Let your mind alone!

The title of this year's Beauty of a Woman Blogfest entry is taken from a book of the same name by James Thurber. He is a humorist, whom I admire for about a billion reasons, and it is his quote that I use as the name of my blog. If your sense of humor is like mine, look him up. 

This post is part of the Beauty of a Woman BlogFest VI! To read more entries, and potentially win a fun prize, visit the fest page on August’s McLaughlin’s site between today and 11pm PST March 11th.
As always, I want to thank August for the opportunity to contribute to her tour, and do encourage you to read the other entries!


I'm also using this little movie clip, from Desk Set, with Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy:



The reason for this is to show you all that, in anything I write, I associate many things with many things, and I cannot let my mind alone.

I was in the shower one morning and said, "There are not enough girl pirates in books." I quickly decided to write a little riff on The Count of Monte Cristo, using a girl protagonist, and having her become a pirate in order to exact her revenge.

But then my mind began to wander.

Women can be badass...or can they? We can seek adventure, be rough-and-tumble gals, thirst for excitement. We can laugh at death, just like men. Unlike men, however, we have one more primal fear: rape. 

Yes, I know. Men are raped. Unless thousands of you guys tell me differently, however, I'm going to assume you don't walk down dark alleys fearing you'll be raped. Mugged, yes. Murdered, sure. 

But it's us, the females, who have that small muscle in our gut that's always strung tight. It's that fear, That Fear, that keeps us from walking down the dark alley. We may be more afraid of being sexually assaulted than of being chopped into pieces. 

My heroine, Lisette, is sold as a virgin to the pirate Rocco. I wanted her to be a bold, stubborn noblewoman, in a very fictional version of the 16th-century Caribbean. How do I handle THAT FEAR, and make her run toward danger, or at least stroll confidently in its direction?

I began by dismantling my own beliefs, my own fears, my own hangups about a woman's body, about virginity, and about how important physical touch is, in terms of utilizing all of our senses.

Once she is kidnapped, Lisette starts to question her virginity. Why is this such a sacred thing? No one waits for that special moment to say their first word, take their first step, eat their first solid food. You're ready to do it, so you just start. Why is that part of our real estate such hallowed ground, that we protect it and wait for The Right Someone (and in ye olde days, showed the stained sheets as proof on our wedding night)?

She begins to wish she was not a virgin anymore. In her words, "Just get it over with." Unfortunately, Rocco has some secrets of his own. Taking her as a lover is not exactly on his to-do list, at least not that he freely admits.

It doesn't stop her from exploring her sexuality. As she matures, she wonders why sensuality is such forbidden fruit. At one point, she asks, is it such a sin, to crave a man's touch more than, say, to enjoy a delicious meal or hear a pleasant tune?

Even as she questions what she's been taught, and rejects most of what she's learned, she still manages to experience sex on her own terms. As with many stories, she falls in love, it's complicated, and I expect it will have a happy ending--eventually. Did I mention my little riff grew up to be a trilogy?

Perhaps I let her off easy. The story is strewn with the bodies of men who try to rape her and fail. Perhaps I should have let one succeed. It is the reality for many women. As the writer, I would get to examine what kind of steel Lisette has in her backbone if she does not win one of these fights.

But this is a fantasy. My excuse is that I want her to be strong and smart and independent, and fight for what she believes, and win. I want her to embody that warrior in each of us. And a piece of me wants to open that introspective door in other women's minds--what do you really think about touch and sex and your body?

She's a pirate, yes, but in a way, she's also a superhero. All because I can't let my mind alone.

PS. I have completed the first book of the trilogy, a historical fantasy. Or perhaps it's a hysterical one--time will tell. It's currently in that state of Artistic Limbo: in the editor's hands, trying to be a book, while the Author and Editor decide whether to query an agent, look at small presses, self-pub, or toss the whole thing in the nearest bonfire. Wish me luck. Better yet, wish me the strength of a girl pirate.

Bringing Sexy Back... to Sixty

CAUTION: I AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT SEX TODAY. It may get uncomfortable. It will certainly get graphic, at least as graphic as I'm comfortable with. 

I know a few of my readers would rather not read about sex, and that's okay. You don't need to read any further. Go read Snoopy's blog instead, http://thatsmysnoopy.blogspot.com/2015/02/glasses-half-empty-glasses-half-full.html

NOW THAT THE DISCLAIMER IS OVER:

When I first read August McLaughlin's invitation to the Beauty of a Woman BlogFest, I saw that if I got to participate I could pick the original blog, about beauty and how I see it, or I could talk about the beauty of female sexuality. (Note: Please do check out all the blogs on the blogfest. Go to http://www.augustmclaughlin.com/boaw15/ for more info - they're giving out prizes!) 

I'm more comfortable with talking about beauty, but a little voice in my head double-dog-dared me to talk about sex.

How can I refuse a double-dog-dare?

