I’ll admit, I get a big kick out of telling people I write smut.
Like, a really big kick.
Smutty smut, with all the good C-words—except “cum” because it doesn’t feel like a real word, but that might change by this time next year when I’ve run out of creative terms for spooge.
Welcome to my first blog post.
Whether you’ve arrived here on purpose via my Literotica profile or Twitter account or if you’ve accidentally stumbled upon “that” corner of the internet, it makes no difference. You’re here, and I’m happy to have you.
I write erotica and, inadvertently, erotic romance. I didn’t start out wanting to write romance but it just kept weaving its way into my work. Whether I’m writing about a student and her teacher, the figment of a writer’s imagination, the extraterrestrial life form that’s possessing someone’s husband, or step-siblings who reunite for a game of hide-and-seek, I can’t escape it.
And I don’t think I want to.
Why do we read erotica and/or romance? Why do we open our minds and hearts to these fictional people, bringing them to life if only for a day or week or however long it takes us to finish a story? (And, if they’re really good, long after we turn the page or switch off our e-readers.)
Because we crave stories. Great stories. Stories that draw us into new worlds or strap us into the psyches of beautiful, complex people. People who feel real to us; sometimes more real than the people we know.
I thought my first novel-length story was going to be a three-part series but my characters demanded otherwise. That has to be my favorite aspect of writing fiction: dreaming up people and letting them play in the sandbox that is my imagination. My next favorite thing is what happens when I set them free to play in yours.
Thanks for stopping by.