I read somewhere that Victor Hugo wrote in the nude.
I don’t think I’ve written in the nude yet. Bra and panties– many times. Like right now. My ex used to blog in my bed in the mornings. I’d bring coffee in to him. Can’t recall if he was nude or not. You’d think I’d remember something like that. I miss those days, to be honest.
Anyway, the Victor Hugo thing– I wonder if it’s true. Because if it is, that’s a whole lotta fleshy nakedness taking place. Does one’s own state of nakedness inspire? Create great writing? Apparently for Victor it did.
Maybe I’ll give it a try. I’ll either feel free and my writing will be lighter, or I’ll feel self-conscious and my writing will be stifled.
Er, maybe I’ll wait until I’m not quite so fat and sassy and pregnant.
Then again, what better time to strip myself of inhibitions? There’s no one else around to see…
Yeah… I’m not going there.