Society never nurtured my brand of poorly written fan fiction. Maybe it just wasn't ready.
And society never latched onto 'CSI: Miami' as a viable source from which to spin-off a successful series of erotic novels.
Sure, maybe I peaked too soon, and maybe it was a poor choice of subject matter to begin with, but the same way that society can build you up it can also break you down.
And so I point my finger squarely at society.
E.L. James had the soft embrace of a fan fiction site, and I had short form posts on Bebo - back when Bebo was the social network to be on. Remember Bebo, society?
But let's be honest, maybe she just had a stronger determination than me, she had to if she could go to FanFiction.net and somehow get past the plethora of stories under the Minesweeper fan-fiction tag long enough to write anything else.
Sometimes I still can't wrap my head around that fact that people sit down and write Minesweeper fan fiction!
So, if I had to sum up, in THREE, words why I am not/ was never a household name in the erotic literature genre, it'd be these: Minsweeper fan fiction.
Anyway, in my way I did for 'CSI: Miami' what E.L. James did for 'Twilight', but who gets acclaim?
Who has publishers beating down doors?
And has questionably hygienic copies of their book flooding libraries and secondhand littering bookshops?
Not me, that's for sure. I've had zero measurable positive/ negative impact on the erotic literature genre.
I can delude myself, tell myself that the one time a picture of me featured in the Metro Herald that it was immediately cut out, vaulted in the deep recesses of many a 'spank bank' and gets taken out on special occasions - but it's very unlikely. Incidentally, that photo was beside a guy in a promotional Frank Sidebottom helmet, so at best I'm collateral-arousal to people who have that helmet as a fetish.
I won't go on about '50 Shades...' because Jenny Trout has a wonderful summary of the book, and after that I think anyone else's attempt to make it look ridiculous is just a pale shadow.
So I'll just leave you with this, the erotic 'CSI: Miami' fiction that may not have publisher's chasing me with advance's for three book deals, but is notable for being too hot for Bebo's 2004 (or some time around then) terms of service. (Yes, I save almost everything I write, so I have this from then.)
Chapter 7: Calleigh's Wild Ride!
She brought a whip, saddle and spurs. Horatio knew this was going to be a wild time.
"Poppa's gonna get a wild ride" Calleigh Duquesne told him. She couldn't get more explicit than that.
"Oh..." Horatio Caine said, looking disheartened, lowering his head.
Calleigh paused for a few moments, sure that Horatio'd realize what she meant. Eventually. He lifted his head, opened his mouth, and went to talk.
"Stop!" Calleigh cut him off "Whatever you're about to say: Don't say it! I meant that I am going to screw you like a fiend later"
"Oh," Horatio chirped, perking up slightly "So, when you said 'poppa' you didn't mean-"
"No!" She cut him off again.
"Not your fath-"
"No, don't say it!" she said, Horatio could see that the conversation was frustrating her and that she was losing her 'horny'.
"Mmmm," he let out suggestively; encouraging her to come towards him, well within range for his hands to cup her boobs. She took his hands and placed them on her hips. He let them slide around back, cupping her ass as he pulled her closer.
When his head was next to hers, he whispered "Baby..." softly, while she kissed his neck, "Baby, I'm gonna do things to you that your father wouldn't even dream of!"
She pulled away, "For god's sake, Horatio!" she exclaimed.
"What?" he asked.
"Don't bring my father into this!" she said.
He tried to recall why she might not want him mentioning her father right about then.
And then remembered. He was a lawyer, 'was' being the operative word, but his career was ruined by the fact that he was also an alcoholic, and Horatio remembered the kind of scars that can leave on a young woman.
"Is it because he's probably impotent?" he asked.
She glared at Horatio. Glared with her eyes.
"Is that it?" He repeated. "Because I'm not."
He loosened his pants to let her have a better look at how potent he was.
"Keep those on!" She yelled.
He couldn't have gone too far, could he have? No, he thought, definitely not, he couldn't even feel the draft on his crotch yet.
"You can keep a skirt on while i'm bangin' you, babe." he told her. "But I kinda have to let these go before we can do the deed..." then putting on his trademark sunglasses, with a wry smile he added, "and by 'the deed' i mean 'you'."
"That's hot." she said, pulling off her sweater to reveal her red lace bra. The sweater caught on her watch strap, and she awkwardly worked the sweater off of her head while trying not to put any pressure on the sleeve/ watch situation. Horatio walked towards her. She held up her finger, letting him know to keep his distance.
After a few seconds of fidgeting she managed to untangle the sleeve from the watch, but a long thread was pulled out completely, not unlike Horatio's penis at that moment in time.
"Quick question," asked Horatio, motioning downwards, down even further than his junk. "Socks, on or off?"
Calleigh looked down, Horatio had surprisingly hairy legs, and the socks were distinguishable only by virtue of the shade of black wool against the thick mat of auburn hair. She knew underneath it was probably a mess of hairy toe-knuckles and poorly maintained toe-nails.
"On. Definitely on."
"Oh, on they'll stay, and on it most definitely is that we shall get." Horatio said, taking his shades off and putting them on again mid-sentence. The mix of action and speech must have thrown him off, probably explained the muddled sentence.
"Let's just do this." Calleigh hurried him on.
"And by 'this' you mean who exactly?" He took off his glasses, then just stared at the, unsure as to whether he would be putting them back on again.
Calleigh sighed through Horatio's moment of contemplation. She also managed to get dressed and then leave in that time-frame.
"Shit. I meant 'whom?'" Horatio said to the newly emptied room, accompanied only the echoing sound of a recently shut door. This wasn't the first time that grammar had come between him and a woman, but he vowed it would he the last.
To be continued...?
Only time and a publisher-inspired increase in my bank balance will tell.