Dreams to Stories

As I re-explore the blogosphere (in an attempt to rebuild a network of connections and, of course, to re-acquire an audience of readers), i’ve been using WP reader to discover active bloggers.

I’ve been reading a number of blogs with some very good erotic content – mainly poetic but some otherwise. Not classic ‘here’s a sexy story that sounds like penthouse forum’ erotic, but more heartfelt, personal content; at least, that’s what’s reaching me currently.

It’s been quite a lot of years since i’ve written any fiction, erotic or otherwise, but these people – some of whom i’m linking to in my side-bar (or bottom of hime page if you’re on mobile) – are inspiring me to create.

Almost all the writing i’ve done in the last three months has been in the form of life stories for my friend Liz, who only recently discovered that i’m a writer. She was the person who got me to pull Wanton back out and share, then to start working on a revision. I credit her with re-awakening my need to write (as I have re-awakened hers).

But now i’m getting a desire to revisit my erotica skills. I have old (some extremely old) work in an archive I need to revisit, but that will happen later; now, I need to start.

My best writing writing all began as dreams; the vividness of a sexual dream stays with me on waking, and if I can capture the atmosphere of dream, I know the writing will work, because atmosphere is what I do.

I had such a dream last night – a young woman I know vaguely in real life, on a couch next to me, at a large social gathering. She begins to fall asleep, all her masses of long blond hair spilling onto my shoulder as she slumps into me; and I pick her up to carry her to bed, almost the way you’d carry a sleeping child. But as soon as we’re out of sight of the social gathering, she rouses, begins kissing me. I carry her to her bedroom, and – well, as soon as my fingers find my way inside her clothing, I wake. Frustratingly, the scene ends too soon, before I get enough to become a story.

But it may be sculpted into something, later, as I’ve done in the past. I have a character now, and a beginning, but from there I may be able to invent.

Either way, hopefully, i’ll begin something. I’m feeling inspired, but need to find both an image strong enough to move me, but also (and this is the much, much harder part), the time to work.

 

 

Finding like minds in the blogosphere

As I resume this whole thing after a long hiatus (Really. Fucking. Long), i’m trying to figure out ways to find those individuals (like Bacchus at ErosBlog) who never stopped, or people who are new (ish) and have something to say that I like.

In the old days, the best way to promote one’s blog was to coment on others, which we collectively would all do to builds a circle of cross-links.

Thats’ not working as well now, I rather think, because people tend not to comment that much; they are, however, clicking like buttons, and finding other WP blogs via things like wordpress itself (wordpress reader seems to facilitate this rather well).

So i’ve installed a like button, and ask you to please give that motherfucker a poke if you could be so kind. It’s at the end of each post (but you gotta click post title to get to the comments/link/share buttons).

Meanwhile, the reason i’m posting this is because I just found a blog I really dig: journeychase.com.

There’s no about, no info about the author at all, but what there is, is some erotic poetry i’m finding inspirational (I suck at poetry, but reading journeychase just made write out a thought in a vague verse like form, which is more than i’ve done in probably 15 years; i’m not posting it, because it’s almost certainly crap, but, the person I was thinking about when I wrote it may get a look at it later.

In any case, props to the writer for being inspiring.

Anyone who’s known me more than about 15 minutes knows i’m utterly filthy and love anything erotic; my writing is mostly of the bent. Finding other writers who share that is one of the things i’m after.

An excerpt from Spread me open

I know if you
ran your hands
up my stockings
the world
would stop turning
for just one moment

Click links above to get more. That’s just a taste.

Howling to the Void

It’s funny, when I started this blog, which was mumble years ago, it was utterly free. Nobody read it, nobody knew it existed apart from my friend Jen who originally hosted it.

There is a pure and complete freedom to write without any audience. I could say anything, do anything, didn’t matter.

Social media changed that – orkut, in this case. People followed a link and I gradually picked up readers, first random strangers, then later real life friends and family.

Suddenly the externalization of inner voice might be read by the people I was talking about, and I started writing to an audience, or worse, not writing because of an audience. It changed

 

Now, it’s come full circle. Nobody is reading; in all likelihood, they never will. So I could do what I originally started this for, howling into the void, free, honest, unfiltered,

I dunno if I’m ready for that. Or if the internet is ready. Maybe I’ll find out, though.

What’s it all about

For the first time in at least a decade, i’ve updated the About page for this site (also linked on side bar and in menus, here here here, oh, everywhere, as the Genie said.

You should read it, it’s unimaginably brilliant. Really.

Also, on the off chance that anyone is reading out there, I really appreciate comments. You don’t have to use a real email and i’m definitely not saving anyone’s emails; that shit’s just there to ward off spam comments (which, despite nobody reading, I still get a cubic fuckton of daily).

