I’ve never been very happy with the final chapter of The Itch. I really like the story up until the last chapter, and eventually I’m going to rewrite the final scene and give it a better ending.
In the meantime, I’m writing The Lilith Quotient as a novel. Although it’s sexy, it’s much less explicit so far than the early version posted on this blog. I’d call it Sexy Sci-Fi, but it might fit the description of Erotic Literature, and that concerns me a little for several inter-related reasons.
Basically, it boils down to this: being labeled “Erotic Literature” seems to be a death knell for a story, and if nobody buys it, nobody reads it, and that sort of defeats the purpose of writing it, doesn’t it? I’m sure there is a philosophical discussion involved there, but one of the big reasons I write is because I have an inner drive to share my thoughts and stories. I want people to read them. If nobody reads them, I might just as well talk to myself and save a lot of typing. (Let’s just not even go there with a philosophical discussion of JanieBelle talking to herself in her head. It’s still too early in the morning for that.)
Anyway, back to Erotic Literature. Why do such titles get skipped? I think there’s a whole chain of things, and again they’re all interlinked.
First, if it even gets carried, erotic literature gets shelved separately from non-erotic literature of the same genre. I have no idea why that is, or who gets to draw the arbitrary line between what is and is not erotic. To me, it makes no sense. Is there a manual out there that says “this many sex scenes” or “if it uses this word more than twice within 25 pages” or “if there’s any doggiestyle goin’ on…”?
Secondly, in a vicious circle kind of way, I think most erotic literature just sucks. And the reason it sucks is that most talented or well established and respected writers avoid the genre like the plague, because it simply won’t sell. And it won’t sell because it’s separated out and gets skipped over or not carried at all.
So what we end up with are cheesy, predictable piles of tripe from Harlequin, and “stuff written by guys”. Now, I want to be specific here: I’m using that as a single descriptor. Not all guys suck at erotica or anything, but there is a certain style of writing that is identifiably written by really crappy erotica writers who happen to be male.
“I walked in with my sweaty muscles bulging and my huge cock throbbing through my pants and the entire female staff of the Cirque de Soleil performed impossible acrobatics while I pumped them full of jizz for three days running.”
I know you’ve read that crap before, don’t lie. And it sucked, didn’t it? There’s simply no suspension of disbelief involved there. I can’t read it without squinching up my face and saying, “The author is either 14 or 41 and still living with Mom.”
What really pisses me off is that even if I get it for free, I’ve wasted valuable time and not gotten what I came for (or didn’t cum for, to be accurate). And I really hate when I find one good short story in an anthology, and I want to buy it, but I have to pay for all the garbage that comes with it. Book stores tend to have this ridiculous policy about not tearing just the story I want out of the anthologies. I’m not sure what’s up with that, but you’d think I could get a discount if I only buy the story I want, right?
No sense of humor, those people.
God, I hope The Lilith Quotient doesn’t wind up like that. I’m really working on telling a story which happens to have some sexy bits in it, rather than little Bobby’s 14 year old fantasy of schtooping everything that moves with his rock hard 27 inch jackhammer-like piston.
Anyway, I’ve said all that to ask a question.
In the process of writing my novel, I’m wondering if anyone has run across some good erotic literature. Read any lately? Who’s good and who sucks? What made you like this but hate that? Lay it on me in the comments.
From whence came the art: