So I feel they deserve to be thanked, in the form of my copious and almost disgusting levels of drool slopped over them both.
Behold!
And yes, that is a graphical representation of my saliva all over them. Of course, MS Paint has its limitations, so this saliva sort of looks a little less like spit and a little more like...um...some other sort of bodily secretion. But that's okay, because I do feel that if my mouth could ejaculate, it would definitely do so over both of these two gentlemen.
I mean, just look at them. And now imagine them doing stuff to the heroine. And maybe also to each other. The mind can barely take such hotness, right? I think I went temporarily insane, writing this book.
Note to self: must cast less handsome men as my heroes, in my imagination. Next time I swear to God I'm going to write about Michael York doing Clint Eastwood. Even though just thinking about that pairing makes me do the opposite of a mouth-ejaculation. It makes me mouth-withdraw. Literally, all of my face sucks back into my body, in abject horror.
Sort of like I've sucked on a crusty, weird bum-faced Michael York/Clint Eastwood shaped lemon.
But anyway, I digress. About something so insane I can't even sum it up in a few words.
Back to Kieran and Tommy, who I genuinely believe have brought me back to writing life. No, seriously. I know that a menage novella about discovering your husband's naughty habits might not seem like an earth-shattering, writing-changing sort of event. But it really has been, for me.
I thought I'd lost it. I thought I no longer loved writing. But the inspiration of Armie Hammer and Michael Fassbender, coupled with a lot of watching of nature documentaries, some computer poker playing and a bout of tonsilitis has literally given me back some of my zest for it.
Of course, it might all go away tomorrow. It might. But for right now, I'm happy.
I'm a writer.
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