By Neale Sourna (Guest Blogger)
I write erotic fiction, both soft and hardcore, and sensuous and romantic game texts, and do so boldly. And even call my writing consulting site Writing-Naked.com, because I love writing, love to write, and love to have written—and yet I find, repeatedly, a middle class, middle American, Midwest, working class vibe of, “Hm, writing, that’s not REAL work, a REAL job you can do with pride, tell your grandma, and pay all your bills with.”
Like I had total pride and all my bills paid back when I was a secretary / executive assistant / office manager or retail salesperson or whatever. Absolutely not.
And my mom and grandma know what I write, even if they don’t read it.
“They” never leave you alone, nor does the noise in your own head, except unless you can prove you can afford to live in Anne Rice’s mansion, Stephen King’s gothic estate, or give the forever waving and REAL jobless Queen of England a run for her pound Sterling by being “Harry Potter’s” multimillion, writing mum.
And, probably, even then, you’ll have to tell yourself—until you believe it, too, and then some—that sitting on your bum, writing “little stories,” especially “little, romantic and erotic stories” IS REAL. And a guilt-free occupation.
That it’s more than okay.
That it’s really a breath of air filling your lungs, and a thing that keeps you sane.
Or, maybe, that’s just me.
And what does this have to do with Keanu? I’ll get to that, just give me a little more leeway, okay?
Astrologically, I’m designed for writing and for giving a fairly equal siding to female and male points of view. Really, my stars say so, and so do pretty much any personality test I take. I’ve been mistaken for male—which I, slightly, encourage—because when I write for a male character, he should sound male in tone and attitude and even piss off a few women and endear himself to male and female alike, and likewise for a female character.
So, guilty as I may feel sometimes for sitting about writing my stories, as opposed to WORKING at REAL WORK or even doing contract writing for others, crafting writing they can’t do, just like a carpenter, a plumber, or ball player does what they can’t do, it’s wonderful and rewarding to help another AND get paid.
But, oddly, working for someone else, for me, isn’t like being fully immersed and so deep into my own stories that people have to give me an extra moment to snap out of my creative writing trance, wherein I’m beyond the mountains upon the ancient Central Asian steppes with Amazon warriors or living on the Old West plains caught between Native Americans and their usurpers, or getting seasick on the run bobbing around on the cold and stormy high North Ireland seas with my lover and my new husband in pursuit, before I’m back in normal and suburban Cleveland, Ohio, and can answer.
There is a transcendence in writing—while writing and in the reading of it—or editing, for that matter. I can’t say how many times I’ve gotten super-involved in a story I’m editing, and have to break away and remind myself I’m not reading for mere enjoyment, I’m editing!
It’s a similar transcendence felt when loving another or even when loving certain performer’s performances. Like a favorite musician or artist or film star.
Love, like any lively story, has to be given a solid base, but then it grows and needs to be examined a little, trimmed a little, added to, and—on occasion—just thrown away, as unusable and more work than it’s worth, as it drags or misdirects you from where you need to go or can’t go, just now.
Sometimes I follow my favorites, sometimes I can’t, at the moment.
I try to always follow my heart, but I seem to trip myself up, here and there.
Perhaps, the same thing’s happened to you?
I mean, really, do you believe that working in an office or carpentry construction is so much harder than writing and so much MORE REAL? They’re not, not if you’re made for them. I’ve worked offices, I’ve constructed and painted and demolished. Each one takes a kind of focus that is necessary, to do what needs to be done; but not like the multilayers of BEING involved when you’re in love or are writing.
“In the heart, in the head, I won’t stay dead,©” said Captain James T. Kirk© eons ago, when locked in a false battle with Klingons© on his own ship, while a third alien entity watched, and kept all the anger, fighting, and resurrections from death going.
Feeding off their negative emotions.
What a concept.
Besides the odd rhyming of Kirk’s passionate statement, it was the heart core of the entire episode.
So, it is with lovers and writers; especially writers, because we ARE lovers extraordinaire. When you love, truly love a person or a performer or artist, you see their perfections AND their flaws, and how both shade and make them who they are, make what they do interesting.
Giving, if we take it, a chance for the possibility of freedom and new alliances, as in that long ago STAR TREK episode.
We all want to discover something new, something important in those we love and especially within ourselves. And, when you can love someone and when even the very viewing of your love match inspires others, that’s the best.
And, when you can see a performer you truly enjoy grow in voice (literally or written or visual, artistic voice) and emotional range and depth by loving each character or song or creation they make reflect a new facet of themselves—or more important—ourselves, that’s the best.
So many of us, as a group, but feeling always as if all alone in a barren landscape, far from the sight of anyone else, until we make a fool of ourselves, that is, and allowing this programmed thought of what should be important to us—only if it’s important to others, is bull.
And dangerous and deadly.
Feeling guilty because we feel a joy others can’t feel, in the things in which we take joy. But, in love, in sex, and in writing WE ARE GODS and can SHARE OUR JOY.
Lovers can make their love new again and their sex life new again, and deeper.
If one or both of you slip on a wig or play at a new character or share a new toy, there need be no guilt in the love and pleasure shared.
A performer, like a great student and kid in a class full of dolts, doesn’t have to apologize for being smart and good, and feel guilty for being who they are.
And I will make it a mantra.
I will write on my heart and soul and my mind which chases itself in circles about the silliest nonsense, that love is writing, and writing is love, and no one should ever be made to feel bad, or confused, or a waste of space or abuse and make themselves guilty for doing what they love, in loving who they love, or in loving what you or the ones you love do.
Even if your parents and your friends and everyone you went to school with don’t get it, that you work and that you … that I take pleasure in it.
And that it is my great joy to share it with you.
Now that’s love.
NEALE SOURNA loves Keanu Reeves, and sees nuances of humor and dramatic depth in his work, and needs to remember that when chickening out in displaying that loving fondness for his creative and individualistic performances at www.ProjectKeanu.com, which should get more articles, soon-ish. Neale is an erotic writer, or is that a writer who’s erotic? Both. Neale’s ghostwriting and editing site is www.Writing-Naked.com, first major nonfiction “Neale Sourna’s CuntSinger” cunnilingus manual, and award-winning fictions, soft and hardcore, free and purchase can be found at www.Neale-Sourna.com. See also: the Central Asian steppes are “All Along the Watchtower.” The Old West is “Laraina.” And Neale’s seasick lady “Becca.” Plus, “Heartwild Solitaire” the game.