“Rowena, do you like writing sex scenes?” I was asked recently.
It’s the sort of question that makes me want to straddle a fence.
Well, I do. And I don’t... and I'd rather talk about love scenes.
Whether you see it or not, Sex usually happens in a romance, even in a survival romance, although it is a little more of a challenge if the physical surroundings are not traditionally romantic.
On the other hand, one can write a first rate romance without a graphic description of what might happen once the tent flap is closed behind two relatively normal people.
I do like to write the sort of love scene (or sex scene) where something goes dramatically wrong -- I have a rotten sense of humor— or at least not according to the hero’s expectations.
I usually pick on the hero, for reasons that are probably perfectly obvious.
He’s more likely to be … less philosophical … not to mention sore, if he can’t get find something he can use as a condom that won't gross out the heroine, or if the alien plant juice he uses as a lubricant contains a dye that won’t come off... or what if it turns out to be an adhesive?
Ouch! No, that is too extreme.
What—apart from its effect on character, and its potential to annoy the protagonists and shift the plot into a higher gear—is the point of a love scene?
Oh, yeah. But in my opinion, lovemaking that is good for both of them isn’t proof of a happy ever after, and it isn’t the high point on which I like to end my books. They still have to survive, or escape.