Fiction Fragments: Ronald J. Murray

Last week, Girl Meets Monster had a delightful conversation about how music inspires the writing process with J. Edwin Buja. This week, I welcome fellow horror writer, Ronald J. Murray.

IMG_20190909_184650Ronald J. Murray lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His fiction has appeared in The Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror 2017 charity anthology, Bon Appetit: Stories and Recipes for Human Consumption cannibal-themed anthology and recipe book, and the forthcoming Lustcraftian Horrors: Erotic Stories Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft from Infernal Ink Books. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association. You can find him enjoying his umpteenth cup of coffee at some ungodly hour while a film he’s seen a million times before plays in the background.

Three Questions

GMM: Tell me a little bit about your fragment. You gave me just enough to be hooked. Is this a traditional ghost story, or can I expect to see something different than the expected horror tropes?

RJM: Without giving anything major away, I can tell you that this story contains a lot of psychological elements, as in psychological manifestations of memories, feelings, and the consequences of actions taken in the past by two protagonists. These characters will be put through a gauntlet of horrors specially designed for them as individuals with some elements that are objectively observable and experienced by both.

In short, yes, there will be ghosts, literally and figuratively. But would I feel comfortable calling this a traditional ghost story? Definitely not.

What I hope to accomplish with this first novel, From Out of the Black Fog, is an anthology series of novels with new characters experiencing something different in an alternate version of Monongahela, Pennsylvania.

GMM: Speaking of tropes, I see that you have a short story in a collection called Lustcraftian Horrors: Erotic Stories Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft. What is the title of your story in this collection? Lovecraftian Horror is familiar to most people who read horror fiction, but the concept of Lovecraft meets erotica is intriguing. Have you written other horror erotica? What challenges did you face working within that subgenre?

RJM: The title of this short story is In the Labyrinth, about a sex-addict seeking extra-marital thrills that ends up wrapped up with a cult that worships the perverse fertility goddess Shub-Niggurath. I imagine that Lovecraft is rolling over in his grave at the creation of this anthology, considering his suspected aversion to sex and women.

I have had other horror erotica published, one of which was Cornelia in Bon Appetit. The biggest challenge I’ve faced working within the subgenre is weaving a sex plot in with a horror plot. I’ve reconciled the issue with the perspective that sex is one of the most intimate and vulnerable places a person can put themselves in. If something horrifying happens as a result, that subverts something that’s safe and pleasurable under normal circumstances. It’s a real Junji Ito solution!

GMM: Cannibalism is a taboo subject that makes a lot of people uncomfortable, which is probably why it is a recurring theme in horror fiction. One of my favorite fictional cannibals is Hannibal Lecter, because he is a complex character that blurs the line between the horror of murder and our fascination with the macabre. Which cannibals, real or fictional, inspired your short story in Bon Appetit: Stories and Recipes for Human Consumption?

RJM: I can’t say that I was inspired by a real or fictional cannibal to write this story. My inspiration for the cannibalistic antagonist in this story stemmed from the horrors of war. Doyle was a Vietnam War veteran who’d been separated from his unit during battle. He developed the taste for human flesh while surviving in the dense jungles of Vietnam until he was eventually rescued.

From Out of the Black Fog, A Novel by Ronald J. Murray

Lorne kept his eyes forward and high enough that he wouldn’t walk face-first into anything. He watched the glow and fade of streetlights illuminate the sidewalk, and he listened to the occasional whish of cars that rolled along Main Street beside him. He didn’t want to shift his vision elsewhere. He didn’t want to look up again and into any window that he’d passed. He just wanted to keep going forward, keep walking to his car, which he’d parked at the lot at the Aquatorium.

He looked up. His skin crawled. It’s like when your head knows there’s something you shouldn’t look at for too long or it’ll really screw you up, you just keep staring. You can’t help it.

He shut his eyes and turned his head. The snap motion was almost dizzying. He didn’t care. Then, he looked again. He swallowed hard. His eyes locked to it this time. He’d heard of people seeing their dead loved ones in their peripheral vision or in the faces of others while they grieved. It started like that, earlier in the day, but it devolved to this disturbing level.

