For various reasons, I feel like hibernating right now, even though today is warm and the snow is melting and the ground is muddy and soft. Winter has barely begun though. I've not been able to think of anything to write here, and so I think I'll just take some time to hibernate.
Last year, on December 13, 2008, I started this blog. My first post was titled Not quite a virgin blogger. I'd been participating in Alison Tyler's flasher contests and decided I wanted to have a "presence." Now, one year and 238 blog posts later, I'm still at it. Not as much lately, mainly because life has been ... interesting. But I still enjoy this strange way of writing and putting my words out into the universe.
My first comments came on January 5, 2009 post, when Jeremy Edwards and EllaRegina, two writers I admire, and who I would eventually meet "in the flesh," congratulated me on sending off my first official erotica submission. I love "comments" - both leaving them and getting them. It's a way to connect to people that is often misused, but it seems to me that the folks that leave comments on erotica writer's blogs (usually other writers) don't use that space to leave imbecilic, juvenile, rudeness.
Instead, we get into sometimes fun, sometimes serious discussions - see last winter's "moveable feast" that was conceived by Donna George Storey and Kirsten Monroe (now Gina Marie). It was great fun to travel to warmer, sunnier climes during those cold, dark, snowbound days. What was even better, friendships were formed. Craig Sorensen, Shanna Germain, Helia Brookes, Neve Black, Emerald, Sommer Marsden, and Nikki Magennis were all hosts. Some I've now met in person (Craig, Helia, Emerald) and the rest I hope to someday because they are all neat people. Some folks I "met" in the comments sections of this "blog tour" as well as others. Marina St. Clare is one, and she, along with Helia would help me start the Beginner's Ball series - see the sidebar for full line-up.
There's been all sorts of fun to be had during the past year:
The Blow Hard Tour 2009 - and my stop on the tour still brings me new visitors who land there while searching for "euphemisms for cock sucking" and various other fellatio-related searches (some are really off the wall too).
I became Alison Tyler's "button slut" - and today, while wandering NYC, I'm wearing a couple of festive ones on the lapels of my coat - Naughty on my left and Nice on my right.
Alison Tyler interviewed me over at her Trollop Salon.
Alison also published one of my stories, Into The Whirlpool at her H is for Harlot blog (no longer available it seems - it's for "invited" folks only (I won't get started again on that whole debacle of blogger pulling the plug on some of her blogs).
Continuing on a theme... I trolloped myself (actually my husband did the honors).
Through a link on Alison's blog about a year ago, I was introduced to Stephen Elliott and The Rumpus and last summer I became part of the infamous "Lending Library" and later had the pleasure of hosting Stephen (which led to many interesting and ongoing changes in my life).
Nine months after first starting to enter Alison's flasher contests, I got a First Place!
I've come a long way and made lots of friends (and sorry if you're not listed here - it's 11pm and I have to get up early).
This has been a life-changing year. And I need to thank every single last one of you who have read here, are reading here (not so many lately, haha) and will read here.
So, last month was NaNoWriMo and though I got something started, about half way through the month, just as it started taking off, I ran in to all sorts of roadblocks - of the mental, emotional, or physical kind (like hitting a deer and having to deal with all that - still don't have my car back). But I like what I have so far and where it's going, so I've decided that's my winter project. In lieu of hibernating.
And I'm coming up on the one year anniversary of starting this blog, on Dec. 13. Guess I'll take some time to look back, and also to get a few items up that I've been meaning to do. Hard to believe it's been almost a year. Wow.
