Page 2 of Bewitching Her Monsters
Wait, wait, wait…This monster has abaseball bat-sized cock?
And doesn’t he have claws???…Inher vagina?
Come on now…
He reallyisgoing to kill her. Ugh. Author problems.
Nora is dead by dick, and I’m not even past writing chapter four.
Frustrated, I lean back in my chair and stare at my computer screen.
Can I call him a monster if he can retract his claws while they’re fucking?
How big of a monster cock is too big?
Age-old questions.
Knowing I need some outside opinions, I open up a chat with a couple of fellow authors and begin asking them what they think.
They are all for the biggest dick imaginable…
Mere: A knot the size of a grapefruit and a wine bottle size dick.
All I can think is, ouch.
My FMC’s poor cervix. But this is a fantasy land where all things are possible. Maybe women there have truly magical pussies, and they won’t get their organs rearranged by a monster-sized cock with the girth and length of a wine bottle.
Darnett: You could be vague about how big is big.
Bekka: There is no limit but our imagination.
They are right. I just need to lean into the fantasy.
Sighing, I rub my face and realize my muse is a bit broken. I don’t really like Goliath or Nora. I won’t get anywhere without an inspirational boost.
Oh, well. Time for my ritual to get the magic flowing again.
Off to my little kitchen, I steep my tea and glare at the herbal blend while I wonder if this is what’s failing me. Maybe I need a change. Maybe I need alotof changes.
However, I know the true culprit of my writer’smalaise(Never call it a block. It gives it power). I haven’t been the same since Rob. Perfect name, really, since he’s the thief that robbed me of my muse.
For comfort, I head to my support group in the other room. They’re my hostages, who I keep for their happiness as well as mine. My fur babies.
“I have a confession. I’m a romance writer who doesn’t believe in love at the moment,” I whisper to my guinea pig. “Sorry. I shouldn’t confess that to anyone. Not even you. If I don’t get inspired here soon, your food is on the line.”
As a paranormal romance author, I should believe in magic and love, if only in my imagination. And usually, I do. But right now, I don’t believe in tiny magical moments in life.
Sure, I have my favorite crystals and know their metaphysical properties. I’ve researched all the mythical creatures. I tell myself it’s all in the name of research. But deep down, I want magic to be real. Sometimes I wish my grandmother wasn’t crazy, and I was a genuine witch as she’s claimed.
Maybe it wouldn’t beHogwarts’ level of magic. But Ihaveseen miracles and the power of positive thinking. I just haven’t felt it in a while.
It seemed ‘magical’ when I first met my ex-boyfriend. But apparently, that kind of magic doesn’t last. Maybe it was only magic lust.
The weird part was that I wasn’t really attracted to Rob.
So if it was magic that I felt when I met him, it was a black magic spell.
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