In every window that he passed, he saw Amber’s face. Drained of color and cold, expressionless. Her empty eyes looked at him, unblinkingly. She followed him, seemingly crossed the alleyways he’d passed unseen, and appeared again in the dark windows of the next building. Over and over. When the window was large enough, he saw more than her face. He saw her hunched walk that kept pace with him. He saw her head kept turned nearly ninety-degrees to watch him.

No. He shut his eyes tight. He shook his head. No. He was cracking. That was it. That had to be it. He was having a psychotic break or something. You don’t see shit like this if you’re a normal person with a quiet normal life who loses a loved one just like everyone else in the world.

He turned his head. He opened his eyes. He began walking again. Someone passed him from behind, and he shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. He drew his arms tighter against his body. The person went into Jim’s Bar just ahead. The scent of fried food and cigarette smoke poured onto the street for a second.

Something thudded loudly beside him. Lorne jumped. A hand smacked glass beside him. Amber’s face stared through the square window of a thick wooden door that led to the apartments above a shop. Her hand was still pressed against the pane. The doorknob began to rattle.

Adrenaline found his limbs. He jogged away. People, he thought. I need to get around other people. He tore the door to Jim’s Bar open. A few patrons glared at him through a cloud of smoke illuminated by television screens. He took a few steps further inside and shot his eyes back and forth. He sucked a breath deep into his chest, and he hoped he wouldn’t encounter anything to extraordinary here.

Next week, I’ll be talking to EV Knight, so get excited. Do you have a fiction fragment to share? Send it my way at chellane@gmail.com. See you next week!

Fiction Fragments: Ron Gavalik

So, a few weeks have passed since we heard from Kristin Dearborn. Life and a holiday got in the way of progress, but this week I’m back on track with a visit from gritty Pittsburgh poet, Ron Gavalik.

Ron GavalikThe eternal search for truth in the dark forest of false prophets has been my life’s pursuit. As an author, it’s my role to explore and reveal the unique perspectives that broaden our understanding of the world. The poetry and stories I forge from whiskey-soaked memories and fervent observations awakens passions among devoted readers and ignites debates. When we engage in critical, independent thought we are then free to live our truths.

Raised by hard-boiled Catholic trade unionists in the Rust Belt of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, my writing style is a smooth and uninhibited reflection of the once gritty region. In total freedom, I bleed untamed language onto each page to capture the powerful moments of life. My words paint portraits of the hidden beauty that’s often lost within the madness of our struggles. Now grasp my hand, and we will walk this treacherous path together.

Read Ron’s work. Get cool rewards: Patreon.com/RonGavalik

 Three Questions

GMM: When did you begin writing poetry, and why?

RG: The first poem leaked out of my pen at the age of 20. The words were pure trash, some kind of whiny ode to love or some other horse shit. The ripping sound of that paper as I tore it from that overpriced journal was quite satisfying. I decided then and there life must be lived before writing truth. That’s what poetry is to me: the purest form of truth. If one is still grappling with their place in the world, their poetry is going to read like shit. When the poet knows something worth sharing, that’s music on the page. I told myself that if I were still alive at 40, I’d revisit free verse. I then spent my early adulthood years pursuing avant-garde journalism in the arts and politics. Reporting on the acts of others honed my writing skills and often threw me into the mix of often unique and sometimes dangerous situations. I also dabbled in blog essays, short fiction, and I wrote a novel that will never see the light of day. Twenty years later, I authored Hot Metal Tonic, my first poetry collection. It went #1 on Amazon in its first week. I’ve penned three more collections since, and last year The Pittsburgh City Paper named me the second best poet in Pittsburgh.

GMM: Your poetry has an edge and the tone often feels angry. Are you angry? Should I be angry? What angers you the most?

RG: As I said, my work is my truth. That truth encompasses a broad spectrum of emotions. Rage, joy, sadness, eroticism, faith, love, betrayal, it’s all represented in my work. I wouldn’t characterize my poetry as angry, but I do find that perspective interesting. What you find angry, I probably penned as a representation of sorrow. The good news, Michelle, is that sadness that fuels anger reveals your righteous mind. Now, as for a broader viewpoint on anger in society, I am perplexed how any person can make it through life and not feel fucking rage at the murder of people and the murder of our souls. That shows me the power of apathy under empire.

