How is that even possible, you say? I don’t even know.
The reality of writing smut (erotica, but I just really love the word smut. Just say it with me, Ssssssmmmmmut! It doesn’t roll off the tongue, you have to hiss to say it properly. Word perfection.) is interesting. Sitting at the laptop in the late hours writing a graphic sex scene is not new to me; I’ve been writing for a very long time, writing novels for six years, and thus far, they’ve all included some shagging. Hell, sometimes I just get this fantasy in my highly undersexed, but prolific mind and rather than simply sit in quiet serenity replaying it over and over, I put it to use and write it the hell down.
Then it gets tucked away in the corners of my laptop, never to be seen aga-
WRONG! It gets published under a pen name. Bam.
In the initial endeavors of writing and publishing ‘smut,’ I started to do my research and branch out to online communities of other writers. In that research and comradery, I discovered some weird ass shit, ladies and gentlemen. There is a serious world of niches out there that just give me the heebie jeebies.
You’ve got Taken By the Billionaire type titles (Thank you 50 Shades of Grey. Nope).
You’ve got Taken By My Step (And His Friend, because I couldn’t find JUST the Step, that wasn’t enough, clearly. Step Dad, Step Brother, Step Mother pseudo-incest smut. Nope intensifies.)
And finally, the piece de resistance –
Taken By the T-Rex. (I fucking dare you to click this link)
Now, to be clear, I’m not saying anything against any of this smut. I respect the writers and the mad crock shits of cash they’ve made from writing it, I’m sure. It just isn’t the kind I write. Could I write a pseudo-incest smut title? If the need arose, yes. Could I write a Billionaire gets randy and shags (insert whatever here)? Abso-freakin-lutely! Do either thing inspire me? Nope. Nope, Nope, Nope.
Could I write dinosaur porn? Fucking no. Not ever. Not fucking ever.
But that all aside, let’s get to the point of my bursting forth in the blogosphere at this reasonable ungodly hour on a Friday night. I just finished and turned in the final draft of my next erotica short. (I’d been planning to unleash a pantheon of smut over the past month, but I’m behind, clearly. Why am I behind? Because this most recent piece was some serious smut.)
I wrote some graphic shit, ladies and gentlemen. Did it involve Billionaires and Triceratops? NO! It did however get SUPER intimately pornographic. I mean, sweet mother of god I wrote some things. And I’m super happy with it, don’t get me wrong, but still – even with a pen name, there are those out there who know that pen name, who read my work, and let’s just say I’m pretty sure they’ll never look at me the same way again after reading this bad boy, if they do.
I’ve had to ask friends for advice on whether a sex scene was too graphic for a novel -a literary fiction novel. I was told by no means, which made me happy given how much I loved that damn sex scene. Now, I’m writing smut for God’s sake. SMUT! And I still had a moment where I had to ask a friend’s permission to go where I was going to go.
I have thoughts, friends. Some randy damn thoughts. Holy crap, what will I think of next – and actually be willing to write and share…?