I'm thinking about writing fiction for money. I used to think I knew what was what, and part of what I knew is no one makes a living at writing fiction
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Ha! I would never let anyone I know see it. I won't write under a name known to you, like Jonas Berry.
I wish I could get a gig translating porn. The olden days, when porn was written and came from France, or Mexico. My old friend E., not so much my daily companion nowadays but still a friend, works in a store that sells "ephemera," which at that store means printed porn. They have complete runs of Hustler and so on, but also a lot of books and oddities, including mimeographed stapled booklets of translated porn from Mexico, from the 1970s. Plus lots of, who was that guy? Barney Rossett, Olympia, Evergreen, all that stuff.
The sad thing is, collectors are dying out. E's store keeps inheriting these mass libraries. But who even wants to READ porn anymore? Oh, wait, that's what I'm banking on, people reading it. But people who can read porn on Kindle Unlimited or watch it online don't need to collect it. That dies out with porn's clandestinity.
But back to my money-making scheme. I was thinking of it as a way out of the pressure I put on myself to write well (it's becoming a case of the yips), and also because my life no longer lends itself to long stretches of doing nothing. And I think I might learn something from it, or enjoy something about it.
Oh, wait, in the post I only said "writing fiction for money." But that's what I meant, erotica on Kindle Unlimited, and maybe horror or thrillers. Which I'd never let anyone read.
Thrillers are the most work, I guess, and people who can write a halfway decent one usually sell them to real publishers. Still, this is my plan, such as it is.
I wish I could get a gig translating porn. The olden days, when porn was written and came from France, or Mexico. My old friend E., not so much my daily companion nowadays but still a friend, works in a store that sells "ephemera," which at that store means printed porn. They have complete runs of Hustler and so on, but also a lot of books and oddities, including mimeographed stapled booklets of translated porn from Mexico, from the 1970s. Plus lots of, who was that guy? Barney Rossett, Olympia, Evergreen, all that stuff.
The sad thing is, collectors are dying out. E's store keeps inheriting these mass libraries. But who even wants to READ porn anymore? Oh, wait, that's what I'm banking on, people reading it. But people who can read porn on Kindle Unlimited or watch it online don't need to collect it. That dies out with porn's clandestinity.
But back to my money-making scheme. I was thinking of it as a way out of the pressure I put on myself to write well (it's becoming a case of the yips), and also because my life no longer lends itself to long stretches of doing nothing. And I think I might learn something from it, or enjoy something about it.
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Thrillers are the most work, I guess, and people who can write a halfway decent one usually sell them to real publishers. Still, this is my plan, such as it is.
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