How many times have you read the stranded-by-a-snowstorm story? Probably lots. It seems pretty lame to me now. And quite frankly, I don’t think BBM will ever make it to a bookstore near you in my lifetime. I worked on winter imagery some, but after rereading the manuscript, not nearly enough. I did write “sugary snow.” Somewhere the windows panes were frosted. Living in Maine, you’d think snow and ice descriptions would come easy. The fact is, I dislike winter intensely. I’d much rather write about summer, as I did in this passage from my current languishing-because-I’m-revising-something-else WIP, Mistress by Midnight (I still am fixated on midnight, apparently):
They were in the field once again beneath the hot sun, his long-discarded hacking jacket tossed beneath them. Her skirts were rucked carelessly, uncomfortably. He smoothed the stiff fabric with impatience, his hands brushing against the curve of her belly. The scent of fresh cut hay clouded his senses. The rich dark soil pillowed soft beneath his knees. He heard the insistent buzz of insects spreading life from bramble to berry in the distance. But soon there was nothing in the natural world to divert him but her body, her own scent, her cries, the sun-warmed heat of her skin. In their haste there were still too many layers of clothes between them, but nothing had the power to stop this summer storm or bring them down to earth. Not Con’s duty, not Laurette’s innocence, not even, when it came to it, his marriage.
Okay, so it’s more about the sex than a weather report. *g* But I’m now consciously trying to use the seasons to my advantage. Hello Lisa Kleypas. Fall’s my favorite time of year (being an October baby). What’s yours? How do you use the seasons when you write, or do you think about them at all? Do you prefer indoor or outdoor sex scenes (in fiction, people—I’m not that nosy!)?