So my broken hand is a little less broken of late. I recently had the pins pulled out which in of itself is a complete bizarre and surreal experience. Seeing two four inch hooked needles being pulled and twisted out of your own body while you look on with inescapable curiosity is certainly a memory worth remembering. I kept them. The needles that is. They’re in a small baggy in one of the miscellaneous drawers in my kitchen. I honestly have no clue what I’ll do with them but it feels as if I should keep them…though I can’t really say why.
It’s only been a few days since the pins were pulled and because of my lack of patience I’ve already been hard at rehabilitation before being sanctioned to do so by my occupational therapist. Honestly though, I think she’s holding me back; treating me as if I’m some frail octogenarian with brittle bones and an inability to walk with out falling into things. A day after the pins were removed, I couldn’t move my last two fingers. This is a very frustrating thing. But after a few hours of painful self massage I have regained at least a little range of motion. The hardest part will be to break down the scar tissue as soon as possible and allow full range of motion once again. After that I will be able to start to strengthen my grip.
It’s been frustrating to say the least. I can’t imagine people having to deal with these sorts of difficulties on a more permanent basis. I feel like I’m a bit of a whiner compared to them, so for the most part I’ve kept my only complaints to this blog.
Ah…and this blog…what has become of it?
I had a plan…and that plan was simple and obvious. I would write short stories as I continued to write a novel length story. Picking away; working diligently to get better at my hobby.
Well it seems I’ve been negligent. I stopped posting new stories because, well, I hadn’t written any. The words and impulses that were pushing through me shuddering down through my fingers simply bled away to nothing. I felt no great interest in writing in the last three or four months; or perhaps I was just burnt out with my own self imposed schedule. I’m not sure. (forgive me I’m rambling)
I do miss it though. Truly.
I miss writing down the filth and eroticism that oozes in the ether of my mind and then receiving your feedback as to how it made you feel. I imagine great gobs of giddy women (and men) excited by each new sentence, each new thought on the way to a tumultuous crescendo. I imagine my readers closing there eyes at points, imagining each scene I describe, dreaming themselves within it, feeling their way over their body in anxious frustration wishing for a release.
…oh and the release.
When my characters climax….my readers climax….they both breath heavy…deep…. forceful breaths…as if connected beyond this world and into the world I’ve created for them. Linked despite distance, time, and reality. A shared experience that binds the real and imagined together.
I enjoy that thought immensely.
The thoughts from my brain becoming real and residing within the dreams of yours. The orgasms of my readers linked to the fiction on the page. Simply delicious.
…I think I’ve just reinvigorated my interest in writing.
…stay tuned my loves. I will be back soon with what you need.