I know it might seem a bit odd, titling a post ‘Dirty Bit’ and then following it with a picture of rolling mountains and a lake (it’s Buttermere in the Lake District if you’re interested). but it was either this or a picture of Peter Rabbit eating a carrot, which was taken during a recent trip to Beatrix Potter world in Bowness, and that would have been just wrong.
Confused? Don’t be. Here’s what happened. So I’ve been away again, this time to The Lake District. It was only for a few days and there was no internet access to be had but I did have to take my work and my writing with me because I had deadlines to meet. I did try and explain the issue lack of interent access would cause me to the Husband, but as usual it fell on deaf ears – it’s not easy being married to a man who won’t sit still for longer than a week. Anyway, enough of my martial woes. So having been for a walk around the beautiful lake at Buttermere, we spent the afternoon driving around the winding roads of north Lakes. The two year old was asleep in her car seat and the Husband, who was driving, was muttering on about the potential impact of BNFL shutting down it’s operations in the Lakes on the resident population. Obviously my mind started to wander and suddenly I was struck by an idea for a sex scene for my novel, The Part Time Wife. Random – I know. I haven’t worked on The Part Time Wife since February because I need to re-write it in a different tense before I do any more work on it and the thought of doing that at this point in time, frankly makes me want throw myself down a well. But anyway.
The fact that a scene for a key chapter in the book, came to me fully formed in my head was odd. And the fact that it was the sex scene was even odder because I have put off writing this scene for well over a year now due to the fact that I knew I was going to have to write rude words. Did I mention that I come from a family of Irish catholics on one side and Jesuits on the other?
The words flowed out of me. Literally flowed. A whole scene, rude words and everything, whilst careering around very bendy A roads and a sleeping babe next to me. And when I’d finished an odd sense of euphoria and the thought that maybe I could do it again – write another sex scene I mean. Which I guess is a bit like how can sex can sometimes feel – it you do it with the right person, you’re above the age of consent, you use protection and you’re married of course (Hi Mum!)
So there it is, last week I crossed a literary line. At the age of 33, it was probably about time.
Since returning home, I’ve finished another chapter of Stella Forsaken (still not wild about that title but it will do for now) and submitted it to my course peers for evaluation / annhilation, harboured vauge obsessions with Beatrix Potter and Kate Bush’s music and been unable to converse with anyone due to my nose being stuck in Kate Morton’s second book, The Forgotten Garden.
Note to readers: This post might read better if you listen to the song, The Time (Dirty Bit), by the Black Eyes Peas, at the same time. You can listen to it here