GMM: As a poet, do you feel more of a responsibility to speak the truth than you might in another art form? Is it easier to convey the emotional realities found in your poetry than it is in your fiction? Do you prefer writing poetry?

RG: I love this question, and it deserves a 20 page response. The short answer is this: the best writing in any form reveals truth. Nonfiction and poetry are the most obvious arenas to really delve into facts that lead to conclusive truths. However, we cannot ignore the power of fiction. The works I’ve read by George Orwell or Cormac McCarthy have revealed to me some of our most powerful truths. I like to believe my voice represents our generation. Let’s be honest, we live under the rule of empire that most of us believe can no longer be controlled. Therefore, we gravitate toward identity politics as we watch greed destroy the social contracts that once held our heads above water through the 20th Century. If we ever wish to retake control of our lives, we must seek out our truths. Responsible authors were born to help us on that journey.

Selected Poems from Gothic Riot Dreams, by Ron Gavalik

Hard Labor Love
I came up in Pittsburgh,
the Rust Belt of hard labor
with a deep love of community.
As children, we collected railroad spikes
from the tracks and we cut our shins
on random iron shards in slag hills.
Some of us were union middle-class
while others breathed the gray air of poverty.
That hardly mattered.
As we stood atop foothills
that overlooked the city skyline,
soot embedded under our fingernails,
we lived as kings and queens
who oversaw the future.

Skinny Cigarettes
The old cashier at the car dealership,
she chain-smoked skinny, long cigarettes
all day, every day.
Her voice sounded like a bullfrog
that recently learned how to curse and laugh.
The crease lines around her mouth
and the folds in her neck
conveyed a relaxed style, confidence
earned from a hard life
and dangerous choices.

Sometimes there were no customers
in front of the cashier’s window
and no mechanics around to bust her chops.
That’s when she’d rest her elbows on the counter
and cradle a skinny cigarette
between two fingers near her cheek.
That woman’s eyes would gaze outside,
glossed over in what looked like daydreams
about all those lovers in their graves,
and their cliché widows
with their tiresome grandchildren
and their lovely lives.

Back in the day,
men in gray suits and skinny ties
never could resist her,
but then again,
few ever tried.

Pause and Look Down
The best sidewalks
are discolored
from the blood of youth
and the tears of victims.
Those sidewalks
tell stories, they provide lessons
of hard choices under
difficult circumstances.
Jagged cracks in the concrete
resemble the struggle
of so many souls
long gone.

Next week, Girl Meets Monster welcomes Glenn Rolfe. Do you have a fragment you’d like to share? Send it to me at chellane@gmail.com. See you next week!

Fiction Fragments: Kenya Wright

Last week, Girl Meets Monster had a visitor from across the pond, Frazer Lee. This week, Kenya Wright stopped by to talk about whether or not women of color have a responsibility to include deeper messages about racism, sexism and other social justice issues in their fiction even when they are writing romances about vampires with double penises. That’s right, I said vampires with double penises.

author picKenya Wright wrote her first novel during her third year at UM Law school. She dropped out a month after the release and never looked back.

Words are power, and Kenya wants to be the greatest wizard that ever lived.

It’s an audacity to inspire and teach the healing of love through arousal.

It’s this crazy idea that love can not only help a reader escape, but the story can also teach the person about being human, while making them laugh, cry, and hot for more sex.

Three Questions

GMM: The opening of your story feels like a thriller with a promise of some horrific scenes, but is this story a romance? Is it part of a series? Without giving too much away, which characters form the main love interest? Is there a triangle, or does it get more complicated like one of Laurell K. Hamilton’s novels with too many lovers to keep track off throughout the series?

KW: This is a second chance romance, but on a softer note than what I usually write. A large focus is the mystery. However, there’s tons of steamy sex sprinkled in. There’s several twists, but i would say Shadow and Lyric have a strong possibility of a fun romance.

There is a love triangle forming. I’m writing the second book in the series. For the Masque of Red Death, I’m doing revisions. So, I do see a love triangle happening, although I do try to avoid those. I can never figure out who the heroine should be with in the end.

