This is actually what I came home to back in March when I went to SXSW. STY had to wait two whole days for me to return to watch Twilight, which gave her a l-o-t of time to
Anyhoo, I figured I needed to set up my own little sanctuary in the hopes that this will somehow magically help my writing. Oh, and also to keep ML the hell off my computer. I'm very territorial that way. I call it "The Lair," among other things. I figured The Lair was appropriately cheesy but also just a tad... nah, never mind. Just fucking cheese. And not even good cheese, like Gruyere. That name is straight up Velveeta. Or Cheez-Whiz.
Before ML left this afternoon for band practice, he asked me to make him his favorite three bean salad for dinner. The only reason this salad is his favorite is because it's the only thing I can actually cook that doesn't involve me staring at the sparse (and potentially rotten) contents of our refrigerator and saying, 'ah, fuck it, I think this will taste good...' [NOTE FROM STY- Can I just point out that this dish doesn't involve any actual "cooking"? If you're handy enough to work a can opener, you're golden.]
Naturally I agreed, but the second he shut the front door, I raced into the back room, aka 'my fucking lair, bitches.' This is where my half of the
'The Lair', aka 'The Lair, Bitches' aka 'I'm writing, not now' aka 'SHUT UP! I'm trying to write', aka 'I'm going to hire a fucking ninja to take you out if you bother me one more time'.
ML has pointed out, on occasion, that I have more than a few pictures of Robward but none of him on my desk. Duly noted. But in my defense, I don't write a blog about ML, which is probably a good thing on several levels.
This picture in the frame is a particular favorite of mine. STY made it for my birthday last year shortly after the Twilight movie came out. It's the famous 'I'm hot and standing next to my Volvo shooting smoldering looks at you' picture. And if you can't read the text, it says...
This is what I call my 'reference section'.
Sadly, I'm a lacking in the space department but I believe I do have all the essentials. Cursing, the entire Twilight series, an Alchemy candle... a picture of Rob. I'm all set, right? Oh, and that silly thesaurus, which is SO much lamer than the Creative Cursing book (that STY is never getting back...).,
Next, we have our 'Fan Fiction' department.
"How to Write Porn 101" book [strangely enough, I discovered I didn't actually need many pointers] Check. Netbook so I never waste a moment on my commute? Check. Phone to call or text STY every thirty seconds? Check. Candle and wine plus a little Mini-E & Mini-B action to set the mood? Checkity-check-check...
Since I have a tortuous, soul-sucking round-trip commute of about four hours, I tend to do most of my writing on my Netbook (aka "Lair on the Go") on the train. I have to admit, it's kind of weird sitting there, squished next to some smelly business dude wondering, 'should Edward be licking her clit? Slit? Love button? Maybe I should just make Bella suck his cock...'
It's also kind of strange because, well, people are nosy and I'm trying to write porn, here. Sheesh. The next time someone leans in to read what I write, I'm definitely going to type 'STOP BEING A NOSY TWAT.'
I have to admit it's taken some getting used to, this whole "writing dirty stories on the train" thing. If there is one thing I hate, it's being annoyed when I'm writing and riding the train is nothing but annoying.
ML, on the other hand (because he is a sweet, patient man who would prefer not to be gelded by his crazy girlfriend) knows not to disturb me when I'm in my Lair. Instead, he sort of hovers by the door for a little bit, then s-l-o-w-l-y creeps towards me, head down, so as not to look threatening. Usually I'm so absorbed in whatever I'm doing that I'm only vaguely aware he's there. It only took one time for the poor guy to realize that barging in while I was writing is a BAD decision. I had my headphones on and he scared the holy living bejeezus out of me (he says he didn't do it on purpose, but he's a lyin' bastard). I let out such a blood-curdling scream--followed by a string of expletives that nearly peeled the paint off the wall--that ML was afraid someone might call the cops. From that day on ML doesn't try to sneak up on me and see what I'm up to.
Except for that one time he caught me looking at porn. Well, maybe twice. At least I have an excuse now...
Oh, and speaking of adult stories... I'm cutting this post short to work on something else...
More 15 Step coming your way soon, bitches! Now please tell STY to let me out of the basement... Pleeease!!