Feeling Comfortable with a Pen: What I Learnt from Writing Erotica - William Burger

William Burger is a South African writer, here, he shares the 'behind-the-scene' of his first erotic story. William wrote the story for an erotic Issue of EXPOUND:A Magazine of Arts and Aesthetics scheduled to be published in November, 2015. This experience was first published on his blog, I am publishing it here with his permission.

When I received a proposal to write a piece of erotic fiction for a newly established literary magazine, I all but screamed NO. Yet, here I am with a soon to be published erotic thriller short story. This is the behind-the-scenes story of everything that came in between. (No pun intended.)

I couldn’t possibly write something like that, could I? What would my parents think? What would my friends think? Hell, what would my high school English teacher think?

My characters had never ventured further than the first base, and to go from that to full blown erotica… It’s safe to say that I responded to the offer with a resounding no.

Despite all of my reservations, the idea gnawed at me. I kept the internet tab with the submission guidelines – for the story, not Christian Grey’s contract for Ana – open for multiple days. The aim of this specific issue of the magazine is to break the stigmas that surround erotica as an art form. I realized that my reaction to the proposal had, ultimately, been a result of these very stigmas that surrounded this art form. I began to rethink my rejection of this supposedly preposterous idea.

As a barely nineteen-year-old writer, didn’t I want to stand out by challenging these norms? On the other hand; as a barely nineteen-year-old, could I even write a piece of erotica? It would definitely prove challenging, but what kind of writer would I be if I didn’t at least try? It was settled; I would write an erotic story. Even if it was never published, and just remained another file on my cluttered computer desktop, I would be able to say I pulled through and wrote a piece of erotic fiction.

In the days following my decision, I found myself thinking of the plot line to every bad porno film that had come before. You know the ones; the babysitter and the lonely father, the teacher and the failing student, the pizza delivery guy and the broke customer. Essentially, I had reverted back into a boy who had just hit puberty. (Without the mess.)

With this mindset, and a blank document, I began writing. After my first session working on this story, I had the opening to a story about two police officers having an affair. It had no real plot, and was told through the POV of a cheating, misogynistic asshole. It was, effectively, just this douche bag describing everything he did to this poor woman. I felt like killing him with my pen, before turning it on myself. It was utter trash, no better than any of the aforementioned porno plots.

I scrapped that attempt, and probably the next ten. (I sincerely apologize to all my friends I subjected to the torture of reading my terrible story openings.) My problem was that I didn’t know what story I really wanted to tell. I decided to do what I usually do when I struggle to write; read.

I began rereading one of my favorite novels of all time; Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects. As I read, I observed the way she used sex in her novels. By the end of the first chapter of Sharp Objects alone, our narrator is recalling the first time she masturbated. It reminded me of something many authors have said; only have a sex scene in your story if it progresses the plot. I think this is very true –  even for erotica, where sex is almost a prerequisite.

I found even more reasons I admired Flynn so much: not only for her use of strong, complex female characters, but for telling the stories she wanted to tell. This isn’t the part of the porno where a sticky revelation washes over me, but I did realize something; I shouldn’t bend my writing style to suit the topic, I should bend the topic to suit my writing style. And I think you’ll come to find, erotica can be quite bendy.

Still, the more I stared at the blank document, the more my mind kept wandering back to these two police officers and their affair. I started thinking about these two officers, especially the one that seemed to fit so well into the other woman stereotype. That’s just the thing about labels, though – people use them to put us in a box, characterize us according to one feature. She was more than the other woman, she was real. (To me, at least.) And what did real woman have?

They had real sex. Not the sex you saw in the pornos, the type of sex House of Cards’ Francis Underwood talks about when he says; “everything is about sex. Except sex. Sex is about power.” I wanted to write a story about this. I had finally found the tale I wanted to tell. Though you know what they say about battles and wars – if this was a porno, the blowjob scene had just ended.

They say if you’re not mature enough to talk about sex, you shouldn’t be having sex. I think the same applies for writing about sex. I  thought I was mature enough to write this story, yet I found myself struggling to write this story without cringing at myself. I couldn’t even do that cliché writer thing where I sit in a café and write. God, what if the waitress or another patron saw the dirty sentences I was typing. That would be a bitter load pill to swallow.

Naturally, I started stalking South African author, Paige Nick. Paige makes up on third of the erotic writing duo, Helena S. Paige. When I saw one of these erotic novels in a book store, it was right up there with 50 Shades of Grey. I quickly snatched a copy, opening a copy of some crime thriller and using it to hide the fact that I was going through an erotic novel. I felt like a naughty child. That was the problem! I shouldn’t be feeling like that.

So I asked myself; WWGD? No, not what would god do. (He would probably judge me a bit.) What would Gillian do? How did she manage to pull of an opening line as wonderfully dirty as this:

I didn’t stop giving hand jobs because I wasn’t good at it. I stopped giving hand jobs because I was the best at it.
The Grownup, Gillian Flynn

I spent probably an entire day reading interviews with her, watching interviews she had done on YouTube. Here’s a question she was asked by Salon.com: “There’s a lot of sex in your work … are people surprised you write about this stuff? Are you surprised?” This was her response:

I don’t sit down and think, now I’m going to write a sex scene. I think if I actually thought about what I was doing, I would probably censor myself more.

Just like that, I realized I was overthinking it. The fix I found for this came from the unnamed narrator in Flynn’s The Grownup; a psychic who foresees hand jobs in the future of her clients.

For three years, I gave the best hand job in the tristate area. The key is not to overthink it. If you start worrying about technique, if you begin analyzing rhythm and pressure, you lose the essential nature of the act. You have to mentally prepare beforehand, and then you have to stop thinking and trust your body to take over.

Great advice, not only for giving the best hand jobs, but also for writing erotica it turns out. I thought more about the story I wanted to tell, mentally preparing myself beforehand. Then I stopped thinking and began writing. When I read over what I had later, I was taken aback by just how deep into the story I had gotten. I wasn’t disappointed though, I was goddamn proud.

Eventually I had an entire story to send the submissions editor. A few days later I was informed my story had been accepted. Now the question remained; would I publish this story under my own name?

In an article by Paige Nick I had read, she contemplated this very same question. Just as she did, I realized that, on the upside, if I wrote this piece of erotic fiction under a pseudonym, nobody would know I had written it. On the downside, if I wrote this piece of erotic fiction under a pseudonym, nobody would know I had written it. Just like her, I have decided to publish it under my own name. And, just like her, I now also wish I had a pair of those eyes, nose and mustache glasses and a new name.

My reservations are still there. What would my parents think? (I have forbidden them from reading my erotic fiction, but encourage them to read that of others.) What would my friends think? (I sent it to four friends; two loved it, one tolerated it, and one couldn’t finish it. I can live with that.) What would my high school English teacher think? (I still worry about that.) Ultimately, it’s about what I think.

What do I think? I think I’m fucking proud of my story and everything it has come to represent to me. It has taught me some valuable lessons in being comfortable with my writing.

My erotic thriller, The Other Woman, is due out later this month. It is the tale of two police officers and their affair, in the midst of an investigation into a serial killer targeting unfaithful men and their mistresses. It will be published by EXPOUND Literary Magazine.