a glass of water, setting sun below late November clouds, milkweed pods, poems retrieved from the trash bin, warm toes, scattered papers, cooking smells, a cat's purr, stacks of books, a pot of tea, blankets on cold nights, the magic of conversing one keyboard to another, lives preserved in words and music, feathers of birds, the scent of chilled air, a loving touch, laughter, the sound of the mail truck stopping, a rainy day, a sunny day, a cloudy day, a new sight, a new sound, an old face, a tree, a painting done by a friend, a memory, quiet, stopping, starting, the first sip, the last spoonful, the glow of embers, my breath and the breath of others, a leaf floating to the ground, lighted windows at night, the outline of bare branches against the skyline, the passing of time
This picture was taken a year or two ago, about this time, when the freezing begins. Ribbons of ice curling up from, and back into the ground. Late fall. Night keeps getting longer. It is a time of introspection, at least for me. There have been many changes in my life, and the lives of those around me, in the past year. I've reached up and out, but can feel myself bending in, retracing my path, looking at it from a slightly different point of view. Yes, I've got a serious case of the November thinkies. Yet, even now, still, I can see the sensuousness of the ice crystals in the photo above, and long for that natural kind of freedom.
WTF is she talking about? LOL - I'm not sure. About to take my walk and think about it some more.
Sometimes change comes slowly. Continents shift. Glaciers grind. Sometimes change comes with a jerk. Faults jump. Rock or mud or snow tumbles. When all is said and done, the landscape is different. But it is still the landscape.
I am going to tell you how this past weekend went, but first...
I have a little exercise for you, if you care to partake. Click on the video below (way below) of guitarist Erik Mongrain playing his song "Fates" from the album of the same name (a most wonderful album - I remember waiting for it to be released a couple of years ago so I could get it - you can listen to more of his work at his website). Then click on the picture above and just look at it while listening to the song. Write something if you feel so moved. Then come back here. Or don't bother and just keep reading.
When I look at this painting, I see the rocks, the butterfly (chaos!), the strings, the mango and the hickory nut (at least that's what the green thing looks like to me). I see balance. But it's precarious. I see earth, sky, life. I see connection. This piece of Randy's is a new one to me. I'd asked him for his "most surreal" piece to illustrate a blog post that is - as I'm writing this - unwritten. I know what I want to write about, but I have no plan. Well, I had a plan last night when I was trying very unsuccessfully to write it. Hours spent with just bits and pieces spewed. So this morning I decided to try something different. I put this picture up and listened to Erik's CD and started writing. I chose the song "Fates" to link to below because that was what was playing when I got to that point in my writing. Weird.
Last Friday night, author Stephen Elliott came here to this part of the world to read from his latest book. It did not go at all as I would have liked it to go. Yes, I was the one thinking it was a disaster. I don't like conflict. I hate it in fact. Sends me back to a place that is not a good one to even visit. I used to live there. I don't anymore. At least not much. My husband mentioned that it seemed as if I just melted away while all the ruckus was going on. Melted might not be the right word. More like what happens when you put a styrofoam peanut in a microwave. It shrinks and shrivels.
Earlier in the day, I'd gone through The Journey in New York City. It is an art installation of seven shipping containers, interiors each designed by a different artist, exploring the journey of one young woman trafficked into the sex industry. My reasons for wanting to experience this work are many-fold. As erotica writers we want to portray sex in a positive way - because that is the way we believe that it should be. But in this world, it is not always so. I personally don't know what the kind of life shown in these containers is like, but I kept remembering a friend I'd visited once. She had been a prostitute. It had not been a glamorous life. She drove me around her town and showed me the places she'd known - a tour guide of sorts. It was one of the more surreal nights of my life. Here's a stanza from a poem I wrote about that experience - wrote it years ago - and still it's unpublished despite sending it out over and over again. It's a good poem - one with truth in it. At least I think it is. But sometimes I don't know how good a judge I am of my own work. I'm still learning about writing.
Tonight you do the reverse division.
Figure the numbers;
nights on the streets times number of tricks.
Slam head-on into the immensity of it all.
I'd read about The Journey - this work of art, quite awhile back, but just recently saw it mentioned on Violet Blue's blog here, and knew I had to go. I am so grateful she posted that it would be in NYC or I might have missed it. The installation is not at all pleasant. But I let myself experience each "passage." The second container, dark and noisy - you just close your eyes and listen - was the one that got to me. It was not easy. In fact it was damn hard. I was not alone, but I forced myself to not hang on to my companion. I let myself go to places I've not gone in awhile.
