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Welcome to Thursday: Writing Without "You."
Welcome to Thursday: Writing Without "You."
Okay, let me start by saying that for now, and probably for the next few years, I have no intents on getting published. It just takes too much time. First I need to actually finish any kind of story, and then I need to go back and edit and re-write it. This takes up a lot of time, and I do mean a lot, and it takes even more time to market. Unfortunately, I do not have any of this time, and won't for a good solid year. Between work and research, although I can sit and write creatively, time for analysis of the stuff just isn't there; I'm a returned college student, which means that my work is expected to be of the best quality, and most thorough.
Now onto the heart of this post, my personal titter for the day, and probably for the week that seems quite unique to AdultFriendFinder: Personalized Erotic Fiction, also known as First Person Erotic Fiction. But that's not what has me shaking my head. What does have me shaking my head are requests made of me for such fiction ("make me the center of your story" they ask), or emails with such stories in them ("I take you to the bed and stroke your leg"). Now I'm not quoting anyone of the writings that were sent to me, nor will I bring up names. All I'm saying is... I'm a writer, folks, unless it's a short story based around a fictional character (and it's very difficult for me to write _short_ stories), I can't write in first person and it's a bear for me to even read stuff written in first person without thinking of those "Adventure" books Dungeons and Dragons put out decades ago.
When I write in the first person ("I") format, it's not me. I create characters, wander around in their heads, and kick about the world in a story. Example: The world outside held very little interest for me, eventhough everything was going backwards. The birds flying in reverse had long since lost their factor of curiosity, being replaced instead by my rather violently plaid bunny-slippers, a gift I had asked from my rather perplexed mother some months back. Held in the walls of a sanitarium, they were proof that I was quite sane.
That was a bit I just pulled out of my brain, something non-sexual with a taste of the oddness that I've got wandering behind my eyeballs.
Okay, now for an attempt at the erotic in the first person...which is turning out to be a bit more difficult that I thought...: Even in the nude, he was by far not a handsome man, at least not by the standards of others, and yet he had caught my attention, something which my cousins teased me about. Odd, they had called him, and even ugly, finding his dark hair and olive skin alien to the usual fair figures that walked about, and the scar that curled up the side of his face from the left of his lip did not aid him either in a place where the women looked for godlike perfection. Slipping into the pool behind him he made no sign that even heard me, which was of little surprise considering he had spent the day amoung the throngs in the bazarre, and next to a gaggle of auctioneers. So it was that as my fingers brushed over his shoulders that he started, shudderd slightly, and then pressed his back against me as I began to massage away his pains. I wondered if even realized it was me, if the curve of my breasts were perhaps different from other women who probably frequented his baths, but I said nothing to give myself away as below the water his hand first brushed, then caressed my thigh.
Not the greatest writing, I know, and not the most erotic. I can't quite say that I'm in the mindset at the moment, and having received a few e-mailed bits of "I finger your breasts and twirl your nipples," you might understand why. I just don't do "personal writings," no "I do this to you, you do this to me."
On the story front, there's one bubbling about, though it'll take time. Right now I'm in the notes phase, working on characters, backgrounds, plots and undercurrents along with settings. For the moment the story is set in a fantasy (meaning historically not accurate) equivalent to the medieval and renaissance period with a female lead who either is becoming or has become something of a lady Cassanova. She goes from encounter to encounter with joy, and as an act of rebellion against a family that would have her marry off. On one hand there's a man who is a hedonist, not so much to see to the pleasure of others, as to see to both his own pleasure, and to be seen as the greatest lover there is. On the other hand there's the merchant clan that needs her to marry more money so they have greater investments.
I know, probably sounds about as exciting as snow melting. Then again, I don't know that I could ever do back-of-the-novel blurbs to promote the story.
5/7/2006 11:25 am
I have enjoyed your entrys so far, and am looking forward to reading your next one. I have to admit that I was drawn in by the beautiful photos, but very pleasantly suprised with the read. l-) Also, I have to say that you shouldn't under rate the excitement that watching melting snow brings! Especially when it's toward the end of a long cold winter.|