How to Suck Your Own Cock

[Disclaimer: I’m going to leave it to your imagination to decide whether I’ve done this, whether I’m doing it right now as I type this, or whether I’ve simply researched the subject thoroughly in other ways.]


First and foremost, it helps like hell to have a long cock. Think about it. If you’re 5’4, and you have a 3’ cock, it’ll be easy as pie to reach your pie-hole with that beast. I mean, if it’s proportionate, you might not be able to fit your mouth around it… but you’ll sure as fuck be able to REACH. You can lick your own crown, tongue your pee-hole, whatever. You can make it work.

The longer your cock, the easier time you’ll have reaching it with your mouth.

For most guys, that alone won’t do the trick. For most of us, we’d need to use some special maneuvers.

One of the ways is to lie flat on your back, then to raise your legs up until they’re perpendicular to the ground, then to keep moving them forward until you’re resting mostly on your shoulders, and your waist is above your face. Open your mouth, pull your own hips forward, and try to carefully work that cock into your mouth. Don’t jerk when you pull, and don’t pull so hard that you strain/pull a muscle or damage your back.

This is something that you don’t want to cripple yourself over.

If you can get any part of it in your mouth at all, it might well be just the tip. That’s okay–use it. Suck on it, tease it with your tongue, and so forth. This should help you get longer and harder, and maybe get more of it into your mouth.

Again, don’t hurt yourself. I’d hate for anybody to try to sue me over this, and I don’t think that anybody would come out of the trial looking very good.

If that simply doesn’t do it for you, if you can’t get your own cock in your own mouth, then you’ll have to try something different.

Method #2 is to sit on a couch, with your hips as close to the edge of the couch as possible. You want to be perched on the frame, and then you want to curl forward and down to bring your mouth closer to the target. It helps if you’re dealing with a Hard target, so feel free to play with yourself and such. Just don’t use any funny-tasting lube.

Next, reach both arms down and grab the bottom of the couch. Pull yourself gently forward. Again, don’t jerk. Again, don’t hurt yourself. But pull yourself down cautiously and steadily. If necessary, use one arm to maintain the force needed to hold the position, and use one hand to position your cock closer to your mouth.

If nothing else, you should be able to lick the tip.

A large belly is a problem here, because it means you can’t curl up the right way. That’s why Ron Jeremy can’t suck his own dick anymore–his belly gets in the way. That’s a tragedy, because it was once his claim to fame, his signature trick. If that happens to you, the only thing to do is to lose weight and slim down.

Method #3 is similar to #2, but more horizontal. This time, you need to get into a bathtub (or similar structure), and put your knees over the side of the tub. Your spine should be perpendicular to the tub, sideways from how you normally (I presume) lie in a bathtub. If you have hot water in the tub, that might make things loosen up and make you more limber, but it also might make it harder to stay hard. Use your own judgment on that.

You want to again curl up. You want to have the backs of your thighs against the side of the tub, and you want to grab the outside of the tub with your hands, to pull yourself forward and down so that your mouth lines up with your goal. Again, this position is very much like #2.

If and when you get there, when you finally get your cock in your mouth, it probably won’t be all that satisfying. It’ll probably be a bit like tickling yourself–being on both ends of the sensation will mute the experience for you. But there are guys who come this way, and that’s another issue you’ll have to deal with. Do you want to come in your own mouth?

That’s something you might not know until the moment arrives.

If/when you get your cock in your mouth, it’s not going to be an ideal position. The upside of your tongue will be on the upside of your cock, not on the more sensitive underside. You’ll have to use your arms to do a lot of the work, pulling yourself forward and back, so you can fuck your own cock with your mouth (the head is going to be doing most of the movement in any of these positions). Sometimes it might help to pull the loose skin that covers your cock forward, to get more of it into your mouth, into the reach of your tongue.

If you succeed in all of this, you might not come the first time. You might have a back or neck ache. Again, be careful. With sufficient practice, though, and horniness you might well be able to finish this way, to come in your own mouth. You probably won’t like the taste, although that’s subject to the individual.

