Fantasy Friday #1: Love Scene Refusenik

Welcome to Fantasy Friday, a creative writing outpost (pun intended) in this post-apocalyptic BEAUTYCALYPSE universe. Today: Why love scenes suck – and what I prefer to write.

I want to dedicate some of the writing space here on BEAUTYCALYPSE to my creative writing in the future. On our first Fantasy Friday, we’re talking about love scenes.



I don’t know if I’m giving away something psychologically terrible about myself if I admit that I hate love scenes. I sure give away something utterly personal, but well, I didn’t catch hostile waves here. Yet 😉

Yes, I hate love scenes.

I hate reading them, I hate watching them, and, ultimately, I detest writing them.

As somebody blessed cursed blessed with an overly vivid, really king-size imagination, as somebody who lives in a fantasy world most of the time – happily floating in a fantasy universe of my own or solemnly dwelling in the realms of a Great Mind’s Creation – I happen to take The Fantasy seriously.

I love, live, hate, fight, cry, win, break down, lie and deceive, despair, forget, discover and wonder together with the hero/heroine or the multitude of those. The heroes become dear friends to me. They become my Gates To Catharsis. They purge and purify; très Aristoteles. And I believe that this sensation is not new to most of you.

After the book is closed, the movie watched, I go about my own business – so, no, of course: I don’t mistake fantasy heroes for real people, it’s “in universe” that they are very real.

But while I appreciate the (well-written*) erotic tingling of that good ol’ OMG-will-they-ever-come-together, and whatever quirky sexy fun happens after that they-come-together-after-all, I timidly hope the author will spare me the steamy details. The heroes get between the sheets – and I hope for Old Hollywood turn of events AKA the closing door, the fading out, the vanishing senses, in short: the blissfull (and exciting) ignorance… As a reader, I’m a witness, not a voyeur.

Nevertheless, if the author is bound and determined to deliver, I turn the pages quickly, or, if I watch a movie, start an urgent activity on my iPad (there are games waiting for me to progress, ‘kay?); in a cinema I look away, cover the ears, hum a tune. All because I can’t force myself to watch my friends have sex. It’s intimate, so it’s totally, totally their business!!!

Two remarks: 1 – Whatever happens in our imagination, stays in our imagination. 2 – Pr0n is pr0n, and erotic genre is erotic genre; and I might also appreciate a well-dosed bit of vulgarity, but good prose (or good entertainment of any kind) can do without. My firm belief.



I’m working on a scifi novel when I can make time; the story is set in a postapocalyptic future world. The door to that world first opened as I wrote a short story for a German vampire anthology. For this one:

“The stars gleam coldly” – the anthology cover.

While the short story explored the adventures of a girl named Dagger, the novel is about a couple. They’ve been torn apart and now try to find a way to be together in an alarming universe shaped by violence and solitude. When I wrote flashbacks to their happier times, I cried for a day. This, plus the melancholy end-of-days-setting, and the struggle to find hope – as well as those gory fight scenes is what I really enjoy writing! Legit? 😉



I once met that guy. Let’s call him Ted.

“Ted” was thin and tall; a total geek, very smart, literate, and funny. He had gorgeous ash blonde hair and gloriously green eyes, sweet laughter lines, beautiful, artistic hands. He was often cute, and he took it ador(k)ably well when I was showing off my glowing, merciless youngster feminism. What’s not to love?

My imagination geared up heavily and even slight imperfections seemed so alluring, so real and sooooo fleshy if you know what I mean. I felt the urge to touch him whenever he got within reach (and here my imagination used to ultimately unwind).

Things heated up quickly but the first downer wasn’t long in coming.

“Ted” appeared in the lecture hall (why, it occurred of course during my wild, wild uni days) in summer, wearing shorts, white socks, and leather sandals – I told you he was a geek, right?

But I boldly went for it!

After all, those clearly Northern European pale legs were long and pretty. Okay, they looked a little bandy but all men’s legs look like bows in shorts. Of a certain length. If we are honest.

Still, the utmost shocker that sent “Ted’s” sexappeal flying hid – you guessed it – in those ugly shorts.

Yes. Yes!!!

It was his pants.

It was a white and not very flattering something with a random but cheerfully colourful print on it – leaves, clowns, footballs, even cartoons maybe? I don’t remember anymore. Even though some “fun” underwear can look cool, this thing looked absolutely, unmistakeably ridiculous. A man who wore such lovely knickers was really not my bag.

Alas, it wasn’t my moment of glory neither.

You see, I was very young and innocent and a tiny bit maladroit. I let myself go and I screamed with laughter. I howled. I cried. Maybe I jumped up and down. As I said: It happened long ago and the memory is somewhat blurry.

Of course I’ve never seen “Ted” since. It’s surely for the better, because if he couldn’t handle a little cackle… *cough*

And so maybe, just m.a.y.b.e I hate love scenes only because I fear deep inside that those sexy heroes make poor lingerie choices? 

Fellow writers, do tell – what do YOU dislike to write? 😉


* We’re not talking fanfiction of any sort here, not even published fanfiction.


Geeking out about all things truly green, healthy and ethical over at (Avatar illustration by A. Goncharenko)

3 Responses

  1. oh dear yes – lingerie is a very delicate issue.

    it can go either way.

    as bridget jones said (we paraphrase) the “granny knickers” will probably get her the clinch moment but at the clinch moment you don’t want to be caught (as she was) wearing them – or seeing them (although we do love Mr. Grant’s riposte “No, I assure you, I’m wearing something very similar myself.”


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