic horror.

     

     Apparently, erotic horror is devilishly difficult to write. Carrie told me that authors are daunted at the prospect. Ellora's Cave doesn't get nearly the submissions they would like in the genre. "How about you write one?" she said, leaning forward.

     Indeed. As if that would happen.

     But I couldn't stop thinking about what Carrie had told me. Erotic Horror? What a difficult, wonderful combination! How to combine  two such opposite-seeming things in the same story? In a romance story, no less? How could I create a scenario where the main characters are scared shitless, fearing for their lives ... and yet have plenty of time for hot, wild sex?  How could I write such a story and make it realistic?

     I had to try.

     First, I needed a great setting. It didn't take long to think of the wonderful old lodge on the Washington Coast where, long ago, I'd spent a romantic weekend. Such a place would be the ideal atmospheric setting for a horror novel.

Lake Quinault Lodge

The Perfect Place for a Long, Lazy Afternoon...or to be trapped by a Demon

Click here to see the Lake Quinault Lodge Website

     Once I had the setting, the story came together piece by piece. I'd populate the Lodge (re-cast as a Bed-and-Breakfast Inn) with eager, bright-eyed newlywed couples. My story would be rife with erotic, passionate undercurrents - who better to get things going than four couples gathering together just after their weddings?

     Next, I needed a bad guy. He'd be horrible and likable at the same time, a demon who would lure my unsuspecting main characters to his Inn and keep them captive. My antagonist slowly took form in my mind: he'd be a new kind of sex demon, scary, charming, charismatic, yet unable to touch his captives. But now I had a new problem - who was this demon who would play such a large part in my novel?

     It took a while to find my demon. My bad guy didn't take shape until about a month later when my husband, my grown daughter, and I were eating take-out Thai food. I mentioned my Demon-in-the-Inn idea.

     "Sounds interesting," said my daughter.

     "But I'm having a problem getting a handle on the demon character," I said around a mouthful of noodles.

     "What's his name?" asked my husband, "Start with a name."

     I just stared at him blankly.

     "It ought to be something foreign-sounding!" said my daughter.

     "Yeah - like this..." said my husband, shoving the Pad Thai container toward me.

     My daughter shook her head. "Pad Thai? Are you kidding?"

     "Okay, okay. Forget it." He thought for a moment, then grinned. "What was the name of that Ethiopian place we ate lunch at last week? That sounded foreign!"

     We looked it up. Adey Abeba.

     

Click here to go to the website of Seattle's Adey Abeba restaurant

     Adey Abeba. The words had such a nice ring to them. They rolled off the tongue in such a deliciously foreign way.  I'd found my demon's name - I knew immediately, no looking back. We went back to the restaurant the next day - how could we not? - and I asked the waitress what the words meant. 

     "Two things," she told us, looking like she thought it was the oddest question she'd ever heard in her life. "It is the name of the capitol of Ethiopia ... you know, Adis Abiba."

     "Oh," I said, nodding.

     "It is also ... this." She picked up a menu, and jabbed at a grainy image of charming yellow flowers. "This flower, it grows all over the hills near my city."

     Perfect.

     I changed the spelling: Adi Abiba. He was now Mr. Adi Abiba, proprietor of the unique Bed-and-Breakfast destination Inn on the Edge. I could see my demon clearly, so very clearly! He was tall and imposing and he wore flowing robes. He had an infectious laugh and a gaze that could skewer you. It took only a moment for Mr. Abiba to became a fully-formed character.

     So there you have it. I was off to the races. I had everything I needed for my erotic horror novel. All I had to do was buckle down and write it.

Inn on the Edge - Only Two Weeks Left

In honor of the release of Inn on the Edge two weeks from today, I am sharing an exclusive interview with Angie Taylor, the main character from the novel. Get to know her and see how she's coping today, six months after her life-altering experience with a demon...

Captured by a Demon:

An Interview with Angela Taylor

(The main character of Gail Bridge's erotic horror novel, Inn on the Edge)

- A note from the Interviewer, Gail Bridges:

This is a very special interview with a young woman who has been through a grueling, life-threatening experience with the darker side of the paranormal world. Angela Taylor has agreed to talk with me about her experiences from the Spring of 2013, when she had a shocking encounter with a demon while on her honeymoon at the Inn on the Edge hotel in Washington State. Angela now feels ready to share what happened on her aborted honeymoon, which was simultaneously terrifying and - surprisingly - magnificent in ways she has promised to discuss with me. Angela has been understandably hesitant to speak about what happened those four days last April, and I am honored that she has agreed to speak with me.

