I thought about making a separate Works in Progress page, but I like the idea of a blog post so I can update my progress occasionally and followers can, well, follow along. Continue reading
So far this year, I have submitted four short stories to various editors. I have one more looking for a home, so I diligently peruse calls for submissions. Most calls for short stories are very specific – e.g., zombies, sex at work, Christmas – and since my unsubbed story is already written, I have to find an appropriate call.
I’ll admit that I never thought I would be able to write an erotic story based on someone else’s prompt. Sexy is subjective, isn’t it? Some things just simply do not turn me on. One of the calls did turn me on, so I plunged in (my hero did some plunging in of his own, too). Continue reading
This post is not about my secret life, it’s about the infamous tome published c. 1890, authored by a man known only as Walter. The book, My Secret Life, was written as a memoir and is often considered a work of Victorian erotica, which it most certainly is not. It is unabashedly an impressive work of pornography. Unlike a more famous erotic memoir, John Cleland‘s Fanny Hill which has a plot and a resolution (actually a happy ending), My Secret Life is more a series of vignettes. It does have the elements of fiction: There are running characters; there is development of Walter’s psyche; there is a progression of time. But it lacks any plot. Weighing in between 790 and 1173 pages (depending on the version; this one is cited), My Secret Life is the epitome of the rambling sexual memoir, a prime example of that particular style of Victorian porn. Continue reading