I was raised in your typical Puritan household, sexuality-wise. Good girls didn't think about sex, explore sex, acknowledge it in any way, until marriage. And then they "went along with it" in a passive kind of way, to please their husbands.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me The Talk, which included everything about babies and how they were born. She omitted the part about how they get there. When I was about to be married, my mother told me I'd have to buy a douche bag. I asked her why.

"Because it's messy and it smells, and you don't want to smell, too."

It's a miracle I had sex at all. 

But not only did I have it, I found out I liked it. I liked the physical contact, the intimacy of it all. I loved the buildup and release of an orgasm. And afterward, I loved that feeling of having shared something so wonderful with someone I loved.

As time marched on, I figured that's the way it would always work. Even more so, I looked forward to the days when my husband and I were no longer caught up in working and taking care of our son, and we could spend more time together doing whatever we wanted. Wherever we wanted. Whenever... well, you get the picture.

What I didn't realize was what time would do to my body. I was happy to not have to go through a monthly cycle, although the hot flashes nearly did me in. Then my doctor prescribed synthetic hormone replacement therapy, which made me feel better. 

After 55, I noticed that my skin was drier and had more wrinkles. I figured I was joining the club, of people who get old and look their age. Imagine my surprise as I turned 60, when my hubby and I were enjoying a romantic getaway and I found out that the dryness was inside as well!

Nobody told me about this part of growing older. I love my husband. I love our sex life. I don't love feeling like someone is sticking a rasp inside me and scraping me raw. Not only did it hurt, I felt badly for him, and I felt less sexy. A lot less sexy. Kind of like a shell of a person, not even a woman. I enjoyed my life, writing and riding and being with friends. But I didn't feel whole.

There's a lot no one tells you about growing older. Vaginal dryness is just one thing. I have a friend who has an autoimmune disorder that resulted in her labia drying out and sloughing off like dead cells. She's now on treatment, but what's lost is lost. 

Who knew that was a thing?

The sad part has been that, prior to talking to my friend about her disorder, I hadn't disclosed my problem to anyone else. Sex isn't embarrassing to me, but this dryness was. We definitely need to be talking about the changes as we grow older. Young women need to know this is not abnormal, it happens, and there are medicines and creams and oils to solve it. They need to know what to watch for, and to see someone as soon as something feels wrong.

As for me, I told my doctor about my problem and am now on a medication to plump everything back up. I've only been on it a few days, but my body is starting to feel like its old self. 

Soon I will be whole again. Sex will be beautiful, and I will be beautiful in it.

Pardon me while I do some productive procrastination

I'm trying to get the next Peri novel finished. If I can meet my schedule, I should be done with the first draft by the beginning of December. Two thousand words a day can be hard, especially when you get to the middle and you're pretty sick of the story and you want to get to the exciting conclusion, but you can't yet and you have to still make every page worthy of turning.

Still, if you are that person who writes "Author" in every space that asks for your profession, you set a schedule and work your hours and write your two thousand words without complaint.

But I digress...

I'm trying to write, and I'm approaching nose-grinding Middle Territory. Every once in a while, I sneak a peek at Facebook and notice August McLaughlin's status. Lucky girl, she got to meet Oprah Winfrey and get inspired to be even more than she is, and she's already plenty. Here is what I read:

"I was up before dawn doing my homework from Oprah. Want to join? Envision your dream life then write it down with specifics." - August McLaughlin

Being one of those people who believe in positive thinking, daily affirmations, etc, this sounded exciting to me. Envision my dream life? Write it down? Use specifics? Count me in, especially if it delays me in getting back to the writing. 

What would my dream life look like? Well, I'd live in a different house. It used to be a large house on a cliff overlooking an ocean, with a wraparound porch and lots of windows. After visiting Scotland, I replaced that one with a simple stone cottage in the Highlands.

Less to clean, you know, although it has to come with good internet access.

But then I thought, what about my friends and family? I couldn't stand to be that far away from my son, or to not get together with my pals. My gal pal Tameri lives in Carlsbad, which is about 90 minutes from my house - we practically have to stand on our heads to schedule a play date. Getting her to Scotland would be even harder.

And my horses - what about them? I can't envision a life without my horses, and as long as I have Snoopy, I need Niki to be my trainer. I can't imagine any trainer who would love Snoopy the way she does. Plus she's a fun friend - I feel a definite connection. She and I both had not planned to have any children, only to change our minds later in life. She's a little younger than me when I had Marcus, but she's still on the edge of being the "older mom." I now have someone to impart my little pieces of wisdom from my days raising an only son.

So maybe my dream life would not include a move to the Highlands, unless I could convince my friends and family to move with me. I suppose I could envision living in a cozy home on a large horse property here in southern California. Niki could train horses there, unless she envisions her own place.

I'd ride in the morning, then write in the afternoon. In the evenings, Dale and I would go to the local bar/café and have drinks and appetizers and watch some sporting event. Then we'd go home and I'd do a little reading before bed.

The thing is, this is the life I'd envision today, but what about tomorrow? Maybe I need to envision my dream life in terms of what I want to be doing, not where I want to be doing it.

Do you have a dream life? Is it about a place, or people, or who you want to be?