Website vs Writing

Priorities.

The whole world revolves around priorities. I prioritized playing with the website over writing words. No one ever said prioritizing was easy nor always made sense. Be sure to check out the sitemap.

I did, however, get some words in today. I even managed to get some sleep, about four hours suppose. I worked on an old-ish WIP called The Guide. I had a different idea for the beginning and played with it some. So far I have over 2300 new words. Here’s a snippet. Keep in mind this is very rough draft.

Vic sipped on her drink, feeling the alcohol burn its way to her stomach. In town to visit her mother, she’d thought coming here would be comforting. Instead the crowd was different, younger. She’d left the dance floor after only a few minutes to seek the relative quiet of the lower bar and its pool tables.

She swirled her napkin on the glossy bar top. Florida, the femme barkeeper, refilled the bowl of cashews for the second time. The wall in front of Vic was mirrored and covered in shelves of liquor bottles. The light, reflected through the bottles to the mirror and back again, gave the area closest to the bar an amber glow. Over her head She easily heard could hear the diffused steady thump-thump of the dance music overhead. She remembered when she used to love to dance to that rhythm, feeling the music through her feet, that primal sensations that made a body move with little thought from its owner.

Not too bad. I made a few changes once I put it here (hence the strikethroughs, which I did for giggles). It goes on and gets rather, um…sexual.

If she took the drink, was it a step in the wrong direction? It had been several years since she’d given in to her internal urgings and indulged in role play. The last experience had been bad and she’d stayed away from that scene. The last thing on her mind was coming here to find a Dom.

“Just take the damn drink, Vic. She ain’t askin’ to go bonk you in the bathroom.”

“What is she asking then, Florida?”

“She’s asking if she can buy you a damn drink. You are wound too tight tonight. Relax a little. Trust me, she’s harmless enough…if you let her.” The bartender laughed at the look on Vic’s face and walked away.

She pulled the drink toward her, looking up again at the dyke. She smiled back and raised the glass. Sipping this drink was like tightening the ropes on her wrists. The tingling she’d felt a minute ago was back, stronger now. She could feel the pull of the woman, knew that she could give Vic what she needed, knew that there would be no morning after embarrassment or moving van rental.

Heh heh. I like that part. I guess you’d have to have gone to bars to understand what the drink could possibly mean. Lesbian bars are stereotypically rough places. They are, even the more sophisticated like the now-gone Hepburns in Philly. The whole place is like a constant game of checkers. Hopping, shifting, backing up…

Anyway, that’s what I’ve done so far today. Now ain’t you just the better for knowing?