- The Interview -

Gail Bridges: Let me know if this is too much for you, Angela, and we'll quit. Okay?

Angela Taylor: Call me Angie. I'll be fine.

Gail: If a question makes you uncomfortable...or if anything gets too personal, you'll let me know?

Angie: Sure. (She laughs.) It takes a lot to make me uncomfortable these days, after what Josh and I went through!

Gail: (Checking her paperwork.) Josh. Your husband. May we talk about him for a second? He chose the place you went for your honeymoon, if I recall?

Angie: He did. The Inn on the Edge. It seemed like such a great choice! He was so proud to have found it. A romantic bed-and-breakfast Inn on the Washington Coast - it had it all. Scenery, the ocean, a cute little tourist town within walking distance. And the food - oh, the food was wonderful. The Inn had everything: free meals, free lessons, friendly employees, other guests to hang out with. Ha! What's not to like?

Gail: Sounds like Club Med.

Angie: (Snorts) Not at all like Club Med.

Gail: Oh? Sorry. Go on.

Angie: It wasn't...(Takes a deep breath)... what we thought it was. (Falls silent.)

Gail: How so?

(No answer.)

Gail again: Are you talking about the Demon? Mr. Abiba?

Angie: (Sighing) Yes. We met Mr. Abiba right away, when we checked in, but we had no idea who - or what - he was. He took a shine to Josh and me pretty soon after we got there, but we didn't know that either! Or else we would have left immediately. We would have been out of there so fast!

Gail: A demon. Wow. You've met a real-live demon.

Angie: (With a far-away look) Yes.

Gail: He must have been awful.

Angie: You're right. He was! (Falls silent, then speaks in a whisper.) And ... he wasn't.

Gail: What? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.

Angie: He was wonderful, Gail. When Mr. Abiba wasn't being cruel ... being a monster, he... he... (She clears her throat.) May I have a drink of water? (Drinks.) Thanks. When he wasn't being the scariest thing you've ever imagined, he would be amazing, generous, kind. He gave us gifts! Thoughtful gifts. He gave me a set of imported brushes for my artwork. He gave Josh an antique guitar. Mr. Abiba could be absolutely marvelous when he wanted to. (She shifts in her seat.)

Gail: How so, Angie?

Angie: You already know this. I already told you about the sex.

Gail: Tell me again?

Angie: Mr. Abiba needed it. He was into sensual energy. Really into it. (She turns thoughtful.) But it was more than that. He loved everything about sex, and he wanted Josh and me and the other guests to love everything about it, too. He wanted us to be free, to share our sexual bounty with each other, all of us. Share freely and generously - that was his mantra.

Gail: Did you? Share?

Angie: We did.

Gail: You had sex with people you'd just met? On your honeymoon?

Angie: We were manipulated. But we did have sex with the others. And we liked it.

Gail: Umm...I can imagine! You had sex with the demon too? Was he a good lover, then?

Angie: No! I never had sex with him. None of us did. (She clears her throat again.) Well, not that way anyway. He didn't participate in the constant sex, at least not physically. He had helpers for that.

Gail: Then, what? How was Mr. Abiba so amazing?

Angie: (Puts her hand to her throat.) See this pendant I'm wearing? It was his. He conceived of it, he made it, he infused it with magic. And he gave it to me, at the end, before everything fell apart. Here, do you want to see it? (She hands me the pendant and its golden chain.) Pretty, isn't it?

Gail: Yes.

Angie: He called it a Tool. They were for his guests to experiment with, to play with. There were a lot of different Tools, each better than the next - you can't imagine! They were kept in special Toolboxes. (She puts the chain around her neck again.) This one is called the Storybuilder Tool. It was amazing, Gail. There's no way you could understand unless you experienced it.

Gail: Oh?

Angie: Mr. Abiba's Tools made everything better, brighter, more exciting. Magic.

Gail: (Leaning forward.) Did the Tools make sex better, too?

Angie: What do you think?

(Interviewer and Interviewee, laughing.)

Gail: So you had plenty of good sex. Exciting, magic sex, hmmm?