I love LKH, but there is a harem quality to her story, and I’m not really into harem romances. I should check a few out though. I wouldn’t mind an actual harem in real life.

GMM: As a woman of color writing erotica and speculative fiction with steamy romance, do you feel obligated to have a deeper message in your stories? You mention that race and police brutality are elements of this story, but do you ever simply write a romance or speculative fiction story that examines the relationships between people without a broader message? Can writers of color write books without broader messages about race and class and racism? Is it possible to divorce yourself from that ongoing narrative within our culture when you set out to write a story?

I’m hoping to change someone, when they read my stories. I’m trying to get a person to think of something differently as they’re aroused and scared at the same time.

 

KW: I definitely feel obligated to have a deeper message in my stories, but then that’s how I am in life. So, even when I’m trying to write a straight romance, somehow themes of gentrification, colorism, and rape culture seep into the story. I also think my readers expect stronger messages from me with each novel as well as show of growth. I make it a point to learn something new with each story–whether a new mechanism with storytelling or different pov.

I honestly can’t think of an erotica or romance of mine where I didn’t share some message. Even my first erotica trilogy of vampire romances explored the idea of slavery and dictatorship. Being that there were a whole lot of vampire kings in the story with double penises, no one seemed to mind the speculation on enslavement.

Basically, I always like a story with a deep exploration of humanity, sprinkled in between some hot orgasms and colorful dark characters. I think with broken heroes and mind-battered heroines, it’s hard to not dissect what is wrong with that character as I’m writing the story. It’s hard to not further wonder. . .how society might have been the cause for this character’s background. And then this message begins to spill onto the pages.

Writers of colors can totally create stories without broader messages of race and class. I think every creator has a special reason for why they are on this planet. Even if this particular black guy likes to write books on hats–just hats and nothing more. Who knows what that can spark in the person’s mind that reads it?

Books are awesome because they can inspire. They have this ability to ripple. Poe is a great example of this.

I can divorce myself from certain narratives, but it’s pretty difficult. I prefer to be an artist that has something to say, whether anybody wants to hear it or not. I think that the most important thing in this world is how the internet creates a marketplace for ideas. If you can shift one’s thoughts, you could change their life. I’m hoping to change someone, when they read my stories. I’m trying to get a person to think of something differently as they’re aroused and scared at the same time.

GMM: In some of our conversations, we discussed my love of monsters and touched on the idea of the eroticism of evil. What, in your opinion, makes monsters sexy? Why write about them in the romance/erotica genres? Are any of your romantic leads monsters? Why did you choose them?

KW: A monster is an element of horror. And, horror is very therapeutic. When a person reads a story about a woman getting tortured and killed, they finish the story with a new sense of relief that they’re not that woman. They have a brighter pep in their step. They look at the world a little bit better. But then there is some fear that comes to them too. And fear is good too. It protects. It teaches. It makes you choose your behavior differently, so that you don’t become that poor woman that was tortured in the book.

So, here we have monsters. And they’re these dangerous promises of death. And we’re so scared by them, but then. . .if it’s my story. . .we’re also aroused by them. Because even though that monster is killing everyone else in the book, for some reason the monster loves this heroine. And the reader is the heroine. So she or he is loved by a monster. And for some sick ass reason, that shit feels great! It’s a high. Addicting. Like a flame to a crack pipe. You want more monsters to love you! You want more to kill and protect for you.

So, the majority of my heroes are contemporary monsters in many ways. I love Quentin Tarantino and Guy Ritchie films. Most of my heroes are on the bad side of the law. The majority of my heroines have been broken in some way, but are strong survivors. I’ve found that this combination of man and woman is addictive for me to write. Thank God, people like to buy these books too, because I don’t believe I could stop writing dark horror romance.

The Masque of Red Death, by Kenya Wright is a second chance romance that unites the exploration of race and police brutality from THE HATE U GIVE with the twisted Poe-inspired serial killer plot line of THE FOLLOWING.

*************************************************************************

Chapter 1: Lyric

5:00 p.m.

I sat on the ledge of Eureka’s justice building and watched the city burn below my feet.

That Saturday evening, the riots had continued. The sun was setting, yet everyone on the street was just beginning their day.

When will it stop?

