Parenting and Writing Dirty Books

So I thought about my blog posts and I realized that I can’t offer snippets EVERY time I write a post. That’s just cray. I would give away so many cows that you never come back to the farm and well, my career would be over before it even started.

That being said I have to please my public, all five of you, so here I go with a regular blog post, without the snippets. Don’t cry though. I mean, I know I just ruined your night, but I’ll try and make it up to you. I promise.

I was thinking to myself, here, mid-summer,  and home with three kids, that writing smut with them in the house can get really weird. Like Mary Kay Letourneau weird. While I try to write a little everyday, it’s hard when your kids are on the verge of pubescence, to sit at the dining room table and think of a good a scene in where I say things like, “he enters her slowly, almost painfully” and his “cock was heavy as a brass rod against my thigh”.  It’s just not okay, and its enough that this blog post could probably send me to jail.

So in the spirit of the title of this blog, this weeks little story is quite painful. The idea of your kids having a mom who writes smutty books is just odd and strange on so many creepy levels.

Anyway, this week, Connor informed me that he wanted to be a Doctor, and if it was okay, can he get a book about anatomy. So off to the library we go.  I told him it was fine to get a book on anatomy, as l long as he got it from the kids science section which I so lovingly showed him where it was. Being the good mom I am, I didn’t pay much attention to the book he picked. After all, we were in the kids section. What could go wrong with that? Right? When we checked out, and were in the car, he started reading. About half way through the journey home, Connor asked me what an erection was.


He got a “kids” book about babies. How they are made. He got a kids book about how babies are made. Needless to say I have not been writing about anything erotic since that moment in my 2008 Honda Odyssey.

I know that I need to get passed this little conflict of interest, and learn to compartmentalize things like this. I mean, the two don’t go together, now and forever, so why think about it? Because we are human, and we think about things that we can’t think about. Luckily my kids have not asked me about the content in which I write (yes, they know mommy wants to be a writer), but I know it will happen one day. I have a policy about having fairly honest conversations about sex with my kids and I don’t believe in sugar coating things. I know it HAS to come up, especially once and if the book ever sees a publisher. I guess we will cross that therapy bridge when we come to it.

Until then, I’ll just keep drinking alone in the bathroom.



Published by Mandy Greenfield

Writer. Studio Artist. Lover of animals. Sarcastic mama. Hiker. Visual thinker. Kilts and coffee. Funny person. Having fun doing anything inappropriate. Likes medium roller coasters.

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