Tunnel Vision

‘Did you take out the recyclables?’ my husband asks.

‘They’re in the refrigerator,’ I reply.

‘Are you hungry?’

I mumble something incoherent from behind the monitor.

I pour plain hot water from the mocha maker because I forgot to put in the coffee. Never mind. I slap a teabag in the cup of hot water and go back to the computer.

Spiders have taken residence in a number of nooks and crannies. They know the odds that dusting will happen in the near future are slim, and the safety of their homes is pretty much guaranteed.

My list of unanswered emails is growing longer every day and I haven’t done a blog post in two and a half weeks. So what’s the problem?

Tunnel Vision. Yep, it’s that time again. Everyone who knows me knows it happens periodically. I go underground. It’s like I’ve temporarily left the planet, and for all practical purposes, I have. I’ve got tunnel vision, and whenever that happens, I’m sucked mercilessly into another dimension, the dimension of the story. The thing about the dimension of the story is that it’s a whole lot easier for me to go there than it is for me to come back. Fortunately for the recyclables, though not for the spiders, short stories involve fairly brief stints in the land of Tunnel Vision. Five thousand words and I’m back home in time for a reality check.

But, I’m in the world of the novel now, and whenever I go there, it’s hard to say when I’ll get back home again. Add to that the fact that the novel is full of love, sex, intrigue, and people I’d like to be, and I’m very likely to linger as long as possible. In fact, I bet if you could go someplace similar right now, you would, wouldn’t you?

Come on, be honest! Everyone who’s ever read a good book gets the chance to follow the writer into that great world of Tunnel Vision. We all go there willingly and happily while the spiders take up residence and the recycling accumulates. We’re disappointed when it’s not quite the world we’d hoped for. We’re equally disappointed when it’s more than we could have imagined. When that happens, we don’t want to leave. We want to stay with those characters we’ve grown so fond of and take up residence in that place that now feels like home. We’ve grown used to the excitement, the adventure, the sex, the love, the intrigue, and we’ve especially grown used to the opportunity to, for a little while, be someone else.

The land of Tunnel Vision is also the land of multiple personalities. In my novel, I get to be ALL of the characters. They all whisper in my ear and tell me their sordid secrets and their darkest fantasies. Then I, like an evil gossip columnist, splash their inner workings all over the written page for the world to see. Bwa ha ha ha ha! I get to do that because I’m the most powerful person in their world. In fact, in their world, I’m god. K D giveth and K D taketh away!

So, I’ve come back from the world of Tunnel Vision just long enough to grab a sandwich, write a blog post and ignore the spiders. Consider this a postcard from the world of The Mount and Rita Holly’s initiation. It’s my way of saying ‘having a great time, wish you were here.’ I promise a detailed account this fall in the form of my novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly. But in the meantime, you’ll just have to settle for a blog post.

 

The Big Freeze, Déjà vu All over again — only sexy!

The arctic blasts of the past few weeks, complete with cancellations, supermarket hoardings, and transportation delays, bring back memories of last year’s big freeze. So does news of the electrical malfunctions on the Eurostar caused by the cold. I was coming home from Paris on the Eurostar last year when the cold blast hit. And the train stopped.

As the carriage got darker and darker, as the canteen closed down and the apologies and updates from the conductor became fewer and farther between, we all secretly wondered if there was something we weren’t being told, possibly something a little more sinister going on… After a few hours in the dark, under the English Channel without food or liquid refreshment, people do get a bit tetchy.

Through it all, I couldn’t keep from eavesdropping on the two passengers sitting behind us. One of them was a young woman. The second was an elderly gentleman who was retired Royal Air Force. The woman was claustrophobic. The fear in her voice was palpable, though she did her best to keep panic at bay and maintain dignity.

I listened, off and on, for four and a half hours while the gentleman kept her in light conversation, asking all the right questions while regaling her with stories from his days in the military. Every time the panic reemerged in her voice, there was another interesting story, or another question about her job, or how she liked living in London, or what her hobbies were.

At last the train was mercifully towed out of the tunnel and into Ashford. Those of us who knew we weren’t going to get home even if we did make it on to London were given accommodations for what was left of the night at Eurostar’s expense. As my husband and I sat in our comfy room enjoying beer and chicken salad sandwiches, I wondered what other ways one might keep one’s mind off being in a pitch black train stalled under a bazillion gallons of water.

Of course the answer was obvious. Wouldn’t hot, hammering sex keep ones mind off these less than stellar circumstances? If so, what would that sex be like, with an unseen partner offering comfort in a sightless world completely dependent on the other senses. And Viola! The Initiation of Ms Holly was born. It was natural for a mythology buff like me to link the sightless grope-fest unfolding in my mind with the story of Psyche and Eros. How would our modern day Psyche pursue her hidden Eros, and what obstacles might she face if she lived in London and had to undergo initiation to gain access to a twenty-first century Mount Olympus in order to be with her Eros, in order to even see his face?

Big cotton knickers, white chocolate willies, trains stranded under the English Channel… Inspiration is often an ambush — full on, head-over-heals, rough and tumble leading to places a very long and convoluted way from where it all began.

The Initiation of Ms Holly will be published this fall by Xcite Books, at which time all that is hidden shall be revealed…

 

BWE 2010 is Sexy!

Sex SF has included Best Women’s Erotica 2010 on its ten sexy books of 2009 list.

 

Granny Knickers and White Chocolate Willies

With guest arriving for lunch in less than two hours, me still in sweats and the house still in need of a good hoovering, I’m hard at work researching a story. I’m browsing the cotton granny knickers in the Sainsbury clothing department. As I try to decide whether white knickers will be best or if tiny pink flowers might be a nice touch, my brain is contemplating the sexiness of large cotton underpants. I decide on plain white and hurry to meet my husband near the checkout, where he glances impatiently at his watch.

The hoovering gets done, and I manage a shower and slap on some make-up. It’s a lovely lunch with good conversation and good friends. It’s great catching up and reminiscing. But as we talk about recipes and walking in Snowdonia, in the back of my mind I consider how loose granny panties would have to fit before one could tie the crotch in a knot.

I serve up pudding wondering how cotton knickers taste dripped in caramel sauce, or how one would feel if one received a pair under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up in gold paper, with a sexy note from a lover. Over coffee, I think about what a spanking might feel like through white cotton knickers, and as we say good-bye at the door, the story begins to form in my head.

Now the house is quiet, and I sit at the computer with a cup of tea, sucking on white chocolate willies – a gift from a friend, who somehow just intuited I would be the type to enjoy rude chocolate. I know I’m surrounded by lots of things that aren’t sexy, but as I think about granny knickers and the spark of a story I wonder just how many things, everyday things that I have yet to contemplate are sexy, or at least could be with a little imagination and enough rude chocolate.

 

It Gets Better!

One of my pet peeves is the pop-culture assumption that no one over thirty has sex, and if they do, they’re probably not very good at it. Guess again! Let’s here it for experience. Check out this fabulous article in today’s Times

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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