The Portable Erotica Writer

I never thought I would be one of those writers who needed to have notebook on hand at all times. In college, I carried around plenty of notebooks filled with notes, schedules lists and on one memorable occasion, escape plans on how to get out of Lincoln Hall’s auditorium.*

These days, I’m making use of a package of small notebooks that tuck very nicely into my laptop bag. They’re also perfect for putting on my windowsill, close to my bed, because that whole thing about getting ideas in the middle of the night? That really happens, and it’s a pain when you need to stumble through the dark to find where you thought you left your notebook and pen.**

So with notebook in hand, and with laptop bag affixed to my shoulder like some sort of strange, high tech tumor, I’m a pretty mobile writer. Three days out of five, I’m writing at Miss Rat’s, which is about four blocks from my place.

That’s far from the only place I write, though. Things happen, there are people to see, bookstores to explore and parents to visit, and sometimes writing needs to get done for a deadline.

So four places I have written erotica, in no particular order:

On the Train
I love Amtrak, and the five-something hours between Milwaukee, Wisconsin and where my parents live is a great time to get some work done. However, I need to remember to keep up the frowning, don’t-sit-next-to-me face, or I inevitably end up talking the trip away. For better or worse, something about chubby Asian women seems to scream “good listener.”

Chicago’s Union Station

I love Amtrak, but I hate Chicago’s Union Station. I don’t know what it is about it. I like airports just fine, but something about the crowding and the hallways at Chicago’s Union Station make me ever-so-slightly psychotic. One good way to pass the time is to sit down and write a long, involved anal sex scene in the North lounge. It made me feel better, anyway.

I used to work in a library, and before I get Internet at new apartments, I usually sponge off the free Wi-fi available at the city libraries. Nobody really cares what you’re doing as long as you’re not having sex or breaking the spines on books, and writing in a text file looks like homework anyway.

Third Shift at Work
Working on third shift, unless something explodes or the zombie apocalypse happens, means that you’re mostly on your own recognizance. I was a third shift lead technician for about a year and I learned that 1) it takes about 3 months before everyone who lives in daylight forgets your name, and 2) you can write a 3,500 word piece of erotica in about 2 nights.

Hmm, so I’ve apparently been doing this for a little while now, and though I’ve not run out of topics yet by a long shot, feel free to let me know if there are things that you would like to hear me rant about. I am open to suggestions!
Coming Soon:
Why Can’t We Have Sexy Male Sirens?
Love Me, Adore Me, Pay Me
Everything I Learned About Alpha Males, I Learned From Watching Male Rats
*Through the back stage door and hope the monkeys haven’t cut you off at the pass.

**Then you get up in the morning and realize that you wrote the note with your basil plant. Damnnit.


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