Neurotica

I can’t remember what it was recently that reminded me of a woman I knew when I lived in DC. I haven’t thought of her in years; we were not close, but we spent some time together with mutual friends. She was a few years older than me, very blond, and worked in Senator Wellstone’s office. My friend Joel thought she was the coolest woman on earth because she worked for Wellstone, and as a side gig, wrote lesbian erotica. One night after a number of drinks she made a very compelling argument as to why I should join team Les, but I just couldn’t get past the part about not being into dudes.

When whatever it was that reminded me of her came up, it was a while before I remembered the lesbian erotica. But once I did, a light bulb went on.

We’re getting kind of broke. Why not make some extra money writing erotica?

I am not sure whether I am serious about this or not. The pros: there is always a market for it, I can write the stuff in my sleep, and it is way more fun than churning out ebooks about seed explicators. At least it is a subject about which I have an interest. And imagine the things I could write off! (Accountant: “A… Spank-O-Matic 3000 and a ten gallon tub of chowder?” Me: “Research. Volume Three. Here, I’ll leave you with a copy. And one for the wife.”) Also, it is an excuse to ask my friends really embarrassing questions. The cons: None, as long I don’t have to disclose my precise source of income to everyone I know.

I started doing some research last night, looking at information about venues for selling erotica, and some of the actual stuff out there on sites that pay. Some is ok, there were one or two that were pretty good, but most of it was really bad – bad enough that I started losing interest, despite the subject matter. I could write circles around most of what is out there without much effort. The thing is, just because it is smut, doesn’t mean it should be poorly written.

The offenders:
1. Overused euphemistic language. It is enough with the buds and nodules and poles already. Seriously. Yawn.
2. Going all metaphorical at the wrong time. This happens a lot. It’s the big moment for the guy and the girl (or the guys, or the girls, or the guys and the girl, or the girl and the guys, or the girl and the gourd, etc.) and suddenly we’re talking about caves and flower petals. WTH? When the characters are at that point, they won’t be using that kind of language, and neither should the author. To describe the act that way completely detaches the reader from the story. This is where it is appropriate to use the coarsest language going, because it fits. The c-word in use here should never, ever be “cave.” Tone should follow the arc of the story, dammit, whether it is literary fiction or smut. It is a matter of keeping the audience engaged and in the moment.
3. Wasting space on the unsexy. The grizzled old dude from whom the guy borrows the tool to fix the car in which he does the girl moves the plot along, but does not require five hundred words of exposition. It’s erotica. Get to it.

See? Clearly I have thought this through. I was explaining all of this to Scott tonight, and in the middle of it, cracked myself up because, oh my god, I spent the better part of an evening workshopping smut to myself. I recognize that this is hilarious to me as a writer, and probably to no one else.

There is some better stuff out there, and it would be interesting to read what is actually getting published and doing well in book form, but I am just not thrilled about the idea of having an anthology of gay male [whatever] fetish erotica in my amazon history. Because, you know, they’re watching. Better to head to Barnes and Noble with cash.

Anyway, it is really not a bad fit, me writing erotica. Nothing offends me (except for bad writing) as long as it is truly consensual, I’ve got the goods to write it, and I am already totally desensitized to porn, thanks to male roommates in college. The irony is that under normal circumstances, I don’t really think about sex that much. It shows up in my writing a lot, I know, but as far as conducting my life moment to moment, it is just not that big of a deal. In fact, there were times when I was single that I was voluntarily, happily celibate for long stretches of time. Hours, even. No, seriously. Long stretches.

(Not that sex isn’t important. I am not going to paint myself into a corner, but let’s just say I am healthy and leave it there.)

The last word on this, for now at least, is that while spending some time on these sites last night I got the whole male / visual thing in a completely new way. As I said, I have watched tons of porn, and the fact that men are visual creatures is Man 101. But there was something about the juxtaposition of the sites on which the content was mostly text, framed by especially graphic ads for porn sites – that made the zen leap for me, from just knowing about this difference in how we process information to really grokking it. It is cool stuff, maybe something I could work into a story…