I’ve been so busy lately with freelance writing concerns, personal situations, and my usual output of mountains of erotica–heh-heh, some people call it porn, as I do more often than not! 😉 In any case, I don’t get as much chance to blog as I might like to. But I do want to alert the many visitors to my blog about a new series of interviews with me that are being posted at Sex-Kitten.net, a very interesting blog about sex, sexuality, gender, sex work, and everything along that virtually limitless spectrum. The webmaster, Gracie Passette, interviews me about my porn writing and editing career, but we also get into discussing whether porn writers can be classified as sex workers, too. Check out the series here, and more is coming. The above is a screen capture of the second part of the interview. The photo looks like it was taken in the 1940s, but actually it was from the mid-1980s, when I was living in Times Square and also very much into antique clothing, hence the fedora and vintage bowling shirt. When you’re done with the interview, I hope it will whet your appetite to read some of my femdom fiction and perhaps even my new non-porn psychological suspense novel FATE OF A STRIPPER, too. You can find all those in ebooks at Amazon here.
Tag Archives: adult magazines
At last 2011 is coming to a close. I’ve definitely had better years as a freelance writer of erotica. Many of the magazines I was writing for in 2010 at this time closed down in early 2011. I lost a tremendous amount of regular income.
Still, I persevered. I figured it out last night from my daily records–I wrote, revised, and polished approximately 362,600 words–or the equivalent of SIX 60,000 word books. Or if you consider a full-length book 80,000 words, I wrote the equivalent of four and a half books. No wonder I feel discombobulated sometimes! That’s a lot of porn under the bridge. And this was an off-year assignment-wise for the reason I just stated above. The year before, when there were more magazines to write for, I wrote somewhere between 750,000 and 1,000,000 words (my records were not as meticulous last year, so I’m not exactly sure–I was too busy cranking out horny stories, girl copy, website prose, research articles and product reviews). That’s the kind of production pulp writers used to achieve back in the 1930s and 1940s…on the low end of the pulp spectrum! I’ve heard of pulp writers who did 3,000,000 words in a year (although unlike myself, they could only do that by mostly not revising or polishing). Anyway, I was a writing demon in 2010; I did as much as I could, maybe because I sensed or feared many magazines wouldn’t last. That kind of work opportunity isn’t available anymore in magazines.
So now 2011, when the sex mag business really took a hit, is coming to a close. And I sense it’s going to end noisily. I live in midtown Manhattan on the edge of Times Square, and the throngs are already blowing their little horns on the streets and whooping it up, and it’s not even 8:00 yet. You have more than four hours left to go, folks!
Yesterday I took a walk through Times Square and on the fringes of the nabe with my camera in hand. It was sunny and not too cold, and I enjoyed mingling in the crowds. When I have something to do, like making pictures, Times Square is interesting. When I’m just walking through the hordes of people, it’s annoying and stressful.
Here are some of the sights I came upon. As you’ll note, I enjoy contrasting tiny people with big billboards:
Later, in the evening, I went out to dinner with my camera along, and walking through the area once known as “Hell’s Kitchen” I came upon this striking sign. Two versions:
I can’t decide what I want to do tonight. I made no plans, and money is tight, but perhaps on New Year’s Eve I could allow myself the pleasure of a lapdance or two. I have coupons to get into the strip clubs for no admission (that little ole clever carnal consumer, me). But do I want to fight my way through the crowds? I was also tempted to call friends, but I felt like being alone and maybe watching a movie and having a beer in pleasant solitude, despite the racket of the New Year’s crowds on the street. And then maybe, an hour or two before midnight, trying to work my way over to a tittie bar.
I’ve been very frugal this year, and sometimes I think I take it too far. Maybe it’s not good for a pornographer’s mental health NOT to check in with the floozies at least once a month…
Well, whether I go out or not, at least I can travel to sleazy destinations in my memory, stuffed full of the sensations of lapdances, strippers, hookers, dominatrixes, and peep show girls from my past…or through a screen capture like this one of Broadway and 52nd Street almost forty-six years ago, courtesy of the 1966 James Garner movie Mister Buddwing, a suspense thriller about an amnesia victim wandering through the raunchy old New York so many of us miss.
But you know something? If I walk around on the streets, I can find the film-noirish visual energy still in Hell’s Kitchen without time-traveling through memory or movies…
Let’s hope for a better year in 2012 for all of us who need it and want it! And thank you all for reading my blog and checking out my bizarre ebooks.
I’ve felt a little at loose ends this week, partly because I was completely blown away by a novel I finished reading called Contempt, by Albert Moravia. It was made into the movie of that name by Jean-Luc Godard, but the original title of the book was A Ghost At Noon.
The book encompasses questions like the nature of love, the absurdities of the mid-20th century movie business, but most of all it takes us into the head of a young screenwriter who is devastated when his wife decides, after two years of seeming devotion, that he is despicable. At first he thinks it’s due to a misunderstanding, but as the story proceeds it seems clear that the problem is far deeper and more complex.
Some of the book is quite funny, as when a German film director expounds on a psychological angle on The Odyssey, the story of the Greek hero Ulysses. Funny, but provocative and profound too.
Amazing descriptions of the Italian landscape and the screenwriter’s enigmatic wife make this book a sensual experience as well.
This is the edition of the novel that I read:
As if reading this book wasn’t enough to knock my socks off, I watched the movie He Ran All The Way, with John Garfield.
It was the last film that Garfield made, and although I’ve seen it before, I think the combination of finishing Contempt and seeing this movie on the same day made me more aware of its many nuances. Garfield plays a cop killer on the run who forcefully holes up in the apartment of a family. In ninety minutes it suggests a novel’s worth of tragedy–and indeed it was based on a novel of the same name by writer Sam Ross.
What made the movie so powerful was how Garfield’s unstinting characterization shows a criminal life brutalized by parental abuse, emotional immaturity, poverty, lack of education, and an absence of intelligent introspection. You feel pity for his character, even empathy (Garfield’s performance is mesmerizing) but you understand why he must be stopped before he strikes again.
His scenes with Shelley Winters, as a love-starved girl who works in a bakery, are tinged with forlorn and desperate sexual hunger. What she is willing to do to feel wanted is one of the most shocking elements of this film.
I recommend both Contempt and He Ran All The Way.
But what do these things have to do with my trade being erotica? Simply, that great works like this are the fuel and inspiration that make me want to write the best stories I can, stories that perhaps go beyond being stimulating into something deeper, something haunting.
Like this European poster for He Ran All The Way, which has an atmosphere of danger and eroticism…
The colors of the European poster remind me of those of a pulp magazine from the 40s. And when I edited adult magazines such as Leg World or Cheeks, I always worked with my art director and photographers to get the most vivid colors in the images and typography.