Needless to say, don’t worry about whether or not this makes you gay–it doesn’t, not any more than using your own hand to jack yourself off makes you gay. Homosexuality is all about what you do (and how you feel) about other people, not what you do to yourself. I hope by this point in history, men wouldn’t worry about that sort of thing, but I’m adding this disclaimer anyway: Sucking your own cock–even swallowing your own semen–does not make you gay in any way.

I mean, you’re still a filthy pervert, but that’s a separate issue.

“This Has Never Happened To Me!”

I’ve never really gotten the whole “this never happens to me” kind of thing that men go through when they can’t get it up. Then again, I’ve never been invested in erections that way. One reason might be because the very first time I tried to have sex, I couldn’t get hard for it. In my defense, to the extent that any defense was needed, I was crippled by the flu, and I was hopped down on NyQuil–the old-fashioned kind, the (as Dennis Leary phrased it) “Don’t Make Any Fucking Plans” kind.

I was with a girl. She was taking care of me, because I was sick. We ended up making out, germs be damned, and suddenly the bases were just flying by. First Base, Second Base, Third Base, then I was diving headfirst into Home.

I lay there for quite a while, with my head on the plate, and was rewarded first with squirming, and eventually with screaming. A bit later, more screaming. Then maybe some more. None of it was the bad kind–it was the enthusiastic, pinnacular kind, and a bit later, I decided that I was ready to lose my virginity. I’d been saving it for somebody special, and this girl was special. I didn’t know if she was The One, but I knew she was special enough that I wouldn’t regret her being my first.

I know… Virgin teenage boys are supposed to be willing to fuck anybody and everybody just to get rid of the scarlet V on their foreheads. But I was different, perhaps more old-fashioned, perhaps just more picky.

I decided that this girl would be the first girl I Went All The Way with… and my penis told me that it didn’t agree. It just wasn’t up for anything at the moment.
It was feeling sleepy.

I remember laughing, because of COURSE that would happen–I was only conscious because of the amazing opportunities that a naked girl was providing, combined with my youth. The amount of NyQuil I’d had would have paralyzed an ox. It wasn’t very surprising that it was paralyzing my cock.

She was cool with it. Even if she’d have otherwise been a bitch about it (and she wouldn’t), she’d already gotten hers several times (5, maybe?). So instead of fucking, we curled up together, and we slept.

Later that night or early morning, THEN we fucked. And it was glorious.
But the overall point was that my very first time out of the gate, my stallion fell asleep on me. And it didn’t fucking matter.

It was the first time my cock wasn’t up to a challenge, and it wasn’t the last. I mean, when I was younger, I half-joked that I could have an arm chopped off, and still be up for sex. Maybe it was a quarter-joke. Sex was and is one of my primary raison d’etres. That didn’t mean that there weren’t times when I was too tired, or too hammered, or too angry, or too whatever else to get hard enough to bang whatever girl I desperately wanted to bang at the time.

Age hasn’t made things easier, either.

The girl I’m with right now, we’ve been dealing with a weeks-long bout of bad timing and exhaustion, where our sex life isn’t where we’d like it to be. Sometimes she’s too tired, sometimes I’m too tired. Sometimes we both are.

The thing of it is, we make do. That’s what adults DO–they make do.

Sometimes she’s like, “Do you mind just lubing up, playing with yourself, and coming in me when you’re ready?”

No, I don’t mind.

Sometimes I’m like, “Do you mind if I just lick you til you come, then I roll over and go to sleep?”

No, she don’t mind.

When you’re young, part of you is still afraid that everything is going to go on your Permanent Record or something. You’re afraid that if you can’t get hard enough (or wet enough) that the person you’re with will laugh at you, and that IF they do, that it’ll matter in the scheme of things. You’re worried that if you don’t have sex right now, you may never have sex again at all!

But that’s all bullshit.

