I've been wondering a lot about where inspiration comes from - how can experiencing one thing lead to wanting to do another? Where do the the connections gestate, mutate and grow? Especially when it comes to writing erotica.
Well, I know in the beginning, I wrote sexy stories for my own, ahem, 'amusement' because I was too shy and embarrassed to buy pornos from the shops. I was even to shy too buy stuff online! Making do with furtive glances in other people's discarded magazines or 'happening' on a raunchy film. That's all changed now of course - I'm perfectly at ease with sexytime purchases :D
So I digress. Those first stories were written out of necessity. But now, what triggers that spark?
Why would seeing the same object on different days illicit different responses. For example, one day, I might see some scissors in my stationary drawer. No big deal yesterday, but today I want to write a story where the leading lovers are so desperate to fuck each others brains out that they can't even wait undress... finding the scissors close by, they slice and tear at their garments, letting the pieces fall to the floor as their mouths consume each others flesh. The danger of a blade nicking skin adding to their delirium.
|Taken from Pinterest|
Or the sound of letters dropping through the letterbox. Yesterday they were just bills to be ignored and walked over, an annoyance on the threshold.
Today though, today, perhaps the postman has trouble pushing the papers through. What if one of the envelopes is simply too big and he pushes, trying to ease it in and thrusts a bit too hard, tearing my important document with his now heated impatience. He is curious about the words in the torn open letter and pulls it back out to inspect the damage, senses heightened at what he might read, and I, hearing the commotion go to open the door. Of course, I write late at night and am only just surfacing from my bed, I had been remembering the scene I was writing only a few hours before and the morning's soft sexual languor had my hand wandering between my legs... The postman can smell my arousal and I can instantly see his beneath his uniform shorts. There is a moment. A moment of static silence where we suss each other out. Then simultaneously, open the door fully, he pushing, me pulling until we are a tumbling mass of bodies stumbling to the bedroom, papers scattering all around us...
If any of you are familiar with my blog or work, you'll also know that I often use art, and the artist and muse dynamic as inspiration.
Here's my most recent art/story thing inspired by the Kelpies - a wonderful sculpture in central Scotland depicting the Scottish myth of the Kelpie - a shape shifting horse who does indeed gallop men to their doom...
So what do you think? What inspires you?