Some of us are damaged children. We hide the scars. Or wear them for all the world to see. Or something in between. We doubt ourselves. Refuse to believe others when they try to tell us there is something good about us. Some of us write. I started writing when I was young. But I stopped. I listened to the loud voices telling me that writing was not something worthwhile, and not to the ones whispering this is good. It took me many years to get back to my "river." Stephen Elliott, in Why I Write, speaks of this river. I knew exactly what he was talking about when I read that.
Between each container, you pass into a between place, through those large black hanging strips that you see on loading docks. A place to catch your breath. You stand on the pavement, back in the city momentarily. Then you push your way through into another space. Maybe one made to be a room, dirty with smells that make you want to retch, but you don't. Or maybe a gallery of surreal snapshots, the photographer himself standing in for the prostitute, following their instructions. Stand like this. Turn this way. One of the shipping containers is a black hole. At least that's what it seemed like to me. Walking towards a oval shape of such light-eating nature, I had to put my hand out for fear of bumping my head. But there was no "there" there, and I stood completely surrounded by nothingness. That was the experience for me. At the end of the last container, when you're almost done, there is a narrative piece about how this young woman is doing. I can't remember the words, but I can remember starting to feel panicky, because for the first time I was touching the hem of my own trauma again. I'd done the long work to move past it years ago. But it never completely leaves. Lately I've been in a place where those days seemed a washed out memory. Did I go through that? What exactly is it that I remember?
When we emerged back into the busy midday streets, I was shaky. We wandered over to Washington Square Park where I talked and my friend listened and I hoped it wouldn't start raining. It was the first of many times over the weekend that I would cry in public. We walked through the streets on our way to Grand Central Station where we were to meet Stephen. I'd met him before, I knew what he looked like. There were too many people there and I couldn't focus on faces. We talked on our cell phones and found each other. Finally we were on the train.
We got to my house and ate tacos my husband had cooked. They tasted wonderful. I was worried. It was raining and that maybe would keep people away. It did. Friends did show up. There was a part of me that was surprised at that. The bookstore lady - who had snarled into my life a couple of days before - came back to snarl some more. I didn't want to be bitten, so I retreated like a beaten bitch with her tail between her legs. Maybe I would have done something different if I'd been somewhere other than in my scared little girl place. But maybe not. And what's done is done. Something shifted and now the landscape is changed.
The next morning, I drove through rain and fog, while Stephen sat in my back seat, typing on his computer. At one point I mentioned that I'd hardly spoken with him the whole time. He said he'd noticed that. My friend was in the front seat. We talked. He talked to Stephen. We all sat quiet. I dropped Stephen off at his next stop, a cute little town full of places for weekending New Yorkers. It was hard for me to say goodbye to him. I felt like I'd missed something. Something crucial.
And so here I am, trying to express feelings that can't really be put into words.
I think of a quote from Andre Breton - "All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name."
I think of when I was thirteen and wanted to be a writer. There was a lanky, stringy-haired boy, he looked like a young Neil Young, and he wrote haiku about the end of the world while I wrote about sun shining through trees. I liked him. He liked me. I was attracted to him. I was scared of him. One day he put his arm around my shoulders and I jumped. He never tried again.
I gave up writing. But it never gave up on me. Now I'm back, but have no idea where I'm going.
Like Stephen, I write to communicate, but I need to be able to communicate my truth, and I've been afraid to, because fear kept me safe. If I no longer fear... If I look at the truth...
It hurts to see the truth. To look past my ugliness and see something good.
And then to let other people see us as we really are.
It's usually not a pretty sight. But maybe the most beautiful of sights.
Tonight I hit a deer - a huge 8 point buck - in my little Mini Cooper. It just leaped over a guardrail and into the front of my car. Deer got away (cop said "he's been taking out cars for 4 years). I was unhurt - though a bit shaken. My car needs body work (though the engine looks fine and I drove it home) - there may be a sensor wire shook loose or something. Sucks. I just made my last payment on it last month. So tomorrow I start dealing with insurance.
Am fucking glad this didn't happen before or over this past weekend. I'm working on a post about that. But right now I think I'm going to go have a relaxing beverage and chill out.
