Scrivener screenshot, complete with an image of Lily. 


(Not sure what this is all about? Start here Leather Bound: The Making of an Erotic Novel. Reading along, but missed a day? Play catch-up here.)

Project: Leather Bound, an erotic novel

Deadline: September 15, 2012 (Meep!).

Words Written/Rewritten Today: 7215 (mostly rewrites)

Total Word Count:

Writing Notes: Rewrote the first four sections, tightening them up and weaving in some character and place details, and setting up some of the themes that will come later. Really worked up the friendship between Lily and Janine, since it is important later in the book.

Mostly wrote in the evening, at a coffee shop and then at A Terrible Beauty in Renton, WA (an Irish pub with a fantastic name). All told, it took me about three and a half hours to make it through this many words. (Rewriting is faster for me than writing, most of the time).


“You’re late,” Lily said.

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see Lily’s customary smirk, only the back of her legs, word-tatted calves flexing right at my eye level. She stretched to tuck a book into the upper shelf, tsking her tongue teasingly. As her black pumps lifted off the ladder, I caught a glimpse of one tan sole covered with hand-written book titles. Being book geeks was one of the few things Lily and I had in common, but it was a big enough thing that it had kept our friendship thriving for nearly ten years. Not to mention convince us to go into business together.

“I know,” I said, tugging at my buttons. My coat and scarf were collaborating to kill me, getting caught in my hair and in my glasses while I tried to get them off. “I got stuck—“

“Not stuck. You got fucked, Janine.” Lily’s laughter floated down at me. “Don’t lie. I don’t even have to turn around to know.”

My cheeks burned hot all the way to my ears, the way they always did when I got busted trying to fib. I’ve always been horrible at it. I don’t even know why I try.

“How do you always know?”

Lily made her way backward down the ladder. Her cherry-red hair bounced against her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and I touched my scarf- and sex-mussed ponytail, not even bothering to try and smooth it into something presentable.

“I can smell it on you,” she said.


Kiss kiss bang bang, s.