sex and the modern heat

Preparing to write a Modern Heat novel I often find myself getting out my Sex and the City box set and starting from scratch.


I think it's because after chasing around after two kids all day, keeping them entertained with books about Green Eggs and Ham and Hungry Caterpillars, teaching the alphabet to a Woody doll - 'cause Miss Smarty Pants knows it all already and just wants to share the knowledge ;), - I need something to get me out of Mummy Mode and into the right headspace in which to write a Modern Heat.


I'm up to the final two episodes. I'm trying desperately not to watch them just yet 'cause then it's all over. Again. I've cried a good dozen times already in the sixth season shows. Boy it's a doozy. One of the most rich, colourful, deep, excellent seasons of television ever created. The fashion, the storylines, the dialogue, the characterisation, the fulfillment of character arcs - it's perfection.


With two short episodes to go... I've warmed to Aidan. I've curled my fingers into my palms to stop from shaking Carrie about the Russian. I've almost convinced myself Carrie's perfect man is not one of the two favourites after all - its actually Jack Burger.


And then Big returned. And he made her laugh. He always makes her laugh.


On that note, off to type I go!