I started reading when I was two. At least that’s what my parents told me. My guess is that they embellished the truth. Parents do that sometimes. Maybe because it makes them feel better about their parenting skills. Maybe because they want to make their kids feel better about themselves. Who knows? The reason why they bent the truth was not important to me. The fact that they did … well, that’s a different story, for a different time.
Back to reading now: my first clear memory of actually doing it on my own comes from when I was about six. It was a short story in my first grade Language book. I devoured that book in a few days. Then I moved on to fairy tales. By the time I was eight, I was reading Alexandre Dumas, Michel Zevaco, Mark Twain, Karl May, Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and plenty of Eastern European authors. I was completely addicted to reading. I still am.
My favorite reads were the love stories. To this day, my favorite romance books are The Mysterious Doctor by Alexandre Dumas (the father) and its sequel, The Marquis’ Daughter. I cried when I first read that story. As soon as I was done with it, I started reading it again. I finished it in two days. I cried like a fool … again. After my second reading, I put the books down for a few hours. Then I read them again. Can you guess what happened? Full blown crying crisis, that’s what happened.
I’ve read that story many times now. Every time, I cry a little … or a lot, depending on my own mood. There is something very touching about the love between the two main characters. But, what really gets to me, is Eve’s love for her mysterious doctor. It is absolutely perfect, no other way to describe it. Complete devotion. Complete surrender. Complete agony and ecstasy. Again: absolutely perfect.
For the first three decades of my life, I only read “clean” stories. Think Pride and Prejudice, or Sense and Sensibility. No graphic scenes in there. In retrospect, that was my loss. If you ask me, everyone should read some explicit content every now and then. If done right, graphic steamy scenes can make you aware of the intense sensations physical intimacy can bring. And if done wrong? Well, they’ll leave you scratching your head and wondering, “What in the world?” That’s not a complete loss either. Head scratching has stress relieving properties. But I’m digressing here.
Instead, let me tell you what happened about five years ago. Five years ago, I read my first R-rated book. It was a book by Kresley Cole (don’t laugh, it was a pretty good book for its genre). That’s when I first blushed reading a book. It took me about four years to finally tell someone what kind of books I started reading. Yes, I was prudish and fake. I know. I’m changing though.
After the shock of reading that kind of books passed, delight and slight guilt remained. And a tiny obsession too. For about a year, romance books were all I read. At first it was fun. The more I read though, the more disappointed I became. Especially when I started reading the newer “love stories”. There was no love there. There was no reason either. There was plenty of graphic sex. That’s about it. I felt like I was reading the same sex manual over and over, only the positions were rearranged. Same things, a different sequence.
Where was the emotion? Where was the selfless love that compelled Eve to give up everything for her doctor’s happiness? It wasn’t in these new romance books, that’s for sure. So I stopped reading them. I quit almost cold turkey. For the past couple of years, I’ve been reading mainly non-fiction.
Last year though, something changed. I got to a point where I felt emotionally empty. That’s a very bad place to be in. I wanted to turn to books and get “recharged” again, only I couldn’t find any books that I liked. So, in a moment of pure insanity, I decided to write something myself. Long story short, that’s why I’m here today. But, the truth is, I don’t have the right tools and vocabulary to write the kind of emotional stories I want to read … not yet. That’s what I’m still trying to learn. And that’s why I’m dabbling in “gag-inducing-mediocre-crap-mountain-climbing-short-stories”. (Ahem, I’m looking at you now, Mr. Periodically Demented.)
A few days ago, somebody (*cough, cough* *looks at Mr. PD again*) commented on my blog. It was the first legit comment on my blog. An exhilarating yet humbling experience also. I won’t get into details. I’m still trying to process it actually. But I’ll tell you something else: because of this new comment, I discovered Mr. PD’s own blog and … I was blown away.
The first story I read there was exactly the kind of story I’ve been trying to find, or to write. It has plenty of graphic, explicit, freaking R-rated content, beautifully balanced by wit, intelligent dialogue, and intense emotions. The kind of story that allows you to “lose your mind, to find your senses.” I love it.
So, if you’re looking for something good to read, try this short story from Periodically Demented. Or, for something even more beautiful, try Stay With Me. That’s my favorite story so far. Enjoy!
P.S. I’ve never liked false praise. If I had to choose between brutally honest bad feedback, no feedback, and false praise, I would choose the honest feedback first, and the no feedback second. I would never choose false praise. It’s a cowardly thing to offer, if you ask me. First, it would chip away at the trust I still have left in our inherent honesty. Second, it would make me stay a lousy writer, and you a disenchanted reader. Nobody wins.
I wrote this P.S. to explain why I’m really glad PD told me he gagged while reading “After the top.” I laughed really hard, and then started thinking of ways to make it better. Less nauseous. Maybe slip some graphic sex scenes in there? No, that won’t do it. That story is definitely not written in my voice. I’ll finish it nonetheless. It will be something to be ashamed of for years to come. Something future authors will love reading if only to say, “See, writing crap is OK when you first start. Even Ada-freaking-Ireland did it!”
