masochist...true story

I've found recently that when I get nice and comfortable with something (say...my genre) I tend to go and do something crazy. Like shoot myself in the foot. This is why I keep my toenails painted. It just looks better that way >;)

I got a no today on a story that I really liked. Non-smut. I guess you could call it horror. Or maybe surrealistic? Whatever you want to call it, it was not my norm. And that feels good to me. Testing my boundaries, struggling, trying things that do not resonate as safe or comfortable or tried and true. I like to feel off kilter, out of my element and taxed. In life and in writing. Not all the time. I am not insane (certifiably). But I am somehow oddly comfortable with being uncomfortable. It is the whole reason I tried smut in the first place. To see if I could. So now I'm trying some other stuff. To see if I can. Some of it is to see if I can do it period. Some of it is to see if I can *remember* how to do it.

Like I said, I got a no. But I also got a 'send us something else'. Which always gives me hope and a shiver. I get another chance. The gate is not barred to me. Yay. So, I go forward with a smile.

I will tell you this, as I told Mr. Tandy last night via email with a movie on and a fresh glass of wine--I see that all my non smut work is still mostly riddled with sex. Different kind of sex, mind you, but sex all the same. So in my twisted, Climax purple psyche, sex is entwined so deeply in life itself, I can't escape it. I can only change the degree to which it plays a roll. And at this point, why fight it. Just take your version of 'sanity' and run with it, yeah?

Picture from this really cool site.

XOXO
Sommer