The sound of one hand reading

There’s a problem with my Work In Progress. My WIP, as we writers say.

I’ve planned it out as five 10 000 word stories linked into a narrative. My first story involves a slow build up to an awesome entry in the Mile High Club genre. Well, the setting is awesome, not too sure if the writing will reach such lofty heights, but we’ll see.

Second is mostly frustration and storytelling, but no naughty bits.

Third part is a surprise pay off that contains quite a bit of shagging.

Four and five I haven’t thought about much, but I’m guessing there will be some atmosphere and some hot stuff, and I’ll package the stories up and bundle them into a money-maker.

The problem is that second story. I can fill it full of colour and detail and plot and character, but the mechanics of the situation make intimate congress hard to insert.

The nature of erotica involves selling a bit of tension mounting to a climax where the hot action goes on long enough for the reader to pleasure themselves into a satisfactory conclusion.

A novel maybe, I can put in more plot and colour, but if somebody is paying $2.99 for ten thousand words of reading with one hand, they are going to be mightily pissed off if they get to the end without getting off. What’s all this stuff about flowers and butterflies and hot dogs, they will say. Where is the bumping and grinding and hot spray of body fluids? Why did I waste my money on this literary crap?

And they won’t touch me again. Britni Pepper, they will mentally think, wankery without the wanking, no thanks!

As it happens, I thought of a way to get sex into episode two. It fits, it will increase the tension and drama, and it will build nicely as we go into episode three, where there is going to be another hot chunk of surprising sex to make the reader sigh with happiness.

The other two episodes, well I’m sure I’ll come up with something when I come to them.


Photo by Daria Shevtsova from Pexels

erotica, writing , ,

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