I’m writing this post on a Saturday afternoon. I have a zucchini slice in the oven that I’m keeping an eye on, and in the background is an annoying electrical alarm – like when the washing machine is out of balance and needs to have the load shifted. The problem is that it’s coming from next door and, as it’s been bleeping most of the day, I suspect that he put a load on before going out – and it won’t be stopping any time soon.

As for me? I’m sitting at my kitchen counter staring at my scrivener page and trying to sex up a couple of chapters. I’m working through my structural edit and my fabulously wise editor thinks there needs to be a tad more sexiness in a couple of chapters of the book.

She’s absolutely right – it was lazy writing…my words, not hers – and the scene felt, as a result, flat and lifeless. the same goes with my final chapter. It definitely needed the sensuality notched up a tad too.

So, I’m sitting here watching a zucchini slice do it’s thing and listening to the washing machine next door annoyingly bleep. My protagonists are getting sexy and hubby is now home and wants a detailed discussion about green fees and golf cart hire – and the relative value of each – at the golf course he’s looking for cost justification to join.

Each of the sex scenes in previous books has been written in equally unsexy settings – mostly on my lunch break in the food hall at Rhodes Shopping Centre with screaming kids and IKEA trolleys all around. Then there have been those scenes I’ve written while still in bed on a Saturday morning with hubby in the doorway asking if I’d like scrambled or poached eggs – or maybe an omelette?

The thing is, writing a squidgy scene isn’t a whole lot more different than writing anything else. Plus, if you let your imagination go wild, it can even be kind of fun – although it helps if you pretend that it will never be read by your mother. Speaking of which, after Mum read Wish You Were Here, she told me that she thought the sex was nicely done. Hashtag awkward. But, I digress.

One of the panel sessions I attended at RWA was about trusting your voice. Amongst other topics it touched on writing sex scenes when you’re uncomfortable doing so. The consensus from the panel – Anne Gracie, Marion Lennox, Trish Morey and Keri Arthur – was that if you’re not comfortable writing sex, that will come across. Marion Lennox – who has written over 110 romances – doesn’t write sex…and that’s how her readers like it. Trish Morey, on the other hand, writes some seriously steamy scenes and is eminently comfortable writing sex. I’m somewhere in the middle, I think.

Another of the sessions I attended at RWA the other week was a “round-table” with Amy Andrews. Essentially it was just 10 of us around a round table (hence the name) with Amy – and an opportunity to ask whatever writing related questions we wanted.

The question I asked was about her sex scenes – Amy writes scorching sex scenes. Seriously scorching ones. Not only are they hot (I already said that, right?) but they do what every satisfying scene should do – they are integral to the story.

I wanted to know if she has to get into any special sort of mood to write these – and no, I don’t mean that sort of mood, I mean as in a ritual sort of thing. Does she light candles, set mood music or maybe have some other method of getting into the right space? Actually no. She just writes.

She also had the following to say about writing them. Naturally I took notes:

• The first sex scene between your protagonists should be the longest one in the book. It’s a turning point and a huge emotional whammy.
• It’s also primarily an emotional act rather than a physical one. Whatever it is that our characters are doing – or how they’re doing it – we want to know how they’re feeling.
• If you can delete the sexy bits without impacting the story, they probably shouldn’t be there. It has to advance the story in some way – either through bringing your protagonists together, pushing them apart, or complicating things enough to make a situation worse before it gets better

I’d add the following to these:

• Sex is when we’re at our most raw, most needy, and most emotionally vulnerable – this should come across (no pun intended) in that first scene.
• Stay away from the IKEA style tab A into tab B type of physical instructions. As, (I think it was) Anne Gracie said in the Trust Your Voice session, sex is about more than the docking procedure.
• With your attention (and blood) diverted to areas much further south than your brain, deep and meaningful or philosophical conversations can happen before or after, but absolutely not during. Speaking of which, sex is real – as is humour – so don’t be afraid to lighten the mood as well.

So, there you have it – now I just have to put these tips into action myself. If only that bleeping washing machine would shut up!