Several months ago when I mused that due to the Fifty Shades phenomenon erotica would be the next big genre, an interesting conversation ensued here and I finally had to confess that I would never be able to write it myself. Several readers left comments echoing those sentiments.
But I’m always up for something new, and having written some fairly steamy scenes in my first novel, I decided to try my hand at full on erotica. Just to see if I could do it. Just as an experiment. A challenge if you will.
As I was considering possible storylines I recalled a conversation I’d had with a friend some time back. Something this friend had said struck me as a wonderful title for a book, and I’d filed it away in my memory for ‘someday.’ I had never thought of it as an erotica title, since I was never going to write erotica, but now it sounded like the perfect title for an erotica novel. However, the very title itself required the story to include an element of infidelity, and I quickly discovered, by perusing some erotica publishers’ websites, that infidelity is verboten. Back to the drawing board. (My friend and I were disappointed—it could have been a good story.)
So I came up with a new idea and got to work. I soon discovered that writing erotica is rather fun—quite a bit of fun actually. And the only person I’ve allowed to read it, my Dear Husband, has been impressed. But there’s the crux of the matter. I can write it. I just can never let anyone read it. Ever. The thought of anyone I’m not married to reading my erotica writing is horrifying. You talk about Fifty Shades of Red—fifty wouldn’t even begin to cover the shades of red I’d be if someone else read it.
Or is what I actually fear the idea of allowing someone I KNOW to read it? Could I let perfect strangers read it? Something new to ponder. In the meantime I look on it as a good writing exercise. An exercise which most likely will stay hidden away on my flash drive.