Angie: You could say that. (She tugs on her hair.) But not all of it was good. Toward the end there were times when the sex was so intense it was ... scary. Yeah. (She looks at her lap and bites her lip.) Really scary.

Gail: I'm so sorry, Angie. It must have been horrible. Can you talk about when things went bad, when they fell apart?

Angie: (After a long silence.) I'm not sure I want to talk about that. I'm sorry. I thought I could.

Gail: (Trying not to sound disappointed.) It's okay. What matters is that you got out alive, that you and Josh escaped.

Angie: Yes.

Gail: And that you and Josh helped each other through the aftermath.

Angie: That, too. Yes.

Gail: And that the Demon is gone now.

Angie: (Jerking upright, looking over her shoulder.) Is he? What happened to Mr. Abiba, really? I thought he was gone for good ... I thought we'd taken care of him, but now I wonder. (She shivers so violently she shakes her chair.) You know, sometimes I hear things at night. Sometimes I feel a cold breeze and I smell cinnamon - he always smelled like cinnamon, did I tell you that? - and then I'm all terrified again. Terrified ... but at the same time I'm longing to be back there, yearning for those four days at the Inn. Hell! I can't do this, Gail. Do you mind? Can we stop now?

Gail: Of course we can. Of course we can.

- End of Interview -

It is now an hour later. The interview is over. Angela Taylor has left my office, and I'm alone, wondering about everything she told me. I re-read my notes. I listen to the recording I made. I ponder Angie's astounding story, the likes of which I've never before encountered: a hotel by the ocean. A Demon. Magic-infused sex Tools. Wild, wonderful, mind-blowing sex. A demon, destroyed. Wow. What happened in that Inn, anyway?

Holy shit, what a story Angela Taylor has. I stare out of my window.

I admit it: I wish I had been there.

America's Darlings goes on Tour

I'm proud and delighted to announce my first promotional Book Tour. Today, my novel America's Darlings begins a two-week-long grand tour of book review sites, reader blogs, and other internet destinations. Bon Voyage, my Darlings!

Want a chance to win a fantastic America's Darlings-themed prize, chosen by yours truly? Please visit the following link to see the very cool things I've selected, and to sign up for the giveaway. Oh, and to join the tour!

http://www.promotionalbooktours.com/2013/10/americans-darlings-blog-tour/

If you're in the mood, why not give me a shout-out on Twitter @GailWBridges, and a "Like" on my Facebook page? https://www.facebook.com/gailbridgeswriter?ref=hl

A huge thank you to everyone! I love you guys.

Remembering to Breathe - Classical Guitar In the Recording Studio

Introducing: The Arvey-Francis Classical Guitar Duo

As many of you know, for more than four years I've been playing in a classical guitar duo with my great friend Mark Francis. It's been wonderful. I've loved every moment of it.

Our first gig - a lovely event in a beautiful island setting

Our goals from the beginning have been to:

1. Enjoy ourselves
2. Enjoy the music
3. Play to the best of our ability
4. Take lessons towards that goal - individually and as a duo (mostly as a duo)
5. Not rush to play pieces in public that "aren't quite ready yet"
6. Get out into the world and play for other people - open mics, recitals, masterclasses, etc.
7. Record pieces once they're deemed ready by our teacher - who has a very high standard
8. Put our recordings (live videos) on YouTube
9. And...make a CD eventually!

I'm proud to say we've followed the path we set out for ourselves. Mark and I have been committed to our music and kept our duo going strong even when life tried to get into the way. We've encouraged each other to go further than we ever thought we could - and we have the YouTube videos to remind us what hard work can achieve. It's taken a while, but we've attained every one of our goals except for the last: making a CD. 

And that goal is closing in fast! One more recording - one more! - and we'll have enough to make our first CD. The time has now come to pull it all together - we have that last piece: the final movement of a delightful Vivaldi concerto. All we have to do is get a good recording of it.

In The Studio

Three days ago, on a windy, rainy Wednesday evening, Mark and I drove to West Seattle to work on doing just that. Kevin Callahan, our teacher, is a gifted mentor and it's safe to say that the Arvey-Francis Duo would never have gotten where we are without him. 

Kevin Callahan with his beloved late kitty, Pounder

Kevin's website: http://www.kevincallahan.org/main/home.html

Kevin is multi-talented: he is a composer and a software coder as well as a guitar teacher. He also has a great studio. This is where Mark and I headed, hoping we'd come out with a good recording.

