Strange things happen in the world of an erotic romance author. Things that people on the outside, looking in, may not understand. I know that if someone were to observe me going about my day-to-day business, they might come to the conclusion that I’m slightly cracked. I do believe I’m a normal, sane individual, you know…relatively speaking.

Here are some situations in which I’ve found myself, where my aforementioned fictional observer might raise a brow, or possibly start jotting down copious notes on my behavior. Perhaps even go so far as to look into purchasing one of those structured white jackets, only stocked at that obscure boutique called Asylum. When pondering the possible identity of this fictional observer, I came to the conclusion that it must be my neighbor, since he’s sure to have seen some weird hinky stuff when I’ve forgotten to close the curtains.

When I’m busy writing a scene, I get totally immersed in it. I could go so far as to say I become the characters, imagining how they are affected and how they would react.

When I’m typing a scene where the Dom is angry but trying to keep a lid on his feelings, I imagine he might grit his teeth and a muscle in his jaw might tic. There could be some nostril flaring going on. I ask myself what he might be doing with his eyeballs. And then I do those exact things. I sit here gritting my teeth, flaring my nostrils and glaring daggers at my computer so I can easily translate those reactions into words. Now, what of Fictional Observer? What’s he seeing? Some chick sitting at her computer, typing furiously, interspersed with bouts of making ridiculous and seemingly inappropriate faces. I can almost hear his pencil scratching away on that notepad.

And then we have scenes where more physical interactions are taking place. Now don’t let your mind take off running down dark and lascivious pathways. I’m not talking about sex. Which I must admit is a highly unusual circumstance, since I’m usually writing about it or planning how I’m going to write about it. I wrote a scene recently where my heroine was tied down on a table. Then a very mean other person put their hands around her throat and squeezed. So, of course, you know what I did next. Then came the questions. If she’s tied down this way, is it possible to shake her from side to side a bit? What does her head do? Her neck? All I can say is that sometimes it’s damn difficult to recreate this stuff all on your own. And I can also tell you that Mr. Observer is staring with his mouth agape, pencil hovering over his notepad and no clue where to even begin.

One day when my partner in crime—who happens to be well-versed in a number of styles of martial arts—returned home, I asked him if would be possible for a man to carry a woman bride-style while kicking an opponent (our friend Chokester up there ⬆) at the same time. I was promptly lifted up while he kicked imaginary opponents. Obviously, my scene played out very differently in his head, because he continued to spin around and kick until all one hundred of his assailants were down. Well, I’m not sure if it was quite one hundred, I was too busy clinging to his neck and alternating between screaming and laughing my fool head off. At this point, Observer Guy is on the phone asking if he can get a deal for two of those stylish white jackets with all the buckle detail.

When I wrote a shibari scene in Hurt Me, Heal Me, it involved the heroine being tied to the stairs. I needed to figure out logistics, so off I went and draped myself over the banister. I tried to work out stuff like, if I stand on this step, does my foot hang over the edge of the railing? If my heroine is shorter than me, does she need to stand here? Can I do this on tiptoe without falling over and breaking my head? So there I am, balancing on tiptoe, while a doing a kind of arabesque with my opposite leg on top of the handrail. And what’s Observer Dude doing now? Fanning his overheated self with that notepad of his, that’s what.

Then there are times when I venture out of my writing cave and into the world, which is positively brimming with observers. They will take note of a strange woman who will sometimes stop mid-conversation, grab a phone, iPad, napkin, paper drink coaster or anything that isn’t nailed down and start typing or writing furiously on it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she may start smirking or chuckling while she’s at it. (Smirking’s for the sex scenes. Chuckling’s for the humorous stuff. Usually. Sometimes crazy off-the-wall stuff happens in the sex scenes, so the chuckling could be for that.) If Chuckles starts making bizarre faces, it’s probably time to leave. Because you never know if her next move might be to climb up on the table and start indulging in a bout of public autoerotic asphyxiation.

So if you observe someone exhibiting these kinds of behaviors, don’t immediately write them off as a nutbag. All that muttering, waving of arms, scribbling of notes, funny face pulling and choking themselves, may be totally legit. This person might just be busy creating your next favourite book.

Warning: in the interests of safety it’s best to steer clear of persons described above. They may be authors, but they may just as easily be psycho killers.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.