How I Got Into Freelance Writing
So, I get asked a lot about how I got into freelance writing for a living, so I thought I’d write a blog post covering that, plus the pros and cons of freelancing as a full-time job.
So, I get asked a lot about how I got into freelance writing for a living, so I thought I’d write a blog post covering that, plus the pros and cons of freelancing as a full-time job.
How do you describe sex?
Fucking, screwing, banging, boning? Making love? Being had, being taken? Dicking? Ravaging? Slamming? Rutting? Shagging?
As someone who writes sex for a living, I spend a good chunk of most of my days thinking about the words we used to describe getting down. Not just the actual verbs, but the words surrounding them – cock, dick, pussy, cunt, slit, hole, erection, length. If you haven’t figured it out by now, maybe stop with the reading this article out to your elderly relatives. Or continue, maybe they’re into that. But to return to my main point: writing erotica and romance, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the dichotomy of the words we use to talk about sex.
Before you ask: yes, I am getting enough protein.
I’ve been vegetarian for most of my life- my Mum was for most of my childhood, and I never particularly loved meat (I’ve never eaten steak in my life, which so many people seem to think is a legitimate black mark against my character), so I just…didn’t eat it. Eventually, as I got older, I found some vague moral reasons to back up my choice and that became my primary purpose for continuing to avoid meat.
About a year and a half ago, I wrote an article about body image-my relationship with my body, feminism, and the value we place on the way we look. I was really proud of that article, and the responses I got from so many people-many of whom confirmed that they had or did feel the same way I did- made me realize that body image issues plague pretty much everyone, even though they often manifest themselves in completely different ways.
And, eighteen months later, my attitude towards my body has changed hugely. I’d be an idiot to say that all my issues surrounding the way I look were done with- I don’t think they ever really will be, honestly. But things have improved in leaps and bounds since then, and I think that’s worth talking about.
So, my apologies for the delay between blog posts- it was my birthday on Sunday, and, despite having very little planned, I ended up doing a lot more and seeing many more people than I had initially intended. Then I was down in London for two days, and then I had to spend quality catch-up time with the cat on my return, etc, etc.
Excuses aside, it’s time to talk about a show that I’ve been aggressively ramming down your throats for the last two years: Vikings. Yes, in case you weren’t already tired of me twatting myself silly over Travis Fimmel’s amazing lead performance as Ragnar or the show’s killer fight scenes or what have you, it’s time to talk about the second-best historical show on TV (yo, what’s up, my fellow Outlander fans?).
Yeah, yeah, so I rag on The Walking Dead a lot. Get over it, fangirl/boy. This is it: my Magnum Opus, the article I’ve had brewing in me (and no doubt written over the course of many drunken rants round at my friend Ellie’s house, sorry Ellie) since halfway through season four of this godforsaken show: why, and how, The Walking Dead became one of the biggest and most disappointing shows on television.
Fuck. Me. Spoilers, so many fucking spoilers, to come.
I don’t think it’s out-there to say that pop culture has something of a problem with consent. I’ve been thinking about this particular subject recently, after I published a Fifty Shades Darker recap in which the leading man raped the leading lady- because a lot of the conversations I had surrounding that scene pointed to the fact that, while she initially said no, when he carried on, she relented and they ended up having sex.
Trigger warning for self-harm, anorexia, suicide.
Recently, as you can probably tell, I’ve been thinking about mental illness and it’s representation in the media. While it’s certainly gotten better in the last few years, there’s still a certain subset of representation on TV and in movies that seems to have left a particularly indelible impression on society. And one of those little snapshots of mental illness in the media is that of the “beautifully broken” girl- the sexy young chick whose mental illness is directly connected to her desirability.
Trigger warning for discussions of suicide.
So, I recently finished the third season of Bojack Horseman. If you didn’t already know, it’s pretty much straight-up one of the best shows on TV right now, and I fucking insist you go watch it before you do anything else (especially reading this article, which contains just so many spoilers).
