I debated forever about what I should post here- mainly because I’m terrified. I’m too terrified to comment on the author loops, too. I’m terrified to be published. But then again- spiders, eating too much Haribo and walking on uneven surfaces also terrify me, so you can probably see the level of terror I’m working at: a complete and total state of constant paralysing terror. About Haribo giving me intestinal torsion.
What? It’s a thing.
Anyway, terror aside (how many times have I so far used a variation on the word terror? Jesus, I just used it again. And I’m a writer!), I’m also very excited to be an author for Total-E-Bound. So excited that I felt I shouldn’t abuse this great honour and privilege, by talking about hot dudes. Which is bad, because it’s just about all I ever talk about, all the time- and if you’ve seen my blog, you’ll be nodding your head right around now.
I love hot dudes. I love discussing them with my friends. I love discussing them with my enemies (no YOU love him more! No YOU! Etc.). But most of all, I love being inspired by them to write sexy hot stories.
Now I realise that this isn’t an uncommon phenomenon- to write with some hot dude inspiring you. But back when I was writing in a void and unaware of all my fave writers and their blogs, I thought I was alone in needing to picture Sylar’s face when clackering away at my latest…uh…opus.
And okay. Maybe I’m alone in needing it to be specifically Sylar. Who is a crazed serial killer. Who fondles brains for a living. But I think the basic concept remains the same: hot dudes on the telly fire the imagination. And the loins.
Or they do for me, at least. The first story I ever submitted anywhere – Playing – was in part based on Alex O’Loughlin being the extremely sexy Mick St John on the show Moonlight. Of course, I went completely my own way with him and I’m sure the main character barely resembled someone from a rubbish TV show that no-one cares about, but the fact remains- my hero still had a massive bouffant of foamy hair, giant manpecs that verged on manboobs, and wore obscenely tight jeans.
Though that all sounds weirdly gross, when I put it like that. Lemme try again:
When writing Waiting In Vain, my upcoming and first ever Total-E-Bound release (out December 28th, folks! Buy new, awesome Charlotte Stein fiction- it makes your whites whiter and your love of manbeasts stronger! It doesn’t really, but I’m rubbish at promos. I’m just not good enough to sell to anybody, like those rubbish hangers they keep hocking on Bravo at 3am), I pictured…uh…also Alex O’Loughlin. And his many, many tattoos, and his strong, solid, tanned body, and that seemingly endless bulge in his…with the…uh…
Okay, where was I? Oh yeah- I need those things to write hot sexy time. How about you?
Maybe you need Michael Biehn’s pop eyes and big arms, rescuing you from some war torn future. Or Zachary Quinto’s eyebrows looming over you right before he definitely doesn’t eat your brains. Or Johnny Depp swashing your buckle or Clive Owen being bastardly charming or Alan Rickman reciting the phone book to you or something…something that fires that spark in you that tells you how hot and great and sexy men can be, and how writing about sexing them for a living is the most awesome thing in the world.