It's official now. My latest writing obsession is sex. It started with a creepy story I wrote, inspired by a car breakdown and an unpleasant incident. That, I thought, was the end of it, until I realized how carefully I avoid sex in my writing. I want to be couth and literary in my adult stories and I have to keep it clean in writing for children and teens. The problem is, the elephant in the room has started throwing it's weight around. Can one authentically comment on the human condition without leaving in the dirty bits?
I got some reinforcement for this idea at the last Humber School for Writers monthly Writers' Circle. Every piece that got a double thumbs up, meaning both speakers would turn the page if it were a slush pile submission, seemed to refer to sex. The bad beginnings were static tales about people thinking: on buses, in trains, in houses. Too much thinking and not enough boinking, got it. Could this be the start of a whole new writing life? I'm normally not sex-obsessed, you know the type, butter wouldn't melt in her...
The story I have to finish drafting today, although unpleasant, is about the pornification of the everyday. It examines sex, without titillation I'm afraid. In this approach, I'm in good company if The Walrus Magazine is any authority. And I thought my new favorite topic was so original!