On writing

I am currently in the country, whilst my husband is still in the city. Last evening, we had a brief chat on the telephone and he said to me, “There is no post for today on your blog? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong,” I told him. “Except that the Internet connection keeps failing all the time.”

He accepted that, but it made me realize two things. First of all, my husband is a regular reader. That was interesting! Secondly, he thought that something might be up with me that I had gone a day without posting on my blog. That was interesting, too.

Ever since I was a little girl, my entertainment came in the form of words on a page. I lost myself in many a novel over the years, often reading through the night, holding one eye open with one hand, and holding the book with the other. I would promise myself that after the next chapter, I would put the book down and go to sleep. When the moment came, my eyes would divert from the last word of the chapter to the first word of the next chapter, and off I would go again, making the same promise to myself all over again.

Over the years, my husband would encourage me to write for myself. Even my boss encouraged me to write. It was obvious to anyone who knew me well that my comfort zone was sitting with pen and paper, or now, laptop screen, and writing. My mother refers to me as a girl, never happier than producing something in writing. Writing essays at university was my play. Even so, I had little confidence in my own ability to write for many, many years.

Several years ago now, I had the desire to write stories about women who were spanked by their men. They were not good stories but I had the strongest desire to write about it. I had virtually no experience at this stage and could only use my imagination. I remember one story had two women in it. The man lived in the country, on an estate and he had a daughter; about 17 or so. The mother was (mysteriously) gone. The man had remarried, a girl not all that much older than the daughter. She was still a little wild and she figured that her husband was besotted enough with her that she could get away with just about anything. The daughter tried to explain to her that she had her father all wrong, but the new wife just wasn’t listening.

One day, she had been warned that if she took a horse out for a ride, she was responsible for its care afterwards. She agreed at the time, but when she got back, she was in need of a cup of tea, and she left the horse tied up for considerable time, more or less forgetting about it.

The stable manager saw the horse tied up, sweating and in need of water and was incensed by her behaviour. He strode to the house to complain to the lord of the manor of his young wife’s errant behaviour. The gentleman agreed with him that it was insufferable behaviour and that she had disobeyed him. He would deal with it. The stable manager could rest assured that it would not happen again. Would he mind fetching him a riding crop? The stable man was more than happy to oblige and that afternoon, shrieks were heard coming from the study as the young wife learned that when her husband said something, he meant it. I still remember conjuring it up, the pleasure it gave me, and my efforts over time to tweak it. Alas, it remains fundamentally on the drawing board.

Perhaps, I should just start again and give the scenario another go around. It is as old as the hills, that scenario, but it still has a certain resonance with certain folk, I think. Perhaps, this time around I could be more creative; think more like a dom. Perhaps, this time she would be denied access to any horse for a month, and instead of riding, she could spend that time in the barn, preparing the horses for others to ride. I am not in any way a dominant sort of person, but if there is anything of that side of the stick in me, it comes out at such moments! If any doms out there have suggestions as to how to deal with such a naughty, young girl, they might like to send them along. I would appreciate that.

Characters rummage around in my head. Thoughts intrigue me and take me over until they go down on the page, leaving space for more characters and new thoughts.

One day recently, I said to a chat friend,

“I would love to be a writer some day.”

He said, “You are already a writer.”

Am I? Well, perhaps I am.

How the thought makes my heart sing!