Black smoke rose in the air. Even high up, it was hard to breathe. Glass shattered. Tires screeched. Mothers cried. The police stormed the streets, threatening to tear gas citizens, but their words drowned in the screams and the drops of blood being splattered on concrete.

Tears streamed down my face.

I almost didn’t notice Shadow’s signature scent as it filled the air.

“How can you sit up here and watch all the rioting?” Shadow asked.

“How can you not? This is your city as much as it’s mine.” Wiping away my tears, I looked at him. Designer from head to toe, he wore a purple blazer over a white buttoned shirt and charcoal gray slacks. Not many could pull the look off, but he did.

I glanced over my shoulder and past him. Four of his goons stood by the roof’s entrance. Shadow liked them colorfully uniformed as if he was a character out of a comic book—black suits, white hats, and red ties. He thought he was a hero.

He’s the villain in the story. Never forget that.

Shadow stepped closer to the ledge. “I need your help, Lyric.”

“You always do, but I’m done helping heartless people.”

“I’m many things, Lyric, but I do have a heart.”

“Shadows don’t have hearts. They’re just cold, shapeless, dark things that black out all the light.”

People called him Shadow because he moved like one—sneaking around unnoticed and blending in and out of the darkness. They should’ve called him killer or thief, but his money and looks kept him out of trouble. He towered over most, wielded power like the devil, and held the city in his hands.

The real danger lay in his words. They flowed smooth like a saxophone, trapping the average soul and squeezing until the essence bled out. He had a knack for getting people to do fucked up things, especially me.

With no sign of fear, Shadow stepped closer to the ledge. “Someone sent me a box. Two things were inside. A mask made out of human skin and a letter written in blood. ”

“Sounds like Wednesday.” I closed my eyes and returned to humming, but I could no longer catch the melody. Shadow had seeped into my pores and disturbed my peace.

He continued, “The person signed the message with three big bloody letters. He called himself Poe.”

“Interesting.”

“This isn’t a joke. I need your help.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m not playing about the box. It was all black with a red velvet bow and a tiny clock dangling from the center. Whoever sent it is a sick motherfucker.” Shadow frowned. “The letter talked about a game that I had to play or more people would die. And the whole thing was written in blood. This person is threatening to kill me.”

Next week, David Day stops by to talk about writing short horror fiction and to share a fragment. Do you have a fragment collecting dust that needs to see the light of day? Send it my way to chellane@gmail.com.

Bees in My Bonnet

Bees

It has been entirely too long since I wrote a blog post for Girl Meets Monster. As I sit here in my living room, staring at my Christmas tree (um, today is January 23), it dawns on me that I’m behind in a lot of things in my personal life and my life in general.

Have I been writing? Yes.

Have I been submitting? Yes.

Am I waiting on pins and needles for what will surely be two more rejections? Yes.

Okay, so not too bad, right? Sure, but as always, I think I should be doing more, producing more. And, I have been trying to do that. I mean, I’ve been writing something — blog posts, social media posts, letters, journal entries, and snippets of fiction here and there. All of that is great. It would be better if I could stay focused and finish a project…projects. Aside from my thesis novel that I’m been submitting and resubmitting, I have two unfinished novels, at least one novella, and a handful of short stories that I desperately want to wrap up. The problem is, I’m stuck. Stuck on what? I’m not entirely sure.

I have some theories about what the blockage might be. And, all of those theories relate to unresolved emotional baggage and deep-seated fears that stem from childhood and my early adulthood. Self-esteem can be a real bitch sometimes. Especially when you have lived your life believing that you have to work for people’s love and affection. When you have been the recipient of conditional love since day one, it’s kind of hard to break that pattern and that mental process affects every aspect of your life: romantic relationships, parenting, work, school, friendships, and creating your art. (More on that in a future post.)

While I’ve been working on getting unstuck, I’ve been thinking a lot about stuff and things. If you follow my social media, then you surely know that I am insanely obsessed with Jason Momoa right now. I don’t think I’ve reached nuthouse status yet, but I am fangirling all over myself and anyone else who will listen. I mean, to be fair, he’s abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous, funny, interesting, and talented. And, he’s healthy. In fact, he’s been a source of inspiration for me to take my own health seriously again. I’m not a giant man who is in line for roles like Aquaman, but I can push myself to be better each day. His fitness videos are not only entertaining, but awe-inspiring. I hope he knows that he’s a role model not just for his kids and fans of the DC Universe, but for people who want to live healthier lives and become the best version of themselves.