This past week I turned my world upside down - and though I want to write about what's going on in my mind right now - I just can't seem to form my thoughts tonight. So I went to YouTube and typed in "Upside Down" and this song came up. I'd not heard it before (yes, I've been living under a rock). Not only do I like Jack Johnson, but the lyrics fit just perfectly with my thoughts.
And yeah, I'll post about the absolutely surreal two days that were this past Friday and Saturday, when Stephen Elliott was here - but that's for tomorrow morning when my mind is hopefully clearer. In the meantime enjoy this catchy tune.
Life is crazy these days - in good and bad ways - but even the bad ways may turn out to be good. Do you know what I mean? When you're in a situation that from most angles looks to be one of the worst you could ever lay eyes on? But could also be one of the best? I'm in the middle of that right now. The most frustrating thing is I want to sit down and write about all this - but I don't have the fucking time!
I'm in the thick of a busy weekend where my Erobintica life merges and overlaps and soaks into (sorta like wine spilled on a favored tablecloth) my "other" writing life. I've organized a reading by Stephen Elliott and he's going to be here tomorrow, literally HERE, staying overnight at my house so I can drive him to his next gig in upstate NY on Saturday. So, I'm trying to figure out all the things I need to get ready for that (remember to clean the damn bathroom and the cat litter boxes), get some food, deal with some stupid shit (I promise I won't go on and on about idiot asshole landlords), and be all ready to go into NYC in the morning to meet a friend and then meet Stephen at Grand Central Station and head back here.
And how did all this come to pass? From long ago (well, not THAT long ago) over at Alison Tyler's blog where I read this post (well, damn, can't get a direct link - it's the Dec. 24 2008 posting Stuffing My Stockings) - and I followed it to The Rumpus. And fell in love with The Rumpus. And gradually came to read more of Stephen's writings - some for the first time, some again, like those in some erotica collections I have. Then I signed up to take a class from him in NYC, Writing From Experience. I wrote about that here. Then I read an advance copy of his latest book, The Adderall Diaries as part of "the lending library." I posted about that here. Then I responded to his query of those folks to host readings. And now it's happening. Right at a time when a bunch of other shit is happening in my life. Much of it my the result of my own doings. But I don't regret anything, because it has all gotten me to where I am now and it's getting me to where I'm going (which I have no fucking clue where that is).
I know this post probably makes no sense. But I don't care. I'll post a lot more after the weekend.
Shanna Germain was kind enough to send me a poem for my other blog (what other blog? you might be asking) - which is called Poetry Liner Notes. Yes, I have another life. My erotic writing life and my other writing life have been mixing for awhile now, but now I think they're going in the blender.
So, please take a minute to wander over and read Shanna's hot poem, Kindle, and read what she says about how the poem came about.
Even though I am not a Maine resident - yet - I watched yesterday's election - mainely (ha, yeah, a pun) Maine's Same-Sex Marriage People's Veto, Question 1. Sadly, the results were not in the favor of the No on 1 folks. The results were close - last I checked they were 53 percent for and 47 against (in other words 53 percent against gay marriage). But I'd been hoping that Maine would make me proud to be a future resident. Since I live in a state that allows gay marriage - and duh! the world didn't come to an end - I've watched other states struggle with this. It makes me sad. My oldest daughter did some work for the campaign (for same-sex marriage) years ago, when she was at college in Maine, that this election overturned. If they're still at it when we get to Maine (a few years away still) - you can bet that I will volunteer my time so that those who want to marry can.
Friday night I went to see Where The Wild Things Are with a couple of my favorite guys. It was an excellent movie. Emotionally moving (yeah, I cried). Amazing soundtrack (the above embedded clip features Karen O and the Kids). Visually stunning. The structures in the movie reminded me of Andy Goldsworthy's work - I have his "River and Tides: Working with Time" DVD. (found a snip of it to embed). I am very fond of stone and wood. Have dreams of building stuff like that when we get to Maine.
And since I'm in a wild mood... (I hope to get to see the Rock Bottom Remainders play someday)
here's some more wild...
and one last bit of beautiful wildness before I go and write some wild sex (I'm doing NaNoWriMo).
