Inspiration is a fickle friend. Which Muse do you appeal to when the story bogs down? There doesn’t seem to be a ready answer, for the Muses’ traditional realms were various sorts of poetry, not prose accounts of sexual activity. The current work is fiction, but the story is spread over seven millennia, and there’s a lot of history mixed in with the fucking, so do I appeal to Clio? Her realm is history, after all. Or Terpsichore? Well, she’s into dancing, but if you remember Xanadu, she apparently gets into art as well, and looks a lot like Olivia Newton John. Clio apparently looks like Kerry Butler, proving, if nothing else, that when someone adapts a cult film into a musical play sometimes they get their Muses confused, or repurposed, or something. Personally, I don’t imaging the Greeks were picturing beautiful blondes as Muses, but probably inspirational spirits who looked a bit more, well, Hellenic.
What does this have to do with inspiration? I’m trying to inspire myself to finish the book I’m working on. Money, however, seems to be more of an inspiration than art. People buy my books, but a lot more people probably read the absolute dreck I turn out trying to convince them to buy soap, or cars, or toasters, or what have you. The books and stories satisfy my artistic yearning, but writing advertising goes a lot farther when it comes to paying the rent on my apartment and buying groceries.
For most of the last year, I haven’t even had to go into the office to do that job. I could sit in front of my computer at home and come up with the same slogans I’d create in the office, but with the added advantage that I could write them with one hand on the keyboard and the other on my pussy.
Covid has undoubtedly helped to make masturbation even more popular than it has always been. Certainly sales have been up a little for my books and stories. Not as high as they were back in the days when Amazon had most of them on sale, but up a bit from their pre-Covid averages. I can only conclude that more people are staying home and need something to jerk their cocks or diddle their cunts to. Inspiration to do something sexual is much easier to come by than inspiration to write something sexy.
I do sometimes wonder if my books would sell better if they were illustrated. I’m not a very good artist, though. And good artists are expensive. Photos would be cheaper, but it isn’t easy to find a set that exactly fits the story. You can’t just grab pictures from the web; you have to pay for them and obtain a proper license to use them. That isn’t easy. It’s surprising how few of the photo agencies allow their products to be used as book covers or interior art. Most are only licensed for online use. And commissioning photos to fit the story isn’t in the budget.
You might ask, what’s in the upcoming work? As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the current working title is Undying Lust, and the protagonist is an immortal originally called Zara, and renamed Sarah in more recent times. Roughly 6,600 years old, she’s seen a lot and done a lot. She’s been involved in a threesome with Robin Hood and Maid Marian, fucked an actual god (which is how she ended up immortal), given birth to a demigod, survived a disaster or two, once knew Shakespeare, and been involved in more than one marathon sixty-nine session with me. Her original religion involved a lot of sex and the frequent praise of a set of gods and goddesses who held to a general non-interference policy with the people who worshipped them, but did enjoy watching them have sex (well, who doesn’t, if you’re going to be honest?).
Naturally, this being one of my books, there’s a good bit of consensual incest. Zara’s people, the Moronites, didn’t actually see anything wrong with the concept as long as all involved were old enough to know what they were doing, and their gods and goddesses were nearly all married to their siblings. The one exception was their creator god, Kolek, who was married to his daughter, Kanzeki. Kanzeki had no mother, but was created entirely by her father, who masturbated her into existence. He’d previously spent most of his spare time masturbating galaxies into existence, but eventually became lonely and created a daughter instead. Kolek was more of a Deist-type god, letting the galaxies he’d jerked into being evolve on their own while he was off spewing out more. So if a widowed Zara felt comfortable fucking her grown son, the gods didn’t care and neither did her neighbors.
And, of course, there’s a certain amount of pee involved. Call it a personal fetish. One of the things I like about Sarah is her oversized bathtub, big enough for two to play around in. If you’re already in the tub, who cares if you get a little wet?