So thank you again, Mr. PD. I’m very glad you gagged and lived to tell me about it.
Ada Ireland is a pen name I came up with for myself. Unashamed Writing is a name I came up with for my blog.
I’m lost for words.
Okay, no I’m not. I’m never lost for words. 😀 Ask any aspiring author why they write and, so far in my experience, they’ll give you the answers expected of them but not the honest ones, possibly because they don’t know the reasons themselves.
I’m a good enabler. Want to write? Show me you really mean it and follow it up with effort, then I’ll do what I can from within my own limited range to help. Want to grow pot? I have a green thumb, even if it is decades out of practice. Want to hide under your blanky, sucking your thumb and doing unspeakable things to Teddy? Fuck that noise. You’re on your own.
Here’s the thing. You actually and honestly do have talent. I’d buy your books. I read about 50 books a year, on average, and once I hit 100. True. I’m a buyer. A reader. A great supporter of the dark yet grand art of writing. I can like someone and still not waste my time and theirs if they’re eager but talentless.
About the erotica stuff I posted. It was part of a trilogy. 505,000 words were self-edited down to 380,000. Yes, I edited an entire book out of 3 books, and it still needs more. I also wrote it because it made me uncomfortable; massively uncomfortable. I’m not anymore, so it actually healed something inside me that was broken or incomplete. Writing has that power.
I’ve self-published 7 books. I only liked 1 of them from a personal preference perspective. I never marketed them. No blog, Twitter, fuckfacebook, nothing. Sales? Got a few. That wasn’t the point of it, though. I now live in a world where I’m an author with 7 books to my multiple names. I know why I’m doing this.
So thank you, Miss Ada, for the praise. I deserve it. 😀 Now it’s your turn.
Wait! How did I miss this comment? Especially the part about the green thumb. That would be a fantastic thing to have (more so if you live in Colorado. They legalized pot there not to long ago!
)
I read that Stephen King uses the following Rewrite Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft – 10%. So you cut more than 20% out of your first draft. Not bad.
I’d like to read your stories. I completely understand your point about not marketing your books for sale. In the end though, if the stories are good, they should be marketed and talked about. There is a difference between simply selling to someone, and helping them find something they’d truly enjoy.
I’ll get to reading your books soon.
P.S. Are you saying I have to give my blanky and my Teddy away? What about any other toys? 😉
When I write something I think is truly worthy of being published I’ll hire a professional editor (Wendig knows a good one) and I’ll try to get it into mainstream print. Until I write something I think can’t be done better, I’ll just keep writing for fun. The only reason I uploaded my shite as ebooks was so that my friends would stop hassling me to do it. I’m sort of glad I did, after that whole Hard Drive Annihilation Fiasco of 2014.
About reading my books, well, we’ll talk about that. You’re Miss Manners, so maybe I’ll let you read some of the more sanitised stories but some of them are going to stay out of your reach, up on the top shelf and with chairs removed so you can’t build a tower to reach those stories with.
I’m just going to completely gloss over the toy comment.
I have an idea, so I’m going to throw it out here in the public domain instead of just emailing it to you. Yes, this is a digital ambush. Ummm … no, you don’t need to go commando. Pull them up, please.
Ever heard of a collaboration? Two writers, one story. Wanna?
I’m being serious. I just had a brilliant idea for a story but it needs two distinct voices. I think we can deliver the kind of book you want to read and one I want to write, without any involuntary retching reflexes on my part, and no requirement for anything stronger than ‘heck’ (there, I said it, although it made me gag) on your part.
Do you know that part in the first Shrek movie where he (Shrek) sets out to save the princess but first has to choose someone to go with him? The donkey starts doing this weird dance and goes all crazy, “Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!” If you don’t know what I’m talking about we can’t be friends anymore! There is no excuse for not having watched the Shrek movies. I had to do it, so I don’t look kindly upon anyone who was spared the indignity!
*looks around embarrassed*
*”FINE!” she finally admits. “I actually thought the first movie was good. Nobody had to force me to watch it!”
*now that she got that off her chest, she’s freaking ready for adult talk*
Ahem, what I was trying to say, is that I’d love writing something together. Are you sure though? I spent these past three days working on Miss Boring’s story. It came out OK, but not as good as I wanted it to be. I’m posting it tonight and wait for feedback. If you need a vomit bag (or whatever they call those paper bags they give you on the plane) please let me know and I’ll send you one. Just don’t send it back, OK?
Shrek. I vaguely recall seeing bits of it, probably while I was at someone’s place minding their 2 YEAR OLD! Personally, I can’t stand Eddie Murphy even though he keeps hassling me to, y’know, hang out together and stuff. Tsk! He’s SUCH a try-hard.
If you want real story you go to Monsters Inc and Happy Feet. If you haven’t seen Happy Feet then, sorry, Sweetie, but we can only be acquaintances.
So, yes. You and I are going to write a story. Details by emails.