There's a pile of reviews that I've neglected over the past few months - real life can be a bit distracting. But I'm finally getting to them (in some cases I have to reread because being a woman of a certain age, I forget stuff). I posted one on Amazon for Alison Tyler's "Pleasure Bound" and she posted it on her blog today. So I'm linking to that. Yes, this is a lazy post, hahaha. I'll have a proper post up later.
Amour, ardour, bad intentions, biologic urge, burn, carnality, craving, desires of the flesh, eroticism (yay!), horniness, impure thoughts (plenty), itch, lustfulness, nasty thoughts, nature, passion, prurience, sexual appetite, sins of the flesh, urge to merge, weakness of the flesh, wickedness - these are your lusty euphemisms courtesy of this book.
And as soon as I came across "bad intentions" I thought of this song by this band. 'Nuf said.
This morning my horrorscope told me to "use euphemisms" and I went aha - I know what I'll do for a blog post today! So I whipped out one of my favorite thesauri, The Bald-Headed Hermit and the Artichoke, and started pondering which word/or words to euphemize. Hmm, guess that's not a word. Oh well.
So, while thumbing through, occasionally being distracted by one of the lovely old naughty pictures they use to illustrate with, I found my word. And it is definitely my word. It is definitely one of my favorite conditions to be in. There are a lot of emphemisms, so I'm going to pick out some for today from the this word and then on subsequent days hit the see alsos.
Aroused (see, Lust, Promiscuous, Wet)
accensus libidine - okay, I had to google this one - it's latin, possibly for "inflamed by lust" - sounds good.
begging for it
brimming
chucking a spread (hahaha)
cocksmitten (I like this one)
cuntstruck (this too)
dripping for it
feeling fuzzy
feeling the power of the pussy
fresh
frisky
fruity
fuckish (I like this one too - "I'm feeling a bit fuckish tonight dear")
EGYPT (eager to grap your pretty tits - what a hysterica acronym - I will now giggle everytime I hear the word)
getting juiced up
goatish
having hot nuts
having hot rocks
having an itch
having peas in the pot
hawking one's mutton
horn mad
horning
horny
horny as a rhino
hot in the biscuit
in a lather
in heat
insatiable
intemperant (this is the second time I've come across this word this week and it always gets the red squiggly line treatment even though it is a word)
lathered up
lecherous
lewd
libidinous
licentious
lubricious
lust proud
maris appentens
NORWICH (another acronym - (k)nickers off when I come home - according to this English soldiers used this in letters to their sweehearts during the war)
on the make
on the prowl
randy as a three-legged grasshopper (and that's pretty randy)
raunchy
ready to rut
ruttish
salty
sexed up
suffering from lackanookie (ha!)
syrupy
tumbling ripe
turned on (duh)
wanton
weak in the knees
willing
worked up
and sadly, last on the list (sorry for the earworm all you folks of a certain age)
yummy in the tummy
So, that's not the entire list. Does anyone have an good ones that they like to use?
Thank you once again HTMLGIANT for directing me to another wonderful place: the fucking word of the day. With words like kowtow, milieu, fugacious, and turbid, what's not to love?
From their "About" page:
Let’s say you’re trying to learn the word assiduous.
Here’s the example sentence that dictionary.com gives:
But he was a man who by assiduous reading, through his devotion to literature, had become the quintessential successful gentleman, a man who could hold his own with the most cultivated companions.
and here’s The Fucking Word of the Day’s:
He was crippled by her assiduous dedication to the blow-job she was performing on him.
Now, which one do you think you’ll remember in ten minutes?
That there is our new driveway. We don't live there yet. Not sure when we will. There's nothing there to live in yet. But this is exactly what I had imagined, this gravel path up and into the future. I can't wait to get up there and see it for myself. This picture was taken last Friday by my husband.
Words are filling my head, and I am wanting to sequester myself in order to allow them the time to be released, but life currently has other ideas. I've written half a dozen new poems in the past week, and there are stories simmering and even the first inklings of a novel. At least this weekend is filled with writing group meetings, so the pressure can be let off a little. Otherwise I think I might burst. Yesterday I was at The Cloisters in NYC, a place I've never been before (why I don't know), with a dear friend, and it was an experience that is producing poems at a furious rate. Some may end up here, I don't know.