Sex isn’t all about Penis In Vagina penetration. Sex isn’t all about being hard, or wet. Sex is about two (or more) people physically bonding with and pleasuring one another, and it comes (so to speak) in many forms, most of which don’t require a stiff cock.

So my masculinity and my sexual identity isn’t tied up (so to speak) in my always having a stiff cock every time. That’s not the only tool in my toolbox. I know that I can orgasm when I’m not hard, and I know that I can make my partner orgasm when I’m not hard.

So I’ve never really understood the “this never happens to me” bullshit that guys seem to say. Maybe it hasn’t happened to you, but it WILL happen to you, and it doesn’t matter much what happens to you, as long as you make it happen for her, and as long as you both leave the encounter satisfied.

In Which I Battle Myself to Write This

“You don’t have to write anything,” I told myself. “All you have to do is to open up a new tab with Google Docs in it.”

Yesterday, I wrote something like 4-6 blog posts, which started catching me up on my goal. I figured I could probably get ahead of schedule today, without much effort. But everything has been effort today.

It hasn’t been a bad day; it’s been an inert day.

I’m not in a bad mood; I’m just effectively paralyzed by… I don’t know what. My mind, I suppose. My ADD is full throttle, so I’m constantly distracted by stuff. I’ll sit down at the computer, and three hours will have passed. What happened during that time?

It’s a mystery.
I looked up obscure shit on Wikipedia. I argued with some twat who was wrong about something stupid, and who won’t learn anything from the experience of me walking them step by step through the echoing halls of their own ignorance. I watched some pointless videos on YouTube. I pissed most of my day away, doing nothing.

And even as I told myself that there was still time to accomplish something productive today, I told myself back that I didn’t want to do anything productive. I want to do nothing. I want to do glorious nothing all day, all week, and for the rest of my life.

It’s a trap that I’ve fallen into before, and it can be hard to get out of.

So I’ve learned to fool myself into being productive. I tell myself that I can always procrastinate later, that I need to do something, just ONE thing, then I can get back to the abyss of mindless online nonsense. Or I can watch something on Netflix. Or I can pet the dogs for an hour. Or I can stare out the window, or at a wall. But I have to do one thing first: I have to open a tab with a blank Google Document in it.

This is a trick, and I know it. Fortunately, I’m stupid enough to fall for it, and I’ve been writing non-stop for over two minutes now. I’ve battled me before, and I know a lot of my weaknesses. A blank page is one of them. I’m compulsed to put something on it, and once I have that something, I’m compulsed to add to it.

My ADD, and my OCDish tendencies can cut both ways, and against my worst judgment, I use them to cut my way slowly forward, to make myself do something productive.

My doubts kick in. Is this even a good blog post?
I parry with my own laziness: it doesn’t matter if it’s good. As I learned in school, “D” means Done.
My anxiety lashes out at me. Am I saying any of this right? What if it nobody knows what I’m talking about? What if it offends people somehow? What if….
I dodge the attacks, using my own procrastination to avoid even thinking about the questions, let alone answering them.

And here I am, 511+ words down, with a minimum goal of 800.

Things are flowing faster now, and I’m getting into the zone a bit. I’m able to type out my thoughts freely. I’m in familiar territory, because I’ve fought myself this way many, many times before. I’m fighting an enemy so familiar that we might as well share the same brain, except the enemy IS my brain, or parts of it.

I spend a few minutes trying to look up an applicable quote, something somebody once said about attaching a yoke to their own lusts. It was an eloquent idea, and a sound strategy, but all I’m getting right now are Bible quotes, and I’m pretty sure none of them are close to what I have in mind.

The point of the quote–and of this blog entry, if there is one–is that when you understand that you can be your own worst enemy, and when you study this enemy, you can adapt to an extent, and you can overcome yourself. I’ve spent depressingly close to half a century analyzing my own thoughts and actions, watching myself carefully to figure out how I’ve screwed myself up in the past, and how I’ll screw myself up in the future.
I suspect that I’m not the only one who has this kind of problem, the problem of self-sabotage, the problem of being my own enemy.

