Blanket of Words

Some nights I need to be held. Tonight I'm a listener. So nice to lie in rumpled sheets and listen. Cover me with words. ― Don DeLillo, Libra

As the school year approaches, Herself looks forward to tightening up the daily routines.  While at first the general laxity of summer was enjoyable, after a few months it has become clear that the floppiness of the schedule results in a significant danger of descending into the Chaos of sloth and unproductivity.  It is much more difficult to get things done, to arrive on time, to even think.  That needs to be changed. It will, soon.

There's something very satisfying about beginning anew with the school year.  We make promises to ourselves to be more productive, to keep on top of all the things that need be done, to do more.  We may backslide on occasion, but we manage keep the spirit of those promises for a fairly long time. It is good.

One goal for Herself is to delve anew into her writings.  She's still working on the same story.  It comes in increments.  One page at a time. The plot, as it unfolds, appears to be working inexorably towards a physical relationship between two characters -- or rather, between various couples of characters.  Can she write about sex in a way that is not cliché or prurient?  Can the words be erotic, lustful, sensual, without being crude, or worse yet, boring?

She's a bit hesitant; she sees that there is danger in writing about romance (whether physical, or even emotional, romance).  There is always the risk that those who read will impute the desires and feelings of the characters to the author.  While it is true that little pieces of the author may creep into the writings, we hope that ultimately, readers will view the words much like an apron imprinted with a bikini-clad idealized body. The author's shape is under there, we know, but the gift to the reader is the painted picture of words. 

This alluring apron was found here.