On Writing Smut in the Face of Adversity
My muse suggested I could write better smut than that 50 Shades of Gray dude. I was reluctant at first, as I always abide by the 'write what you know' rule in fiction. Recalling that the last time I ventured into anything smutty myself was ages ago and less remarkable than oh say... grocery shopping. But after a little bit of thought, I replied to her text with this:
"It was late and once
again my insomnia was victorious against my pillow. 'Ah, fuck it,' I sighed,
rolling like an overturned tortoise as I fought to unbed my fat belly and
waddle to the nearest box of tissue. And there, with perhaps the same passion an impoverished worker displays while collecting garbage at six in the morning, I
worked the shaft of my twig, lazily trying to motivate myself into building a
fire. Initially it proved little use, and I calculated some late night
television may feature some motivational "Yes, I am that desperate"
material. A Shake Weight commercial. A WNBA play-off game. Hunched in the dark,
I continued churning my own butter as I felt around the dull surfaces of the
bedroom, seeking the remote control. When it was no use, I aimed my blind gaze
in the direction of my bedside lamp, and tripped as I neared it. Falling,
flailing in the dark, my shoulder chipped the nightstand, and the nightstand
chipped my shoulder. The ground broke my fall, but the greater impact came when
the lamp fell from the nightstand and shattered over my scalp. From down the
hall, my father's voice rang out, "WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE?" As
blood trickled down my face, I couldn't help find the humor in that I was at
least mildly successful. I made my head explode and the concussion would no
doubt put me to rest soon. Let them find my body this way, I thought, pressing
a dirty t-shirt over my wound and calling it a night. At 32, I clearly wasn't
going far enough in life to warrant a clean bandage or the dignity that went
with it."
And I suppose now is as good a time as any to mention that you can read my incredibly tasteful new novelette Bonnie Before The Brain Implants for only ninety-nine cents on the Amazon Kindle and free Kindle apps available on tablets, smart phones, and PCs everywhere.
"It was late and once
again my insomnia was victorious against my pillow. 'Ah, fuck it,' I sighed,
rolling like an overturned tortoise as I fought to unbed my fat belly and
waddle to the nearest box of tissue. And there, with perhaps the same passion an impoverished worker displays while collecting garbage at six in the morning, I
worked the shaft of my twig, lazily trying to motivate myself into building a
fire. Initially it proved little use, and I calculated some late night
television may feature some motivational "Yes, I am that desperate"
material. A Shake Weight commercial. A WNBA play-off game. Hunched in the dark,
I continued churning my own butter as I felt around the dull surfaces of the
bedroom, seeking the remote control. When it was no use, I aimed my blind gaze
in the direction of my bedside lamp, and tripped as I neared it. Falling,
flailing in the dark, my shoulder chipped the nightstand, and the nightstand
chipped my shoulder. The ground broke my fall, but the greater impact came when
the lamp fell from the nightstand and shattered over my scalp. From down the
hall, my father's voice rang out, "WHAT'S GOING ON IN THERE?" As
blood trickled down my face, I couldn't help find the humor in that I was at
least mildly successful. I made my head explode and the concussion would no
doubt put me to rest soon. Let them find my body this way, I thought, pressing
a dirty t-shirt over my wound and calling it a night. At 32, I clearly wasn't
going far enough in life to warrant a clean bandage or the dignity that went
with it."
And I suppose now is as good a time as any to mention that you can read my incredibly tasteful new novelette Bonnie Before The Brain Implants for only ninety-nine cents on the Amazon Kindle and free Kindle apps available on tablets, smart phones, and PCs everywhere.
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