It doesn't always happen. It's very hard. The week before, Mark and I had tried to get a live recording: we played the Vivaldi piece over and over and over - but something always went wrong. Twenty-one times something went wrong...twenty-one takes! By the end, we'd exhausted ourselves and just couldn't get it together. So we went back again to West Seattle the next week to give it another go.

Mark and I let ourselves in to Kevin's outer studio, the small room we call the "ante-chamber". We took out our guitars to let them acclimatize to the inside temperature, and began to warm our fingers - which is my way of saying that the Vivaldi piece (concerto for two Mandolins 532) goes at LIGHTENING SPEED and there is no way of playing those bursts of triplets if your fingers aren't at tip-top condition. We ran through the Vivaldi piece several times. After a while, Kevin ushered us into the studio proper.

We sat down in front of a dark cloth. Kevin rolled the camera into position front of us. He turned on the flood lights. And the microphones. He shifted my seat to the right. He adjusted the microphones. And did it again. Then something happened.

"Oh oh," Kevin said.

Mark and I looked at each other. Oh-oh didn't sound good, not at all.

Kevin frowned and poked at something on his computer keyboard. "Hmmm. This isn't right. It's the ______(fill in the blank) on the ______, and it's not doing _____like it should. I'll have to do a work-around with a______and if that doesn't work, I'll try again with the other ______. Damn it all!"

Obviously, I'm not terribly computer literate.

Mark and I waited as Kevin fiddled with the recording stuff. I tried to keep my fingers supple as Kevin downloaded a patch (or something) to repair the sound card (or something). 

 Keeping our fingers supple in the studio

Finally, the faulty programs were repaired. Kevin adjusted the microphones one last time and did several sound checks. He sat down at his console and nodded. Mark and I held our guitars up at the ready and took deep breaths. Kevin raised his right hand - his signal to start playing.

We did. We played six whole measures. Then we came to a screeching halt.

"Sorry about that," I said. "My finger missed the note."

"That's okay," said Mark.

"Start over," said Kevin.

We did. We started over. Over and over and over. Nothing new there. Each time we'd get partway through, make a mistake, then have to give up. In a live video recording such as this, there is no going back later and "fixing" bad notes. What you play is what you get. With every mistake, we had to go back to the beginning and try again. We'd shrug our mistakes off - or try to - and start over with a fresh start, doing our best each time to capture the energy and life that Vivaldi requires. 

Good thing we'd stopped at our favorite cafe, the C&P in West Seattle, for tall full-caffeine mochas right before our session, even though it was 7:30 at night. We needed all the help we could get.

Recording - you can see the miniature Arvey-Francis Duo on the camera screen.

And Finally - Success!

Mark and I played our hearts out. It was take number eleven, and this time we got further...and further...and further into the piece without mishaps. I fairly stopped breathing, it was intense. Would we get all the way to the second-to-last measure, and then screw it up? Would we get through the difficult passage near the end? Would I remember to breathe?

With a slightly-too-enthusiastic final chord, we played the Vivaldi all the way through! We'd done it. We were ecstatic. Speaking for myself, at least. All you have to do is look at the grin on my face at the end of the video to know how pleased and relieved we were to have achieved it.

The YouTube Video 

Vivaldi Mandolin Concerto, movement 3, arranged by Mark Francis 

Our next project: to gather all our recordings, tweak them so that they sound great as a set (with Kevin's help), and make them into a CD. We hope to have it ready for the Holidays.

An apology to Kevin: I know I have the recording scene terminology all wrong. Forgive me?

A bonus: The C&P is the world's greatest coffee shop, in a wonderful old house in West Seattle. If you're ever in the area, stop in and say "hi" to the owner, Pete. Tell him the Arvey-Francis Duo sent you! http://www.candpcoffee.com/

A final note: you may have noticed Mark and I are wearing different clothes in the pictures than we are in the video. That's because I took the pictures on the week we didn't manage to get a recording. Bummer!

As always - thank you for reading my blog. I hope you enjoy the music! If you would like more, here is our duo website: http://www.arveyfrancis.com/

Ultrasounds and Orgasms - An Erotica Writer on the Loose

“Jonah’s cool hand rests on the small of Vanessa’s naked back. His fingers trace the long lines of her spine, languorously, gently, making her gasp, making her own fingers curl in anticipation…”

I stop typing. I lift my hands from my laptop keyboard, squinting, re-reading the lines I’ve just written. I am in a coffee shop in the lobby of a large hospital, doing what I love best while I wait for a friend’s appointment to be over. I shift in my seat, tearing myself from my story – my erotic, soon to be very explicit story.

