The last half of 2012 saw E.L. James’ Twilight fan fiction meteorically rise through the erotosphere, to the chagrin of many with a brain (I’m not going to even mention its title here; you can Google her name). It, like much erotica out there, falls within the Bumpy Cover category: those books you find at airport newsstands, with raised gold letters and some shirtless man romancing a busty maiden in a ripped dress. I’d rather poke my eye out with a stick than read more poorly written sexual exploits. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t scream “Holy crap! Ughhhhhh” over and over again when someone touches me in the right spot.
I loathe the term ‘erotica’ because when I see shit like the aforementioned tripe, it’s usually labeled under that designation, giving all other well-written stories a bad name. If you need something to read to get you all hot and bothered, read Pauline Réage, Anaïs Nin, Nicholson Baker, Susie Bright. Hell, any fiction from Nerve works. Google ‘erotic authors’ and I promise you that you’ll find anything better than E. L. James (It was with great smugness that, while at the airport recently, the woman across from me pulled out her James and I pulled out my Cormac McCarthy. My book’s dick was way bigger than hers. Though not erotica, it proved that anything is preferable to James).
James’ series of shit has also been labeled ‘mommy porn,’ which I think I hate even more than ‘erotica,’ as if mothers aren’t allowed to enjoy a good ole tale from the likes of the Marquis de Sade or else be considered normal human beings. There are those who differentiate between erotica and pornography, like sex educator Violet Blue who says erotica has “an extra component… that resonates with the viewer – be it artistic, be it passionate, be it something that emotionally engages you.” Gloria Leonard, former porn star and High Society publisher said that the only difference between the two is the lighting. However you classify sex on screen or paper, they work toward the same end.
In searching for a better umbrella term to cover prose that gets you off, there doesn’t seem to be a large pool from which to choose. As Anna B. Volk pointed out to me via twitter, ‘smut’ is a more desirable term. I’ve always liked the word smut, as it’s not used very often, and doesn’t have the same degree of harshness that porn does– yet still promises a good, lascivious story.
Because of the hype surrounding James’ books, I attempted a read through the first one (Yes! She wrote more of them!), but had to give up after a few chapters or my brain would implode. I got tired of laughing every few paragraphs and surrendered. “Hell,” I told myself, “even I can write better than this.” I thought not much more if it, until a recent event inspired me to do so.
I’ve decided to put my money where my mouth is, and offer up my first attempt at writing smut. Thankfully, this is mostly a true account, meaning I didn’t have to squeeze my brain too hard and resort to creating one-dimensional pseudo lovers. At least, that’s the excuse I’ll tender to James, should she decide she needs one.
You can take a look here and judge for yourselves. Just be gentle; it is my first time.
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Got a question about sex in art, relationships, parenting? Send Sonya a note at dearmadame@torontostandard.com. Anonymity assured.
Sonya JF Barnett, also known as “The Madame,” is the founder of an erotic arts community called The Keyhole Sessions and the co-founder of SlutWalk Toronto. Follow her on Twitter @KeyholeSessions.
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