Who's driving this car, anyway?

I told a friend of mine last night that I needed to start writing about sex again and write less about emotional bullshit. Sex is safe. Writing about sex can be somewhat impersonal (thought typically not how I write about it) and it's far less about the depth and breadth that is me.

I've been thinking about that this morning. I have a plethora of sexual topics in my little notebook at home that I have in mind to write about. And I have that piece of fiction still gnawing at my brain. I have a drive and a desire to get back to what I enjoy writing about. I'm not sure if it's avoidance of other topics, or just that I really feel a need to get back where I feel I belong.

I mean, my big audience here comes from my personal website. I'm sure that Google and the Blogspot searches bring people in, too. And I'm grateful to all of you who take the time to shoot me an email or make a comment on something I've written. But most people who find this blog and come back, time and time again to see if I'm actually writing or if I'm hiding again - come back because I write about things that drive them, too. And I doubt seriously there are many of the male readers who come to read about my clothing selections for a family wedding *smirk*.

Both of those things - the sexual side, and the emotionally intellectual side - are pieces of me, and can be in any percentage on any given day in any given hour.

But again. Writing about sex feels safer to me. That doesn't mean it is, of course, and I've stirred more than my fair share of pots over the years writing about fucking, submission and general sexuality issues.

Whichever direction I go changes from entry to entry and I'm sure will continue to throughout the course of my blogging history.

But I really want to write about sex *smirk*.