Now you're in on the SEKRIT.
Today I wrote over 1,500 words of Dean/OFC het. And it is set on the water, on a boat I know all too well, and I want to write very descriptive, rolling images that wind and bend at every turn of phrase, build this OFC's world until it's sharply defined. But um, I also want to write Dean going down on a girl in a boat. I have priorities. Sexy priorities.
Snippet from the Rough Draft (working title: hook, line, and sinker)
"Yeah. Good point." Punctuation in a kiss that almost knocks her backward (or it's a wave or something, she's fallen before, learned how to have more than sea legs, call it sea equilibrium). Sister of a storm, shaped into steadiness, still, so still, and it's this one, all bright and dark wrapped up, bastard who drives a whaler the same way he drives his '67 Chevy: like he's been doing it his whole life, he's the one that's making her gawky, unsure, wanting more.
He laughs into her hair (sun-streaked brown-blonde-something, mother called it "highlights" and she always confused it with the magazine as a child, no logical thought there), says, "Fucking near water. Like making love in a canoe."
He ruins the joke, she's heard it before, criticism of her coffee (then got called out for using Folger's Crystals and worst of all, decaf), but she can only break away, almost clacking teeth with him, his tongue, god, he really has a nice tongue and she wouldn't mind it elsewhere, has to say to him, "It's a whaler. Completely different from a canoe."
I had to cut a character called Victoria (Vicks, she'd insist) from my Buffy/Faith fic as she wasn't really needed as her dramatic moment gets overshadowed by my OFC Liz (strong, tough Liz, would've been an astronaut if it weren't for LBJ). So that name and the idea of that character's been drifting around, but this morning, I just had this sharp image of Vic (but everyone calls her Victoria), this slightly awkward but pretty woman, who lives a boating lifestyle in the summer, fall, dry-docks during the winter to work at her family's company, saves up, waits until she can get her boat(s) back, scrape off the barnacles, air out the cabin, wash down the deck and there, boat safely lodged at Dock GG, she's home, neighbors who live there all week and weekenders and the folk who show up once in a blue moon to take a spin on their overpriced motorboats.
She's home on a boat, the rocking of the waves, just a gentle lapping, brings her to deep, dreamless sleep.
I miss going out to see my grandparents, how comfortable I was on their boat, it was a good time.
elrina753 once said that my writing had a lot of whimsy in it, little descriptions that get tucked away, glints of tidbits I've randomly stored in this cracktastic brain of mine. I noticed that I wrote a lot of tangents in this half-completed first draft, I almost want to send it off to a beta with a request to tear into them, strip off the excess words, I'm feeling in the mood to be sparse, yet I am so verbose when it comes to SPN. I can't shut up.
Mmm, we'll see where this story takes me.