Alright, so I’m dealing with something… kind of weird right now, and I don’t really know how to talk about it.
I don’t know how to balance the permeating eroticism of my art, with not being secretive about it.
When my mom asks how my writing is doing, how do I tell her all I’m writing right now is a novella about a teenager (calm down, he’s nineteen) who’s fallen into debt slavery and his fear-triggered erotic fixation with the ~40-year-old man who bought him?
When my dad asks how my art is going, how do I show him how much better I’ve been getting if all I have is pictures of pretty boys with tears in their eyes making moues at the viewer, trying to hold their torn clothes on?
Well, I’m actually really bad at facial expressions. But that’s what I’m working on at the mo. I haven’t been posting those for obvious reasons.
I mean, I do other stuff, too. But I’ve been pretending that this isn’t the part I care about the most, and it’s hard. I don’t want to deal with the consequences of being an erotic artist. It’s stupid. It’s cheap. The only emotion I’m going to elicit is god damn and fuck.
I’m using the singular there because those are the same emotion.
As an artist, and a consumer of this sort of thing, I know that’s not true. I know how many emotions can be explored through erotic writing. But the people who don’t get you? Really don’t get you. I don’t want to be judged like that. I want people to understand, but they won’t.
This isn’t frivolous contemplating; I lived this. I know people will judge me hideously if they aren’t already like me. I used to be pretty open about this stuff – and it backfired hard. It hurt. People did not like me. I made them deeply, deeply uncomfortable – which is entirely fair. Of course I don’t want to shove a single word of my incredibly violent erotica in anybody’s face. Nobody should see this stuff if they don’t want to. There is a reason I’ve been putting trigger warnings on my work since before trigger warnings were a Thing.
But it means so much to me.
So where’s the balance between being truthful about what I do, and keeping sexual things private?
I don’t have an answer. I’m just… dealing. I actually feel pretty awful about being conflicted about this at all; the correct answer is, clearly, never tell anybody anything. Keep your sick fantasies to your damn self.
Don’t worry, I’m not turning this blog into a den of iniquity. I’ll keep it fairly tame, and if any of the stuff I’m talking about makes it on here, it’ll go under a password lock. As it stands, most of my old work is sickening, and my newer work isn’t finished enough to go public, so it’s moot for at least a few months.
Ugh. I hate feelings.
They just don’t make any sense.