A child has caught my attention. She’s two, perhaps three years old. She’s got a hundred tiny braids all over her head. She’s wearing a yellow dress and orange tights with fat pumpkins on them, and pink rubber boots. She’s currently dashing in wild circles around a chair she’s dragged between tables. She’s adorable.

“TaVette!” hollers a gray-haired woman. Her grandmother, I assume. “You’re bothering the lady! Stop it!”

“No, no,” I protest, waving my hands and smiling, “she’s fine. Let her be.”

I take up my stub of a pencil and write in my notebook: TaVette? Tahvet? Tavitt? Eyeing the still-spinning child, I force myself back to my story, thinking: she’s not paying a whit of attention to what you’re doing. Don’t be silly! Stop thinking everyone is watching you! Make those characters DO THE WHOOPIE!

I take a sip of my Starbuck’s Mocha. This particular coffee shop, where a never-ending human drama passes by the too-small tables, can be rather challenging. I’m used to it. I kind of like it, even. Writing in this location is a nice change of routine. But sometimes – like right now – it’s hard to write erotica. Damn hard.

I put my hands back to the keyboard. I pull myself back to my characters, who are about to get some. It takes several deep breaths, but I’m soon back in a world where the getting some is beautiful, breathtaking, perfect. Better than real life. That’s what I do. I’m an erotica writer. I intend to deliver. Oh, yes. I know exactly what’s coming next. All I have to do is write it.

“Turn over, Vanessa,” Jonah says, his voice so thick, so quiet she barely hears it. Vanessa turns over, then gazes up at him. Funny how the mattress seems to have expanded. She swears it’s doubled in size, while the rest of the world has shrunk in on her and her new love, on the passion brewing between them. A tremble passes through her as he puts his mouth to her breast –”

I’m abruptly torn from my love scene.

“Mama!” shrieks the little girl. “Mama!” Streaking by my wobbly little table, TaVette throws her arms around the legs of a heavily pregnant woman. “Let me see! Let me see! I want to see the baby picture!”

My concentration broken – and dang it, it’s at the very moment Vanessa’s love scene is heating up nicely – I watch TaVette’s mother pull a fuzzy ultrasound picture from a mustard-yellow envelope. She shows it to the child, and then the grandmother. I hear their laughter, their joyous voices.

How nice for them, I think, what a sweet moment. Maybe I can use it in a story sometime. Now – back to work. Do it!

I take a deep breath. Put my fingers to the keyboard. Picture Vanessa and Jonah in their bed. Imagine what they’re doing to each other. I begin to type again.

“…his hand slides up her thigh. It lingers. His lips, his tongue, the bristles of his beard, what they do to her! How they make her back arch! How they make her skin sing! His fingers begin a slow walk over her trembling skin. His weight presses the length of her body. She can’t help but gasp as he –”

“What are you doing, Lady?”

It’s the little girl.

Horrified, I slam the cover of my laptop closed. “Um, I’m writing.”

“TaVette! Always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong!” The mother ushers the child away by a thin shoulder. “Sorry!” she calls over her shoulder. Child, mother, grandmother and ultrasound disappear through the lobby’s glass doors.

I let out a long sigh.

They’re gone now, but I can’t write any more. The spell is broken. Vanessa and Jonah will have to wait until my next writing session to consummate their love, poor things. This time, it was a hyper-active little girl that did them in. Last time, it was a young Asian man, his handsome face wracked with despair, an obvious new quadriplegic. The time before, it was a chatty group of physicians sitting one table over, discussing their chief of staff. Who will it be next time?

I slurp the dregs from my mocha, thinking. Writing in such a place must affect my writing. It has to, doesn’t it? I pack my laptop, turn off the mouse, wipe the table, throw away my cup and napkin, still contemplating the little scene I’d just been part of. These hospital lobby dramas are life. The good parts of life, the bad parts – all of it. The scary, the horrific, the wonderful. People loving one another. People helping one another through difficult times. People celebrating a new pregnancy. These things affect me, surely they must affect my writing.

So I’ll be back. For I – the erotica writer – am part of the hospital lobby too.