The image above has nothing to do with The Cloisters, but the whole idea of seclusion is embodied by this image.
Yeah, you read that right. This post is me being lazy and not wanting to do two separate posts.
First in the just plain fun department - let's hear if for horny old women! (I'm a proud card-carrying member):
And now for something completely different. Actually, in all seriousness, this is quite sad if you ask me. Last night my husband called me downstairs to listen to this story on NPR (you can read it and/or listen to it by clicking on that link) about an artificial virginity device that is causing quite a stir in Egypt (go read it just for the wonderful glass ceiling quote). But virginity is such a BIG FUCKIN DEAL to many many many people, not just in other cultures but even our own, that while this story is good in how it points out the hypocrisy involved (ye olde double standard), what it doesn't even touch on is the "girl/woman as possession" angle. This topic riles me on so many levels. So, rather than go into a rant that will just put me in a bad mood, I'm going to skip on over to a favorite reference book, and list some euphemisms for that overly fetishized piece of tissue.
Hymen - from the Greek Hymen, god of marriage, and hymen, wedding song (or cry).
That seems to be how I've spent the last ten years of my life. Seeking, looking, searching, wandering, wondering, hunting, digging, tracking, examining, exploring. The list of synonyms for what I've been doing is probably endless. Have I found anything? Yes. No. Many things. Nothing. Has it all just been a search for meaning? Maybe. Most likely I'll spend the rest of my life the same way. Sometimes I think - that's the point. To keep learning. I've been learning a lot lately. About myself. Some of these lessons, others in my life might not like. But I think my direction is to try and make them understand that this is me, it's always been me. Nothing has really changed. Even though it may seem that everything has. There are many sides to me. Some have not been seen before except in sidelong glances. But they're not new.
I don't know what all this means, other than - keep moving forward. Ardent has it's origins in words meaning "to burn." I'm not sure how that fits in, but it does.
and I'm sure you're all wondering - where's the erotica? don't worry - it's infusing everything these days.
Life has a funny way of happening to us. Today I know what direction I'm going in. There is a peace and a sadness in knowing. I'll be writing more here. But for now I have to be quiet with myself. Let the lessons I've learned sink in and become a part of me.
These days I definitely am feeling my way through a crossroads. Just maneuvering on instinct. It's coming up on the one-year anniversary of some significant events in my life. Starting this blog (in December 2008) was one of them. The loss of a friend was another. The beginning of a friendship, another. And that friend would also be lost. The continued strengthening of a connection with an old friend was also happening. And continues. I sometimes worry about losing him too.
I came back from the weekend to find another rejection in my inbox. This means that all the stories I'd submitted (granted not many) have been rejected. I have nothing out there right now. Yes, I am disheartened. Mainly because I don't believe I'm bringing all of myself to my writing. I need to do that, but it's damn scary. But that is not going to stop me. I can feel that in my gut. I'm not on a freeway, I'm on a pot-holed, rutted, overgrown back road. With no map. So, I'm gonna get out and walk for a bit. I'll keep posting - not sure what - I'm thinking on that.
My weekend is starting early - tomorrow I'm heading out for a weekend of camping in the rain. Don't you wish you could come too? So, nothing from me till Monday probably. Have a good one.
Awhile back I went on a Stephen Elliott bender. I just watched this again and in case you haven't seen it, I figured I'd embed it (I love the word embed, hahaha).
I am working on a poem with this song playing over and over in the background. Yesterday I sat on a bench with a dear friend by the Hudson River outside the new Poet's House and while listening to Natalie Merchant sing, we talked, working to bridge years. This was the last song she sang and right now I'm fucking crying while I listen to this and work on the poem. I hope it is a good one. It is a good friendship.
I've not been able to concentrate well this week, though I'm writing a lot. So blog posts have not been top of the list. But you know me. Can't let more than a few days pass without writing something here. So, I thought I'd post one of Randy Lagana's photos and just free write from it. I love this photo. A lot. Hey! How about you join in and free write something in the comments! Come on, don't be scared.
