Bloodied and battered, as it were, by a nightmare apparently hopped up on PED’s and Jack Daniels, I am in no condition to write anything coherently. (Four minutes to get that sentence out, for example.)
However, not in the mood to give up entirely on today’s blog, I will continue in the manner of bulleted prose. (Is there even such a thing? I doubt it.)
Enjoy! Or at least muddle through.
– Sex has come to The Hushing Days! Yesterday, I set to flame the lovers I’ve been babying on the stove all these long months. This is good.
– Sex in Revolutionary America is a little unwieldy coming off the contemporary romance writer’s tongue. My efforts were clumsy, juvenile and singed nothing but a few eyebrows. This is bad.
– Sex will again be tried in its fictional form today. Hopefully, all the little girl bits and boy bits will play nicely today. If not things will once again turn hilariously ugly. Really. I could write a book on bad sex… Oops, I think I just did. *smirks*
Well, it is clear now that bulleted prose does nothing to hide the utter ineptness of my brain today. Pardon me while I retreat.
Have a better day than me, folks, and watch those eyebrows.