Back in the saddle of fantasy

As I mulled over some writing thoughts and avenues the last few weeks, life had continued on- as in, I had a playdate scheduled for my child the last week of Christmas break with four children and a very nice single male parent at a local amusement place.
Two things inexplicably came up.  What we do for a living and what we enjoy in our spare time.

Sqweek sqwawk.  I believe I sounded like a parrot choking on a dry cracker.
Well, we live in an extraordinarily small community.  I clammed up and confessed in a text later, kinda.  sorta.  in a way.  I wanted another playdate to happen and I also wanted to be accepted for the person I am.  And I also didn’t wish to be labeled as “easy”, for I’ve been told while I’m a great catch… I’m even harder fishy to keep.

How does an erotica writer get past the stigma, even the self-induced criticism of what we write?  I ended up having an extremely animated conversation with the maintenance man after the playdate ended, about how Stephen King may be a recluse but he’s an a-okay fella and certainly he isn’t morphing into a beer slug and going after people.  He’s just happy to be a writer.  Sure he’s weird.  I love weird.
Hm did I mention “Night Shift” was my favorite?  And that months ago I gave the maintenance man a copy of my rough draft manuscript after he’d watched me write for hours after the mall closed?

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“Melancholy Mermaid” by C.L. Bolin, an old piece

I recall the fiery empowerment of the influence of the artist Marina Abramovic who inspired me so much to bare it all, that I nearly photographed myself in the nude for the cover of “Finding Tina 1“.  I was so full of passionate longings to connect to others on the most artistic yet primitive levels that I had also hit a sacrificial level, and was willing to lie on the slab for my writing and my beliefs and devote myself shamelessly as Marina had.
Or maybe I’d flipped the channels and caught Aslan’s sacrifice cracking the witches slab.
Someone pulled me aside and said that there was a way to do both with a little class.. and that I was already doing it, so why expose my flesh when I’m exposing my soul?

Albeit, there are some tainted souls in this little-known town of “Where Am I”, USA, that would love to see me Lady Godiva down the street… hair flowing, skin steaming in the morning air, my creamy thighs gently squeezing a brilliantly pale stallion’s flanks…  my Cherokee spirit woven in Celtic heritage… I’m sure a few local ladies would like to see me chafe a little.  Rock on!
A few weeks hiatus was plenty of rest.  I’m glad to be back in the swing of writing, and I’ve painted my stallion to ride.