Writing is easy; you just sit down at the keyboard and
open a vein.
The quote above is a modernized version of one that has been attributed to
several sources. Regardless of its origins, I find it intriguing.
When I began writing erotica and poetry, I had just emerged from a decade-long
bout of major depression, and I was obsessed with a fantasy.
Hence, writing was easy. I wanted—no, I needed—to bleed. Writing was my
catharsis. It gave me somewhere to store my feelings so the passion would not
overwhelm me or the despair drown me.
I lucked upon a vibrant online community of writers, many bleeding themselves,
with whom I bonded. One of them now lives with me. Others I count as my dearest
friends. We have bled together, been emotionally naked together, enjoyed the
solace of shared pain.
Much of the material in this collection was written during my Literotica years,
while I was pouring raw angst onto the page. I honed the art of the craft as I
healed. I learned that the veins I opened needn't be my own. I had the power to
create characters with their own pain. That's when I became a writer instead of
"merely" a bleeder.
Down on the Beach
Until Next Time
Food Court Fellatio
Have It Your Way
Listen to Me
Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun
Sum of its Parts
The Seven: Revisited
The Second Person