Editor's note: For the next couple of posts (or whenever I feel like adding more) I'm going to excerpt here an article I wrote a few months ago. You'll immediately see why it's so dated (for one thing, the strike was still going on). But I think I'll be revising it for submission somewhere eventually.
"It's Harder Than It Looks"
Right off the bat, I decided that there were a few genres I wouldn’t even bother with: anything involving ghosts and anything where the main character’s fur might make an ill-timed and inappropriate appearance. Everything else was fair game, though; and after some furious scribbling, I had a faerie fable, a vampire chronicle, a futuristic thriller and a southern gothic pressure cooker all in active production. And if I could have thought of some good names for this lonesome-cowboy yarn, I would have been off and running on that one, too.
Eight months into full-time unemployment and a couple of months into the WGA strike—and no sign of a sea change on either front—I was banking on the online erotica market to save me from looming financial ruin. A writer writes: that’s the tired millstone of a dictum that hangs around the neck of every would-be auteur. Well, a writer may write, but a writer also eats. And with my cash flow slowing to a trickle, and then sludging to a stagnant standstill, I decided to embrace the letter of the mantra, if not its presumably Puritan spirit. A writer writes—ok, well, this writer was going to crank out some wildly explicit female wank-fodder and maybe pay rent on time for a few months.
Next up: "I Never Thought It Would Happen To Me..."