Click play and then read this while the music is playing - then just let the song finish and sit with the words. Or leave. Or comment. Or nothing. I'm just free-writing here.
perversion (not gonna type the pronunciation because I don't know how to make my letters do those things)
noun
-the alteration of something from it's original course, meaning, or state to a distortion or corruption of what was first intended
-sexual behavior or desire that is considered abnormal or unacceptable
Origin late Middle English: from Latin perversio(n-), from the verb pervertere - 'turn around'
(or another source says it means 'to corrupt').
I keep wishing I'd taken Latin.
From The Bald-Headed Hermit and the Artichoke - An Erotic Thesaurus, I found these euphemisms - though it's funny, pervert/perversion is not really a word that's generated a lot of them - maybe because the word itself is not one that is considered perverted.
abnormal, bent, creepy, crud, defective (just a wee bit judgmental?), degenerate, depraved, deviant, dirty, dissolute, freakish, fucked, gooner (?), grody, gross, grotesque, into a particular scene, into kink, into sick shit, kinky, marv (ha!), odd, off, otway (? ?), panty thief (hmmm, maybe Blogger is, for taking Alison'sPanty Parade blog), peculiar, perv(y), pervie, pervo, prevert (always a favorite), queer, rotten, rough, secko, sick, sid, sinful, smarmy, strange, twisted, twisty, unhealthy, unnatural, viscious (think it's supposed to be vicious), warped, watson (I really wonder at the origin of this one), wicked
Personally, I don't think most of these fall under the definition of euphemism - other than maybe gooner, panty thief, or watson (I was not able to find an explanation of that one in a few minutes googling - now I'm really curious). Many of the words seem judgmental (I know, I know - many people are) - and I'm sure that the continuum has folks considered kinky by some thinking someone else is really into sick shit and that person thinks another is even more warped.
At the somewhat recent eroticist's dinner, it struck me that as "normal" as we all seemed, many many many people would consider us perverts. I think we'd all wear that badge with pride. Maybe it's because we've thought about it so much while writing that we're more sure of ourselves (in other words, we don't think we're unhealthy) and more aware of the great variations in what turns one on and pops one's cork (yeah, more euphemisms).
Yay! We have a new Beginner's Ball offering from Scarlet Greyson - her first time at the helm of BB. So please head on over there and join the conversation. It's been awhile since we've had one and there are some great questions.
As she says, "New things are often scary." For those of us who are fairly new to the erotica world, we find that many things, from rejections to the "darks specters" of our own minds, instill fear. Fear that we'll fall. How do you conquer that? Go to Scarlet's blog and let us know, whether you're new at this or been doing it for years.
The Beginner's Ball series was started by writers Helia Brookes, Marina St. Clare and myself. Helia's stepped back for awhile and Scarlet Greyson has joined us. We hope to address issues of interest to new eroticists and more experienced writers as well. This series travels blog to blog.
When I first started this blog, I put up the "Content Warning" page. I soon dropped that though. My reasons are myriad. I don't consider my "content" to be all that outrageous. And I honestly believe that people should be responsible for themselves when it comes to looking for imformation. Also, I wanted people to find my blog. At the time the warning page was known to stop the spiders. Supposedly that's been fixed. Those warning pages are like the entry pages to some websites - just a waste of time (especially the ones that make you wait through a seemingly endless animation). I use the internet to find information. And yeah, I'm an adult. And a parent. Speaking as a parent, if you don't want your kids "accidentally" finding something, it's your responsibility to police them. And yeah, kids are sneaky. But if they are, you have to ask yourself why. That's a whole other subject. *puts down on list to tackle*
But still. I have no control over what some person somewhere is doing. When you do a google search - or any other search for that matter - you get a little snip of what the results are. You can filter your searches too if you know you don't want to find "untoward" things. Needless to say, I don't filter my searches at all. But I did a little test. I clicked the safe search button and then typed in "erobintica." Usually (without filters) - my blog is the first result (duh, I'm the only erobintica out there) - but with the safe search, it was not. My amazon profile was. But my blog did not show up - a lot of other folks blogs did with links to mine. It's all so silly. *goes to undo safe search so I don't piss myself off*
It is up to you whether you click on something or not. And it's up to you what you search for. Nobody lands on my blog searching for "apple pie recipes" - at least not yet. ;-) Though now that I've typed in "apple pie recipes," maybe they will. *Waves*
I find it amusing to see what searches have brought folks to my blog. Personally, I think most of them are probably disappointed, since it's obvious from what they typed in that they were looking for porn. My Blow Hard Tour post still is landed on a lot. All those folks looking for dick sucking. Most recently someone typed in "euphemisms for sucking dick" and guess what? A portion of my post was a list of such words. So, they found what they were looking for. I think that's a good thing.
