Lingerie Confessions of a Writer

Madame Soyelle is delighted to feature the following guest post. May we all learn from her lessons...

LINGERIE CONFESSIONS OF A WRITER
Or,
Why I Want To Attend The 6th Annual Backspace Writers Conference
and Agent-Author Seminar

by Kathryn Kemp-Griffin

It had to be in that drawer somewhere. I rummaged through, digging deeper, finding only chaos and a tangled mess of bra straps, hooks and fabric.

Cotton mayhem. Silk anarchy.

Time is running out. I have a manuscript to polish and an elevator pitch to practice before my flight to New York for the Backspace Writers Conference. Three days of meeting other writers and mingling with agents, editors and publishers, the perfect moment for my special occasion lingerie - if I can just fine the matching bra.

In some ways, life was easier back when I wore underwear, not lingerie. The choice was between sports bras and Jockeys - black or white, faded or stretched. Even when I bought Brand New Jockeys, I couldn't bring myself to discard the ones whose shredded elastic floated nearby like tentacles on a jellyfish. They simply waited in the back of the drawer for a Really Bad Day.

In the days when I merely wore underwear, there were folded panties on the right, bras on the left, rolled socks in the back. Easy choices for a no-frills writer seeking literary success.

Until I moved to Paris, where you can't find Jockeys.

I never understood why until one day at the fitness club, when I peeled off my T-shirt and slumped on a bench, exhausted from a grueling workout. I looked around and noticed something.

All the women in that locker room were wearing lingerie. Hot lingerie.

Bikini briefs, retro panties, demi cups and floral camis paraded before me. These women could be proud if they happened to be hit by a bus on their way home and required immediate surgery.

I pledged to renew my lingerie stock and my attitude at the luxury department store Le Bon Marché.

"Lingerie is the mirror of your intentions," the sales lady rhapsodized. She placed her hands on my shoulders to accentuate par ici, and scooped up my breasts to draw attention par là.

"But I'm a writer," I said. "I don't need cleavage for sitting at a keyboard."

The saleswoman looked scandalized. "But you want to write using rich, intense, vivid words, oui?" she said.

"Oui," I agreed.

"Not pale, faded, dull words, non?"

"Non."

Handing me a nightshade purple push-up bra and panty, Madame sensed my apprehension. "You are allowed to feel beautiful," she whispered. "Even at your keyboard."

Over time, I have learned to recognize the tingle. Now a frill is all it takes. Or a bow, or an off-centered bit of crystal to fan the imagination, inspire creativity and increase my word count.

I decided to tackle the drawer one last time. Ah, finally!

I really should organize my lingerie. Beautiful fabrics deserve better care. But it could be worse. I could have a drawer full of black and white Jockeys lined up like soldiers, and the dull manuscript that would come from writing while wearing them.

I can't wait to get to the Backspace Writers Conference and wear my new chocolate silk bra trimmed in mulberry lace. Oh, and to learn more about publishing, of course.


To find out more about the Backspace Writers Conference, please click here.