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Anne
My name is Anne Johnson,and I have a secret. Actually, I have a lot of secrets, the biggest being that I write dirty romance novels in my free time.
I write under a pen name, of course. We can't have the city finding out the person behind the steamy Charlotte Locke novels is actually an elementary school teacher.
That probably wouldn't go over well with the parents or the board.
Especially since my heroines are usually always virgins, and my heroes are alpha males who take what they want. The Romance Digest has rated my book's sex scenes with five peppers, the spiciest, sizzle rating you can get.
Want to know what's ironic about that?
I've never had sex.
I'm still a virgin.
Yep. A twenty-two-year-old virgin.
I don't really have a clue what I'm talking about. Yes, I understand the mechanics of sex, and a well-described sex scene can get my panties wet and my pulse racing.
But I've never had an orgasm.
I don't truly know what I'm writing about when I write about that white-hot release. I'm only saying what the characters tell me to say.
Imagine the world's shock if everyone found out that I, a virgin who had no first-hand experience with sex whatsoever, was the one churning out such realistic sex scenes.
Imagine what the parents and board members would say if they knew that I was the one writing what they would no doubt deem as filth.
But here's the thing. They're all hypocrites because according to the astronomical sums I get from my royalties, someone is reading the hell out of my books.
They sell like hotcakes.
So much so that I don't really have to keep teaching, but I do it anyway. Why? I ask myself the same question all the time. To keep up appearances? Because I truly do love the kids?
Or, maybe it's because I know that if I wrote all the time, I would eventually truly, completely succumb to my fantasy worlds and just live there.
I'd go insane.
Writing has always been an outlet for me. I've been keeping diaries since I was a little girl, and I still keep one.
But it can also be dangerous for me. I’m too fantastical, as my mother used to put it. I get too wrapped up in my imagination and can't separate what's real from what's fantasy.
Teaching, having a "normal" job keeps me grounded.
But writing frees my soul.
I type out the final sentence of my latest manuscript and adjust my glasses as I peer at the screen critically.
La fin.
No sooner is it over than another plot is bubbling up inside my head.
I sigh. This is how it goes with me. No sooner do I get one idea out than another one is taking its place. Some might say it's a vicious, never-ending cycle.
I quickly jot down the basics of the next story, though I don't do a strict outline. I'm not a rigid plotter. I let the story unfold before me. I let the characters lead me. It's like embarking on a journey with new friends, and I'm oftentimes just as surprised as the readers to find out where the characters take me.
For me, writing is like interactively reading a book.
I spend the next hour jumping into chapter one, and by the time I finally still my typing fingers, I see that it's way later than a teacher should be up on a school night.
I sigh and close my laptop before I remove my glasses and run a hand through my hair.
My mind is still buzzing, the characters braying at me, wanting to get their stories out, but I try to calm the chaos within me with some deep breathing exercises that are supposed to quiet the mind.
I push my pajama bottoms off so I'm left only in my panties and a cami. Then, I crawl under the covers and let exhaustion overtake me.