Aquaman

I’m pretty sure I mentioned this, but just in case I didn’t, he’s H. O. T.

JasonMomoa

He has become the inspiration for one of my fictional characters and I can’t stop writing about this character. Perhaps, that is one of the reasons why I’m stuck and not moving forward. I’m having such a good time thinking about him and breathing life into this character that I can’t think about anything else. Nah. As much as I love Jason Momoa, I’ve been writing and thinking about other things, too.

Recently, I received a handwritten card from a friend that reminded me of the cards and letters I used to send to my friends and other pen pals I had when I was a teenager.

Card

I remembered coming across a pile of these old letters a few years ago when I helped my mom clean out her basement. I kept some of them but didn’t really spend time looking at them until last week. Holy shit. What a treasure trove. It was like opening a time capsule from the mid to late 80s and early 90s and finding only the weirdest rants about being young and goth.

Letters

I used to have the pen name Antique, and weird goth and punk kids from all over the US and a few from the UK, would write me letters about how they wanted to become vampires too. They sent me photos, poetry, fanzines, mix tapes, and told me about how fucking boring or terrible their lives were. I was actually kind of shocked to read some of the letters and see just how candid people were with me. I wish I had some of the letters I wrote to other people, because that would make an interesting comparison between how much I shared and how much people bared their souls to me. I’m usually pretty open and forthcoming with people, especially in my writing, so I must have given these folks a reason to trust me with some of the personal things they were sharing with me.

One of my pen pals, Carl Velazquez, wrote to me on a pretty regular basis. Carl was roughly 10 years older than me, thought he was a real vampire, and wanted to engage in a romantic relationship with me when I was 15. I met him in person a total of three times. I went to visit him in New York where he lived when I was still in high school, he came to visit me here in Carlisle and stayed at a local dive motel for a few days. My friends and I hung out with him in the motel room — I was never alone with him — and he was basically bored out of his mind. The third and final time I saw him was during my junior year of college. I took an exchange student from the UK with me to New York to visit my friend Don and on that trip we went to Wig Stock, saw a showing of Female Trouble, and saw Lypsinka perform at the Ballroom. Carl joined us for Lypsinka and I think we grabbed a bite to eat at Stingy Lulu’s. I heard from Carl after that, but I never saw him again. And then one day, I didn’t hear from him anymore.

Carl

Carl was one of the first people to introduce me to erotic fiction and encouraged me to write about vampires. I loved vampires long before I met Carl, but he pushed me to explore darker and more sexual aspects of the creatures. His influence was so great, that I named my vampire antagonist after him in my first novel. You know, the one I keep submitting? Anyway, I found some of Carl’s letters that contained scandalous snippets of erotic fiction involving vampire personas we invented for ourselves. That’s right, my stalker sent me pornographic letters about what he’d like to do with me if he ever had the chance to get me alone. Is that vampiric enough for you?

And, speaking of vampires…which is something I do often, and speaking of unfinished writing projects, I’m also trying to write an abstract to submit in the hopes of getting picked to attend an academic conference in Transylvania dedicated to vampires. Again, I’m stuck. I have all these ideas zooming around in my head, but condensing them into an abstract feels nearly fucking impossible. I still have a little time, and I have like…I dunno…at least 10 possible titles dealing with the concept of female characters’ acceptance of violence in vampire romances. It’s kind of a thing. If you read paranormal romance featuring vampires, something I do a lot…NO, like A LOT…then you’ll know what I’m talking about. There’s this weird phenomenon of female characters, especially in YA Paranormal Romance, allowing their vampire boyfriends to expose them to so much violence that it’s practically a cliche. And, they not only allow themselves to be perpetually placed in danger, but forgive their boyfriends, whom they almost invariably marry, for their violent behavior. While I find this fiction entertaining, I can’t help wonder just how dangerous that message is to teenage girls and young women.

