For a prude like me it seems ironic that the first ever workshop I ever attend as a new writer is one on writing erotic fiction. Having my identity firmly connected to the idea of being a romance writer and having Jane Austen as my hero, the idea of writing toe curling sex scenes in any of my novels seemed impossible.

Which is exactly why I signed up for the workshop.

But now it’s been a few months and when faced with the question from Tiffany  – “I am curious to know how it went, if you would recommend it” I see its now time to think carefully about the new skills that Opal Carrew  tried to impart to me and consider if I have put any of them into practise yet.

Sadly, the truth of the matter is that no, I went to the workshop in January and yet I have not yet written anything remotely raunchy.

Honestly, the first six months of the year I was too busy reading educational philosophy to complete a university degree. And attempting to not appear too dumb in group discussions when people waxed lyrical about how enthralling and insightful such and such a piece was for them, when personally I considered whether the writer of the aforementioned piece was on drugs or I was needing to be on drugs to understand what the piece was (apparently eloquently) expressing.

Several weeks have elapsed since I completed my final course and it seems that the writing synapses in the brain are starting to fire up again. Instead of academic work I’ve been writing fiction and finding a certain pleasure in the completed scenes.  And obviously, I’ve been writing blog posts at a rate much higher than one a quarter.  I’ve also been revelling in the new e-reader that my husband bought for my birthday present, and reading copious amounts of books for no other reason than pure pleasure.

But I think the best thing that I learnt from the workshop was that I am no longer concerned about writing sex scenes that maybe required in my any of my stories.  During the workshop we were given ample opportunity to write erotic fiction pieces, create sexy characters, think about clever experiences to have sexual events occur… oh you name it… we did it!  So I don’t think that when the time comes (and it is coming soon) I will have any trouble writing erotic scenes for the book I’m currently working on. Obviously, I would probably need to read some erotic fiction to get into the right head space and remember all the turns of phrase erotic writers use to describe certain events. *ahem*

During Carrew’s workshop she took us through the story arcs that different genres follow. We spent a lot of time creating a rough outline for an erotic novel.  For any fiction to be classified romantic, even erotic romance fiction, the rule within the publishing world is that there always has to be a happy ending. You know the story,  Boy and girl meet. Fall in love. Have a falling out. Hate each other. Discover they can’t live without the other. Get back together. And this is where I brag about probably my one true claim to fame within the erotic fiction world right now. I coined a new term for the happy ending.  Boy and girl live happily f^cking after.

Yeah Tiffany,  I guess you could say I really learned a lot and would highly reccomend attending an erotic writing workshop.

So I’ve committed to the unimaginable – at least unimaginable for anyone who knows me.  A cheque has been mailed off to pay for a writing workshop.  But that isn’t the big news.

Yes, that’s right folks.  The big news is that I’m going to be partaking in an erotic writing workshop. *snort*

I’ve paid someone 75 big ones to learn how to write erotic fiction.  And I confess that just writing that down has me blushing three shades of crimson, scarlet and  tomato red.

Having decided to claim my stake at the romance writing genre, I knew that I was going to have to do something about my, shall we say, “romantic interludes” within my novels. Because to be quite frank,  its not that I can’t write the lovely-dovey stuff,  but I really suck at writing the sexy-rexy stuff. 

All too often I fail to see in the books that I read how the sex scenes move the story forward. I don’t have an issue with sex scenes if they are in the story for a good reason. But to be honest, most of the time I don’t want to read about quivering flesh, swelling bosoms and throbbing manhood’s.

And contemplating that is when I knew that this workshop would be good for me.

If I’m going to write for the romance genre, then I need to learn to write a sex scene that is believable without mentioning the strange  little oddities that make real life sex so humorous but don’t translate well to the written page (or the silver screen) and it needs to be done well enough that it’s toe curling in a delicious manner rather than a cringe worthy how many pages do I need to skip manner.

So January 30th will see me at the back of a class, dying with shame. That, or I will be discovering my “inner slut” and becoming the newest erotic fiction writer on the block.

I just have to  hope my mother doesn’t discover what I’m doing via this blog.  Yeah, because right there would be a toe curlingly embarrassing moment!

Everyone and their dog want to be a writer. Being a writer, it would seem to the vast majority of people, is easy enough. Bang out a few thousand words and get paid squillions of dollars and get the story made into a Hollywood movie.  I’m equally sure you’ve heard the saying that in each person there is one good story to tell. So many people say I’m going to write a book but there is a one caveat; they are going to write a book – one day.

That was me for a long time.

I was one of those people. I would read a story and think, “I could do that,” or, “good grief, if that got published, why shouldn’t one of my stories?”

 Because I was the kid whose mother would buy 15 – 20 books for a huge Christmas present parcel and by the end of the six week summer holiday  they would all be read – and some twice over already.  I was the kid who thought going to the public library was the most exciting thing ever; the one who had the torch and read under the covers when I was supposed to be sleeping at night.

But for some reason, the older I got the less I trusted that spark of desire within me that called to me to write. I pushed it away, deeming it childish and completely impossible for the likes of me. Who on earth was I to think that I could actually write something that would be good enough to be published?

Of course, the pull towards writing down the adventures that happened in my head remained constant, and I would spend a quiet hour or two, putting pen to paper over the years. But it wasn’t until this year, several months before my last 30-something  birthday, that I came to the conclusion that if I didn’t do something about this nagging dream to write, that I should shut up telling people I was going to write a book one day and move on with my life.

Cut to February 2009.

I gave myself the challenge of writing the first shitty draft (as Anne Lamott would urge) by the end of the year. I actually finished writing the draft by hand in a couple of notebooks by October and have been typing it into the computer since then.

But seriously. Who am I to dare to think I could be a writer?

Oh yes, I’ve heard the argument “I write therefore I am a writer”; but its being a published author where the distinction is really made. Long before Meryl Streep and Amy Adams had even considered acting in a movie called “Julie and Julia”, Julie Powell understood that being a writer meant being published. It wasn’t enough to have a half written manuscript, an apparently popular blog and a desperate desire to be a writer. You need to be recognised by other people, (people who are regarded as professionals in the publishing field,) for them to agree that the words you have so carefully strung together like a pearl necklace are worthy enough to be printed in some format for other people to read before you can call yourself a writer.

So here it is. My journey towards the end goal of being a published writer. If nothing else keeping a record will keep me accountable to continue learning about my chosen craft. I need to keep pushing my personal boundaries in my efforts to be published; death or publication. I prefer publication.