I had a light bulb moment last night. However its a light bulb moment that makes me slightly, uneasy? I’m not sure that’s the correct definition of what I’m feeling.

I wrote a story, well the beginning of a story, some 20,000 words when I was living in the middle of nowhere in Australia in 2009. Writing this story saved my sanity. This town I was living in, was absolutely horrendous. Nothing to see, nothing to do, no one to speak to. It was a town of misery. Every evening I would write and the words would just spill out.

Then things happened, traveling resumed and the story lay forgotten. I’d come back to it every so often, thinking of how to progress it, but ultimately I’d get distracted by a pretty picture of Ryan Gosling, or something E!.

Then last night, whilst procrastinating {Surprise!}, I read a small excerpt of it and instantly knew what to do with it. It needed some really sexy, rip your clothes off hot, sex scenes. Up to that point it had been very PG. I wrote a 500 word sex scene and steam was almost sizzling off my finger tips it was that hot.

I plan on rewriting whole sections of it, but my concern, is…Well I’m embarrassed. I don’t find writing the sex scenes embarrassing. But I would be mortified to explain to my boss or a friend of my mothers of my what exactly I was writing.

It’s a ridiculous reason, but it genuinely makes me squirm when I think of saying those words out loud “I write erotic fiction.” Kill me now! Where is the hole to swallow me up? My cheeks are even burning up thinking of saying those words out loud. I’m not taking away anything from erotic writers, I envy those who wear their badge loud and proud.

As I said it was light bulb moment for, as I spent a lot of time reading about self publishing, and you only have to look at 50 Shades, to see that as a genre, erotic fiction is currently exploding. I may as well dip my toes into the lust scented water and see what it can offer me in return.