I suppose it’s hard to believe that someone who writes fairly explicit love scenes in their romance novels is, well, kinda shy about it.
The truth is, I’m more than just a little shy about those scenes. Not so much when it comes to writing them. They actually flow fairly effortlessly from my fingers for some strange reason (wink wink).
But when it comes to reading those scenes out loud at a book launch or some other official function? Forget it. Not gonna happen! I absolutely would die of embarrassment if I had to read some of those scenes out loud. Or even if I roped somebody else into reading them out loud for me, I think I would still die of embarrassment.
If I’m to be totally honest, I even get a little embarrassed when I have to read the scenes in the privacy of my home office during the editing process. At that point, while wearing my editing hat, I’m more emotionally removed from the story and characters because I’m on the hunt for flaws and mistakes. To look for and correct those flaws and mistakes, I have to be somewhat distant and objective and not “blinded” by the emotional aspects of the novel.
When I’m writing the love scenes, I really do get into them. Well, ahem, not, you know, into them exactly, but I do get caught up a little. My heart races faster for sure. But I certainly couldn’t read those scenes out loud or watch someone else read them.
I’m not sure why I’m such a prude about it. I’m not truly a prude about sex. For pleasure, I like to read sex as much as the next red-blooded woman, and I like when movies or television shows push the envelope a little. I’m not a “Fifty Shades of Grey” kind of person, but neither am I a rated G kind of person. I think it’s just the whole public arena thing that gets me blushing and wanting to disappear into the floor. Surely I’m not alone in this, am I?
Okay, since we’ve been talking about sex… NO this is not where I reveal all my personal secrets, haha. But here’s a little excerpt from my new novel out this month, called “The Song In My Heart” (Bella Books, April 2015). This is by no means the spiciest scene in the book, but let’s just say it’s a mild taste that won’t set me to blushing:
Without thinking, Erika reached a hand to Dess’s cheek, palmed it softly, trailed a finger along her jaw and caught the tear before it dropped. Dess’s eyes flickered shut. Her body leaned toward Erika, her muscles like a guitar string, taut with desire. Erika’s eyes drifted down to the silky skin of Dess’s cleavage, so tantalizingly exposed by her blouse. Oh, how she wanted Dess. She thrummed with desire for Dess. Nearly exploded from desire for Dess. All it would take now was a kiss, a few strokes, a few whispered words of coaxing and Dess would be hers.
Tracey’s newest novel is her eighth will Bella Books. Twitter: trich7117. Web: traceyrichardson.net.