I suspect that I’m not the only one who uses this kind of solution, manipulating myself coldly toward my own agenda of self-improvement and productivity.

But I also suspect that there are many people out there that don’t have it down as well. I didn’t, decades ago. I get a little better every year. And I wish somebody had told me, had shown me, many years ago how I could fool myself into being more useful in my own life.

As a writer, the first step is always to look at a blank page.

That’s often also the hardest step, because the thought of a blank page is sometimes the scariest thing in the world, something that you’d rather kill your entire day–and even eventually your lifespan–than to face head-on.
So break it down, to the basics.
Set your goals small, starting with opening up a new document.
It’s an easy goal, and you can lie to yourself that it’s the only goal, something worth doing just for itself.

But when you get there, and you’re looking at that big, white Empty, push yourself to go just one step further, just one tiny step, and
Write.

One.

Word.
If you’re like me, that’s the hardest part, the biggest demon you have to slay.
It’s a deceptively complex project (but don’t let yourself catch on to that!), because in order to write that one word, you have to have a sentence or a half-sentence ready. And once you have that first word written, it’s easier to finish that sentence than not. It’s easier to finish that half-sentence than not, and if you have half a sentence, it’s usually easier to finish that sentence than to not.
And once you have that first sentence down, the second sentence will come pretty easily, as will the one after that.
And before you know it, you’re at 1056 words, and even a D means Done.

Why I Don’t Use Trigger Warnings

[This blog post contains minor spoilers for my story “Satisfied By A Stegosaurus”]

I’m not opposed to the idea of trigger warnings. In fact, I think that they’re often a good idea. I personally like to check with DoesTheDogDie.com before I watch a movie, because I don’t like to wander into that kind of thing without advanced warning. It’s not truly a trigger for me, but it’s certainly upsetting. Likewise, I know any number of rape victims that have been unpleasantly surprised (and triggered) by a rape scene appearing in a film where there was no indication in the ads or previews. I can understand why trigger warnings exist.

 

I also understand that in erotica, rape/reluctant/violent scenes can turn what was supposed to be a perfectly pleasant experience into something horrible, or at the least upsetting and annoying. I want all of my readers to have perfectly pleasant experiences when they read my stories–that’s one reason why I write erotica in the first place.

While I do have the common author’s conceit of wanting readers to approach my stories without any spoilers, I also understand that when dealing with erotic short stories, it’s not as much of an issue. The plot is that somebody or some bodies have sex of some kind. Because people tend to have particular kinks and sexual tastes, knowing in advance what the sex scene is going to involve isn’t a spoiler–it’s advertising.

So for the most part, I’m cool with trigger warnings, even if they’d “spoil” part of the plot.
The main issue for me is that as an independent author, I work mostly through Amazon, and that means that trigger warnings could directly interfere with my business as a writer. Amazon has a very arbitrary set of standards that is sporadically enforced. They technically will not publish any books with rape scenes in them, for example, except for all of the books that that they publish that have rape scenes in them. “The Color Purple,” for example. And most dinosaur erotica. The difference being that Amazon is NOT going to yank “The Color Purple” from their electronic shelves due to content, but any indie or small-time erotica author could have their work(s) yanked at pretty much any time.

I went into the writing of my story “Satisfied By A Stegosaurus” with the idea that I’d go against the grain–and err on the side of caution–by having the human/dino sex be consensual. Oddly, during the writing of the story, a human/human rape-fantasy scene occurred as part of the main character’s back story. It’s not a particularly brutal scene, and I wrote it in such a way that it the rapist doesn’t exactly come out on top. But it is a rape/non-consent scene, even if it’s one that isn’t likely to trigger anybody. I’d gladly warn people about that plot element in the beginning of the book, or in the blurb, except that by doing so I’d be likely to attract the attention of Amazon’s enforcers.

Sure, they don’t seem to have a problem with countless beast-rape stories like “Taken By The T-Rex,” but the nature of the content often doesn’t seem to matter as much as whether Amazon has plausible deniability. If I, the author, mention that there’s rape-fantasy or non-consensual activity in a story, and somebody reports it, then Amazon would be more likely to take action.