An admission of guilt, or at least, of writing

Well, today I more or less announced myself as a writer in Facebook.

which won’t be big news for the people who used to  read this space, or for the very few who have read my fiction, but in the modern, post blogosphereera world of social networks, I don’t think many of the people I interact with know me as such, despite this site having been linked from FB and Instagram for years.

but after completing a marathon revision session on my novella Wanton, I both needed acknowledge my own progress, fighting back from years of feeling unable, as well as, I’ll admit it, hoping somebody would go read it. I don’t work in a vacuum well; I’ve always needed an audience to write for, or at least hoped my work would find one. So while I did t link direst to this site or to the novella in question (yet), I am hoping I get a hit or two and somebody says, I’d like to read that.

One thing that’s changed since I wrote this is the need to trigger warning it; I never before felt I needed to label my work, despite it being largely erotic, because I consider Wanton, at least, to be fiction, a love story, rather than a wank-piece. It may get you aroused, and I hope it does, but the intent is to tell a story about two characters in an obsessive, destructive relationship. It’s about the people, not about what they may do.

but, the story is filled with blood, pain, come, drugs and both physical and emotional harm. The last  two people I shared it with pre-edit, I didn’t warn, and I think it gut-punched them in different ways.

going forward, then, it has warnings.

 

Old words, new friends.

I suppose every writer understands the awkward, uncomfortable experience of trying to re-read or edit something they wrote a very long time ago. 

For me, at least, that experience tends to begin with cringing, and then moves on to a desire to we-write from scratch, just to avoid any more uncomfortable re-reading. 

At that point I usually just close the editing tool I have open and walk away. 

I used to write all them time. I was once a reasonably accomplished tech writer. In  early 2004 I started blogging, writing almost daily. Writing short essays several times per week is great practice for a writer. 

I’ve written a number of short stories, started a novel at least three times, actually finished a novella. 

It all stopped a few years ago. Social media rose and blogs stopped being a thing, and then the friend who hosted my web sites died suddenly, leaning me locked out our server for good (I was able to export most of the writing, fortunately, and have since at least gotten the blog back up, if not kept it up to date).  

In any case, I just stopped writing, for a very long time. 

Recently, however, a friend of mine asked to read something of mine, so I fished a piece of fiction out of archives and shared it, getting positive feedback; this got me stated writing a few things, just descriptions of events or experiences. Nothing ambitious, but vastly more than I’ve written in a decade. 

Then a second friend made a similar request to read something. That friend then recorded herself recording a piece of  my writing, is planning to do a more complete recorded reading in future.

Hearing it out loud, hearing the story, and hearing all the little things I needed to fix somehow gave me the kick in the ass I needed to actually complete a long-avoided re-edit. A task I’ve been avoiding for literally a decade, if not more. 

It’s been cathartic, and I am thankful for the friend who got me started on this, as well as the one who liked my work enough to try reading it out loud. 

Wanton is back on line.

After losing my blog hosting a few years ago, non of my other writing (erotica, etc) has been on this site.

I finally got it back up, thanks to some inspiration from my friend Elizabeth.

find it under Writing or directly here Here.

 

please drop a comment if you visit, it’s lonely out here in the Moronosphere.

And that brings us up to date, again, with nothing

it’s weird to realize the last time I posted was just before – well, weeks before but time means nothing, never would again – before the world changed all at once (which is going ti be a theme for everything I post today, which is, well, this I guess).

I see my last post before pandemic,  of me playing my then-new gretsch in my friend Chris’ house, shortly before the last xmas that actually felt like xmas.

Since that time, i’ve more or less stopped playing guitar (at least stopped playing nearly enough), sold all my motorcycles (the FXDB and the thruxton), bought a new one (FSLRS low rider softail). I’ve gotten older than I ever shiould have gotten, and then started to fight back with a renewed go at fitness. I’ve quit caring about work, so much so that i’m now having to decide if I can ever get back to being good at something for a living again.

I’ve been though familial upheaval I wasn’t sure all my family would survive, though we did, at least so far; my younger daughter now lives in North Carolina, where she’s doing vastly better, as are we with her there.

And I’ve figured out that my favorite people in the whole world are dogs, and that I don’t really need anything much from here on (see the instagram links to the left, if they still work, or way below if you’re on mobile, for pictures of my dogs, who are so cute they’ll melt your eyes).

It’s been ten years in two years, and yet in effect nothing happened, and everything changed, and very little seems very real anymore.

I should have more to say about it than this, really, but it turns out that I had nothing at all to say for two years, so, this may take a bit of practice to get out, since writing is now something I do only into slack windows, with people who care way too much about things that do not matter in the least, and who will throw a fit if you use the right words for things and they don’t like the words.

So writing, as someone once said to me, without a net isn’t something I know how to do anymore. At least not yet.

Who knows if anyone will ever notice; blogs seem so quaint in 2022.