Writing: Abuse Most Pleasurable

I just spent an hour typing a new page into my novel while sitting in my underwear on the edge of my bed. I’m in bare feet, it’s ten degrees out, and there’s no heat in my bedroom. My skin is freezing. But my story is set on an island near Cuba where it’s eighty-five degrees in the shade, so I’m warm as a fetus . . . in my mind. My feet, however, are suing my brain for negligent affliction of frostbite and they want an immediate divorce. I’m hoping my heart will step in and adjudicate the matter, but it’s too busy being happy about the page I wrote. Sometimes writing is a form of abuse most pleasurable.

3 Comments to “Writing: Abuse Most Pleasurable”

  1. That was sooooo cool. (pardon the pun)

    There are times I write in my car – either freezing or baking, but have retired from writing while driving – DWW (driving while writing).


    (posting on AW as Herema)

    • All right Ma’am,
      License and registration, please. Do you know how fast you were writing back there? What’s this?
      You’ve got a poetic license, Ma’am. Why didn’t you say so before? Follow me; I’ll use lights and siren.
      I’ll get you to the reading on time.
      [Thanks Lucy]

      • Oh Boy! To avoid giving my laptop a shower, I nearly choked. ROFLOL

        Whatever books you have written should be best sellers with humor like that.

        Now, I must…yesh…I must…go read some more of your blogs.


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