25 April 2008


I was thinking today about how sex is the hardest thing to research. You can research the build up but the actual act is an entirely different thing. I can be lying there, with my writing brain switched on trying to capture the feelings, the thoughts, the physical sensations but then I realise something -- it's BAD SEX.

I can't have my writer brain turned on during good sex; the two things are mutally exclusive. Good sex makes my brain go mushy. Afterwards I've been told I've done things or said things I can't even remember. That doesn't make for good research, but it's a lot of fun.

I don't know how other people do it.

11 April 2008


I've been meaning to write about something for a while, something that pisses me off beyond belief.

A while back I picked up a copy of (Australian) Cleo. They had a 'cliterature' section of erotic literature so I turned to check it out. At the back of the section was a competition announcement. Woohoo! I thought. Got to get onto this.

I read some more - they said, they acutally said this - the prize is the "greatest prize of all" -- being published in Cleo!


Really. The greatest prize of all is being treated like used cum rag! Yes I'm going to allow a major magazine to publish my work for FREE, for the glory of it. Just like they allow companies to advertise for free, like they let readers read it for free.

I can write 25 words for Cleo and win an overseas holiday or new wardrobe but if I write them a story, I get jack shit. Cleo, I want to punch you in the head.