Remember, Amazon’s applicable guidelines are as follows:
https://kdp.amazon.com/en_US/help/topic/G200672390

Pornography

We don’t accept pornography or offensive depictions of graphic sexual acts.

 

Offensive content

What we deem offensive is probably about what you would expect.
So the hazard for including trigger warnings for rape-fantasy/non-consent stuff applies equally to most possible triggers that might appear in my work. My BDSM novel has scenes where the main character is tied, cuffed, or blindfolded. Those things might trigger some people. But if I acknowledge that those elements are included, the Amazonian hammer might come down on me for it. Even though they’d never consider banning “50 Shades of Grey.”

Another factor is the nature of what I write.

I don’t feel bad about not including a trigger warning on “Satisfied By A Stegosaurus,” because the very nature of that particular sub-genre, dinosaur-human sex, is that consent is rarely included. It’s mostly just straight-forward stories about dinosaurs fantasy-raping humans. Similarly, my story “The Octopunishment” includes (surprise, surprise!) tentacle-rape scenes. Again, that shouldn’t surprise anybody. Likewise, my story “Moonheat” has a werewolf-on-human nonconsent/rape scene, and the only surprise there might be that the werewolf is female and the human is male.

In general, I try to write within genre and sub-genre norms and expectations when it comes possible triggers. If I write superhero stuff, there’s going to be some violence, and probably varying levels of non-consent at times. If I write monster sex, it might well include rape-fantasy scenes. I don’t feel that trigger warnings are necessary when it comes to standard conventions of a genre or sub-genre.

If anybody out there is curious about my work, but has particular things that they’d like to avoid (or to seek out), just send me an email, a tweet (public or private), or respond to this post, and just ask.

Not In A Single Word

(The following blog post includes a spoiler for the musical Hamilton)

Bill Cosby once had a popular family comedy show in which he showed off his acting skills by playing a man who was not a serial rapist. In one particular episode of this show, this non-rapist character (Cliff Huxtable) is telling his daughter a story about wanting to learn to play the drums when he was a kid. He’d listened to some records, been blown away by the drumwork, and had eagerly rushed out to find a music teacher so that he could learn how to play the drums just as well as the professional musicians that he’d fallen in love with.

Here’s a 32 second clip of that story, which as far as I can tell will not provide Bill Cosby with any income if you watch it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPF3qqO1qFA

Young Cliff Huxtable tells the teacher that he wants to (insert un-writable Bill Cosby impression of somebody playing the drums really, really well), and the teacher responds by telling him to take his drum sticks and practice hitting a wood block slowly, like this: Whack…Whack…

The point is that if you want to be great at something, you have to start out small, mastering the fundamentals and the most basic elements of that something. It’s only when you’ve gotten that stuff down that you can learn to put them all together into something great. This applies not only to playing the drums, but to most things, writing included.

This is why grammar and punctuation is important: they’re the fundamentals of writing. If you don’t learn to master those, then you won’t become great. This is because great things can often hinge on a mastery of basic elements.

Most writers want to skip ahead, just like young Cliff Huxtable did. They want to jump right to the fancy stuff, without putting in the years of practice on the fundamentals. I don’t blame them one bit, but learning the fundamentals is important not only because it allows you to avoid embarrassment, but also because it allows you to do amazing, incredible things, to communicate worlds of information with something as seemingly inconsequential as the placement of a single comma.

This is where we get to the Hamilton spoiler(s).

In the musical, Alexander Hamilton marries Eliza Schuyler. One of Eliza’s sisters, Angelica, moves overseas, and she and Alexander maintain regular correspondence by writing letters back and forth. Alexander always begins these letters “My dearest Angelica,” with the comma in the proper position, after “Angelica.”
Until one day he doesn’t.

In the song “Take A Break,” Angelica sings about the importance of that comma, because it changes position:
In a letter I received from you two weeks ago

I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase

It changed the meaning. Did you intend this?