Personally, I don't like the warning page. I go through it when I'm going to a blog that I know is worth looking at. But ya know - they're scary. OMG, what horrible things lie beyond this curtain?
I don't know what is up - but it seems that now Alison Tyler (who's had her blog for how many years?), is behind the curtain. Here's her "official website." And some of her other blogs were taken down (makes me sad because one of them had a photo I'd sent her for it). Right now she doesn't need all this hassle. She's always posting her search strings. We know what folks are looking for when they find her blog. Hmm. Well, I was going to link to a particular post and I can't seem to.
Well, I need to go sweep floors and get some stuff done. For some reason, this whole thing pisses me off. I will be back to ponder it more.
I'm curious as to what other folks think about the content warning page - I know some of you use it and some don't.
So, first I picked a picture to post. Because I couldn't think of anything to write about. At least for a quicky blog post. This is a picture taken from our trip to DC. But this post has nothing to do with that trip or this picture really.
I've not been writing lately. Not much at all. A blog post here or there. Some scribbled notes. But whenever I sat down to write, nothing came. Blank. I hate it when that happens. It's happened many times since I started writing again - oh about 10 years ago. I now know that it'll pass, if I'm patient with myself (which often I'm not).
Today I started writing again. Haven't finished a damn thing, and everything has been a start for one thing in particular. I'm not happy with any of them. But, the thing is, I'm writing.
Hopefully I'll be able to start writing more and more.
I'm thinking about work. Today is Labor Day. But instead of going to the parade or having a BBQ or any of that, we're moving my daughter back to the dorms at college. This would be her senior year, but she changed majors and transferred schools and so has an extra year to make up. This year my son will have to start thinking about college (he's a junior). My oldest is on the far coast, living with her boyfriend and their puppy. Raising my children has been a labor of love. Blood, sweat, tears. Satisfaction. Pride. Worry. Even when they are all grown and gone, I will still be a mother. That can never be undone.
That has been the work of my life up till now. Oh, I've had jobs, but they pale. Now, I work at being a writer. Lately I've not been working very hard. (I know, I know, go easy on myself). Tomorrow will be a day after a transition. The house will be quiet - my husband doesn't make too much noise in his basement office. My time will be my own. I hope to write. I hope that what's rattling around in my head can find a way out. I woke this morning at 3:30am, brain buzzing, but with nothing even worth getting up to jot down. Now I have to get dressed and prepare for the day.
The leaves are actually starting to fall. Just brown and crumpled. Weeds are going to seed. There is a dryness in the air after our soggy summer. Change.
I find myself ... sorta ... not sure what to say ...
Craving alone time. Down time. No distractions. I've not been able to write more than a few coherent strung-together sentences in days - even my emails are short and to the point. Maybe it's the fault of that transition time that we're in - summer to fall, vacation to back-to-school. Not to mention personal transitions that I'm going through. I keep hoping that something will spark in my brain and my fingers won't be able to stay away from the keyboard. But that hasn't happened yet. I don't dare say (or write) the B word. Rhymes with cock. ;-)
So here it is, my 200th post since I started this blog Dec. 13, 2008 and I have nothing of any importance to say. I do have ideas, but all of them are of the work other than just writing has to be done type. Hopefully this week. Have I said that before?
