The problems of being an erotic author are many and varied. This erotic author, for example, is seriously considering moving into the more generally accepted genre of romantic or ‘chick lit’ fiction, not least because then I could finally let my mum and dad read something I’ve written!
In fact, telling people is one of the biggest reasons I am considering moving into a more ‘acceptable’ area of fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. All my friends know I write erotica, as does my partner and my mother, but I can’t let them read anything I write, nor can I tell people at my volunteer work who ask me what I do. The follow-up question to “Oh, I’m an author” is always some variation of “Oh? What do you write?” A total nightmare if you’re in a very conservative situation.
Add to that the difficulty of getting it published in the real world – and I’m sorry, however wonderful e-publishing is, it’s just not the same as being in print – and the continual problems of finding new vocabulary for basic human anatomy and you have a rough idea of why non-sexual romantic stuff might be preferable for me.
Of course, the problem there is that I just write sex too damn well, and I bloody well enjoy it. For the time being I guess I’ll just have to continue typing away, producing marvellous works of literary genius that just happen to be filled with pages and pages of raunchy sex and deal with the consequences. Though, looking as sweet and innocent and I do, it’s always fun to drop a bombshell now and then.
“So Emelia, what is it that you do?”
“Oh, I write porn…”
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