Friday, January 17, 2014

The Writing Process

I have people ask me on a routine basis the same question: What is your writing process? My answer? Well, it changes. Most writers work through the writing process in a similar way, looking something like the following:

  1. Idea: Usually a spark of inspiration will hit 
  2. Building: The writer visualizes characters, their personalities, and the setting in which they reside   
  3. Plot: Putting the idea and the characters together to build a story     
  4. Actual Writing: Adding all the notes from the above steps into a written document that makes sense                      
  5. Revising: Going over your work to add, remove, or change elements to improve the plot, characters, or other elements 
  6. Editing: Fixing all those pesky typos, punctuation, grammar and format mistakes, as well as sifting through the paragraph and sentence structures looking for improper word choice or redundancies  
  7. Publishing: Getting that final, polished copy out there for the public to see   

What about me? Well... it's something like this...

Idea --> Writing --> Revising --> Idea --> Editing --> Writing --> Idea --> Writing --> Editing --> Revising --> Writing ---> Editing --> Publishing

But that's only if I'm happy with what I have! 

  • I don't walk around with a notebook in my pocket to jot down ideas as they come to me. 
  • I don't sit in front of my computer waiting for inspiration to hit me. 
  • I don't use any sort of methodical method that makes sense. 
  • I either have a formed idea or don't. Sometimes I'll have a whole story inside my head, I'll sit down to write it, and it's a miracle of creation. Other times I'll have a partial story, I'll write what I have, and later come back to it once the pieces fall into place. 
  • I often find myself doing other tasks while thinking about my writing, which is what works best for me. The everyday chores of the real world help me filter through my thoughts into something that becomes more rounded, and therefore, a better story.

Friday, January 10, 2014

Erotica Vs. Porn

I love erotica. I also enjoy porn... But there there's a difference between the two. Both contain similar elements, but how do they compare? I hear this question a lot and I tired of the confusion people have. Therefore, let me explain of my thoughts on the subject.


  • Focuses on the act of sex, not plot (written or video)
  • Traditionally unrealistic, depicting body types and acts that others are envious of (video)
  • The target audience is more often male than female (Yes, women watch pornographic videos, but statistically more men purchase pornographic videos and imagery in comparison to women).
  • Triggers a primal instinct in the viewer through literal imagery in a short amount of time, which arouses the viewer (video)
  • Porn lacks detailed description and uses vulgarity to describe sex acts (written)

  • Focuses on character and story with the written word
  • Can be unrealistic, fantastical, or a traditional love story
  • Allows the reader to imagine their own imagery 
  • Creates arousal through lengthy description
  • Tells a story that conveys various emotions, creating a connection with the reader 
  • Target audience is more focused on the female population (regardless of author gender)
I hope this helps clarify things for people. Don't let yourself get confused. Erotica is not necessarily better than porn, or vice versa. Just make sure you know the fucking difference! 

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Why I Write Erotica

What happens when you grow up in a very strict Catholic home, are forced to attend private Catholic school, and conform to the rigid box that the fanatical of society declare all decent females should fit inside? Well, I'll tell you what happens.


I have nothing against religion. I have nothing against those with strong beliefs. But, I do have a problem with those who force feed their doctrine on their friends, neighbors, perfect strangers, and their own children. Believe what you want. Your life is yours. It's your spiritual journey. Guide others gently  if you're called to do so. Push too hard and shit hits the fan.

What about me? It doesn't matter what I believe. What matters is what happened when I was caged.

I wore polish on my nails one day to school. I took it out of my mother's drawer in the bathroom. She wasn't much for makeup, feeling it was sinful vanity, but on occasion, even she would sin. Clear and somewhat shimmery, I painted a thin layer over my nails and felt pretty. My teacher, a nun we kids nicknamed "Hairy" due to her unibrow, scolded me and actually splintered a bone in my middle finger when she beat me with a ruler. My mother threw out her nail polish (or hid it), and I was sent home to remove it from my hands. It didn't upset me. It was all good fun. I went to school with a hard-to-miss splint on my middle finger for a couple weeks. FUCK YOU HAIRY.

I wasn't allowed to date. All my "suiters" were cast away by my family, but it didn't stop my many admirers. I would deliberately sit in public places--the mall, coffee shops, libraries, even at church--with my school's uniform skirt hiked a bit higher up my thigh, a few too many buttons undone on my blouse, and runs I made in precarious places in my stockings. My parents were both furious with me, calling me a slut, a wannabe whore, or whatever negative names they could muster. It only made me hate them. It only made me want to break out of the box. I knew I didn't fit their mold.

I brought boys home--and later some girls--and sent them out through open windows if someone came home. I explored the human body and what it could do. Food, kitchen utensils and bathroom accessories became erotic. Don't ask me what I've done with a vacuum or a car battery. It'd blow your mind. It certainly blew mine. My youth and rebellion from conformity--the opposite of what my family wanted me to be--became the lasting life experiences that shaped my future.