Anyway, those are just a few of the things I’ve been thinking about. Some of the things I’ve been thinking about a little more deeply will soon become blog posts. And, some of you who have followed my blog in the past may be delighted to know that I will be bringing back my Fuckable Fictional Characters series in February. At least one of those posts will feature Jason Momoa. Okay, probably more like three…or four.

Happy New Year!

Five Things I Learned While Writing a Daily Blog Series

writing-is-hard

  1. Sticking to a daily blog writing schedule is hard. Despite the fact that I had plenty of inspiration and was fully enjoying the subject of my blog series, there were days when I just couldn’t get a post written. Life intervened. Out of the 29 days of February (2016), I managed to write 21 blog posts. That’s not too shabby, so I’m not going to beat myself up about not reaching my goal of 29 posts. My real goal was to write more during the month of February, and I totally accomplished that.
  1. Writing about something I love makes me want to write more. I kind of already knew that about myself, but putting it into practice and sticking it with for a month was a great way to reinforce that belief. I did write more during the month of February. And I wrote more than just blog posts about the fictional characters I fantasize about. I edited my thesis novel and queried agents. I wrote a one- and two-page synopsis of my novel. I started drafting the sequel to my thesis. I played around with some new story ideas and revisited other pieces I had set aside. And, I started writing more fan fiction as a form of pre-writing to get my thoughts flowing and experiment with plot ideas and character relationships.
  1. Writing about a familiar topic can deepen your understanding of it. When I came up with the idea to write a blog series about fictional characters I’d totally fuck, I didn’t think there would be much substance to it. Initially, it was just a writing exercise for me to get back into the practice of writing each day, and to alleviate some boredom. But a few things happened that I didn’t expect. Yes, the topic is kind of silly, but it made me think about how these popular characters were constructed and why they have such an impact on our culture. People found the posts entertaining, and they generated discussion about the difference between loving a fictional character or being attracted to the actor who portrays them on screen. My conclusion is that sometimes you can’t separate the two, especially if only one actor has ever portrayed that character. I really enjoyed those discussions and appreciated the feedback I received about the posts. Thank you all for participating. I’ve decided to make this series a recurring monthly post, so stay tuned more fuckable fictional characters. I’ll be incorporating some suggestions I received from readers that I found challenging.
  1. Writing about taboo subjects made me reexamine my own sexual preferences and the psychological ramifications of those preferences. When you write about sex in an open forum, especially about what turns you on personally, it puts you out there for other people’s judgment. Early on, I decided that I wasn’t going to be doing a lot of self-editing in these posts. I was going to try to be as honest as possible when talking about why I found certain fictional characters, and the actors who portrayed them sexually attractive. As a woman of color I worried a little bit about what people would think about the fact that I chose only white males to write about. I worried that somehow I was going to offend someone for not including fictional characters of diverse ethnicity. I struggled with that a lot. But then I realized that I shouldn’t have to apologize for what I find attractive in a character or people in general. You love who you love, and it shouldn’t matter what wrapper they come in. I also worried about the fact that some of the characters (quite a few actually) are villains, monsters, serial killers, etc. who are supposed to inspire fear and hatred, not a desire to rip their clothes off. I took some risks writing these posts, but I’m not going to apologize for what I consider erotic.
  1. Writing about what I find erotic surprised me at times. I knew that I had a thing for villains, antiheroes and monsters, but I didn’t know how dark my taste in fictional characters, especially those I would totally fuck, went. Sure, I could easily use the excuse that I’m only talking about fictional characters, but the reality is my interest in these characters says something about the choices I’ve made when it comes to actual partners. I’m trying to gain a better understanding about my choices and myself after leaving a psychologically dangerous and damaging relationship last year. I don’t want to find myself in that situation again. I want what most healthy people want from a relationship: love, respect, support, encouragement, and a mutual understanding of how to make each other happy. Giving up my own happiness to meet the needs of a narcissist is no longer on my bucket list. It never was, but somehow I ended up hanging out with a borderline sociopath. There are quite a few sociopaths and psychopaths on my list of fuckable fictional characters. Will I stop loving these characters? Probably not. Will I think more deeply about what attracts me to them. Most definitely. Will I be more careful about who I allow to get close to me? Absolutely.