I moved out at 17. I found a job and a shit-hole apartment I shared with some older goth guy into vampires and actual blood drinking. Didn't bother me. He didn't need my blood. His lifestyle was always with sexual consent and I wasn't into him or him into me. I learned from him however. He took me to places where I met kinky people into all sorts of things. It opened a window I had been opening for my lovers to escape from when I still lived at home. The kink scene was hot. New. Exciting.

My mother's love is her one redeeming grace. I know I'm loved regardless of her disapproval. I told her today that I've taken my university degrees to a new level and I'm now writing erotica. She wouldn't discuss it with me. My private life should stay private, she told me. Writing about sex would only bring focus on me in a negative light. *GAG* Her opinion can't touch me.

I'm accepted as the black sheep of the family, but I'll never be accepted by them for what I do. I've had many lovers. I've had many relationships. I've lived all over the world and have seen and done a lot of kinky things. It's my life. I was raised in a cage and now I'm free.

So why do I write erotica? Why the fuck not? I love sex. I love learning new things about sex. I like writing about sex because it makes me feel good to do so. I am a woman. I am a sexual creature, and I refuse to be any which way society or my family tells me I must be. FUCK YOU (Sorry Mom).

Accept all people for who they are. We're all made of the same thing and it's only the truly wicked who make a mess of the world. Sex and erotica are not wicked. If you're not into it, don't read it. I won't judge anyone. It's not my place. Erotica is just one form of expression, art, desire, and self-fulfillment.

"Self Portrait" January 5th 2014

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Eye Candy: My 1st Toy Store Visit

I was 18. I was curious. Who wouldn't be? I was forced to drive past the porn shop every day on my way to work at a lousy mattress store. Funny how porn shops are always in the near to one... I've always wondered if it was designed that way; like maybe people made some subconscious connection between sex toys, videos, and mattresses. I'm always amused when I think on it.

The store was huge with a small parking lot easily within view of the street and highway. I noticed in my daily drives that customers often looked over their shoulders as they entered or exited the shop, but they were normal people. Some wore business suits, some sneakers and t-shirts. I even saw a whole group of loud young men in matching sport ensembles jump out of a car together and rush inside. What would others think of me? I wasn't sure. I was in jeans and a polo with the mattress store name embroidered across the back, and I was alone. Before the start of my evening shift, I braved the highly viewable parking lot in my beat up shit truck, and walked in.

I was greeted by lingerie. Not your mother's lingerie, if you get me. No, these were pieces of lace and fine silkiness like I had never seen. Costumes and fishnet stockings were displayed upon stands and racks, while disturbingly tall, dangerous looking shiny black boots, sat upon table tiers. Posters and mannequins stared down at me smiling, posing and teasing. I wanted to be in those images. I wanted to dress like the mannequin. I wanted to be an object of desire. I ran my fingertips over one of the outfits and felt a tingle in my groin. What would my boyfriend say were he to see me in it? What would he do if I bought toys? I needed to see more.

I cleared my throat and smiled at the man at the counter, handing over my ID. I remember he was young, slim, and unshaven. He rolled his eyes at me and handed back my license, waving me through the gap that separated the lingerie area from the 18+ section.


Yeah. Lots and lots of penis... everywhere. Sure I had seen dick up close and personal, but plastic, glass, and metal in various shapes, sizes, and vibration options were all new to me. Cock rings, nipple clamps, whips, fluffy handcuffs, anal instruments, blow-up dolls, "ticklers", bachelorette party favors, and things I had no names for, produced sensory overload. It's still this way for me when I go to the toy store. It takes several moments for the wow factor to wear off before I can search out for what I'm looking for.

And that day? I spent over an hour examining vibrators, choosing a small, pink-ribbed, silicone, waterproof devise. Something called "Strawberry Motion Lotion," also caught my eye, as well as a sassy dice game and a pair of handcuffs.

I imagined my boyfriend's face as I walked to the counter to pay. I imagined cuffing him somewhere and licking sweet strawberry from his naval. I saw his cum spilling out of his dick as he stroked himself watching me use my new vibrator on myself, and then laughing as I tasted him. I wanted to fulfill all the fantasies in my curious little head, and the toy store was helping me to do it.

I walked back to my car carrying a little black bag. I couldn't wait for my impending shift to be over and to be back at home. The boyfriend planned to come over that night. Parents were out of town...

What happened?

I learned that I love toys. I learned that you can and should fulfill fantasies. Experiment with sex and avoid boredom at all costs. There's no shame in going to the porn store. Most people have at some point even if they won't admit it. Fuck them. Go get your toy store accessories. Live a little.

My current favorite toy: Merry Christmas to me! $100 silicone with dolphin tickler. Waterproof, has 7 vibration/pulsation speeds and rhythms, and it does the hula. No joke. Worth every damn penny.