One stroke and you’ve consumed my waking days

It says:

“My dearest Angelica”

With a comma after “dearest.” You’ve written

“My dearest, Angelica.”

 

Here we have two characters who are in love, and who cannot be together. They cannot directly express their feelings for one another, due to sense of propriety as well as perhaps the pain of putting their feelings to words, when they cannot act on their feelings. Hamilton instead lets Angelica know indirectly how he feels about her, and he does it simply by moving a comma.

Angelica asks, “Did you intend this?”, but my impression from the musical overall is that she knows he did. She’s just experiencing the “I can’t believe he feels this way back” sort of disbelief that can happen when love is requited.

In her heart, she knows. She knows that he loves her, that he holds her in his heart in some ways higher even than his wife: “My dearest, Angelica.”

That one comma placement switches the meaning from a simple and polite expression, from technically expressing that of all the Angelicas that exist, that she is the most dear to him, to a declaration that of all the people in the world–presumably his wife included–Angelica is the most dear to him, the most loved, the most cherished. That slight movement of a comma is the difference between a prefatory acknowledgment that could be skipped over, to something that consumes a woman’s waking days.

It’s the kind of thing that a writer can only pull off if they know what they’re doing, if they have the right level of authority with their reader(s). If Alexander was always sloppy with his commas, sticking them routinely in strange places, Angelica wouldn’t have noticed the comma’s movement at all. Any deliberate message would have been lost in the general mess of Alexander’s writing.

Instead, because Alexander knew what he was doing–had mastered the fundamentals–and because he had demonstrated his knowledge of the fundamentals often and well enough for Angelica to know that he knew what he was doing, he was able to convey to her an entire world of emotion–not in a single word, but in a single goddamned comma.

That’s why you have to Whack Whack, before you can dit-dit-ditta-dit while you ding-ding-dinga-ding.

I Got Mentioned in the “Loving BDSM” Podcast

 

My Fucking Day Job keeps me pretty busy physically, but not mentally. Consequently, I have long and boring periods of time where I don’t have the opportunity to read, but I am perfectly able to entertain myself by listening to audiobooks and podcasts. I try to use this as an opportunity not just to be amused, but also to further my education on my craft, as well as the world in general. I listen to classic novels, in order to study the great writers. I listen to many modern novels for the same reason. I listen to non-fiction audiobooks on subjects that I think might help me strengthen my key weaknesses as an independent writer: self-promotion and sales. I also listen to a lot of stuff just for ideas, and to broaden my knowledge of the world in general, as well as my knowledge of more specific areas of expertise that can come up in my writing.

One of the podcasts that I am subscribed to is the “Loving BDSM” podcast, by Kayla Lords and John Brownstone. Kayla is, in her own words, “a masochistic babygirl,” and John Brownstone is her Daddy Dom. Their podcast is about BDSM relationships, but is less geared toward the technical details of mechanics and biology, and is more focused on how to form and maintain strong, safe, and loving (if desired) relationships in the context of BDSM and the BDSM community.

I stumbled onto their podcast while searching for more information on BDSM relationships, because I’ve written some BDSM stuff in the past, and plan to write more in the future. Their podcast was useful in this regard, but I also quickly became charmed by the couple themselves, and have become quite a fan.

The Loving BDSM Podcast has a Bonus Section at the end of each episode, where they engage in general chitchat, discuss tangents that didn’t make it into the episode, provide updates about their lives, and so forth. Another thing they do in the Bonus Section is to discuss the postcards that they get from their fans.

I toyed with the idea of sending them a postcard, because I thought it would be nice to hear my own name mentioned in one of their episodes. I got the idea at some point that instead of mailing them a local postcard, I’d try to have a postcard made off of the cover of one of my books. I considered doing this with “Letting Go,” the romantic BDSM novel that I co-wrote with Kelli Roberts, but eventually settled on my story “Satisfied By A Stegosaurus,” because I love that cover in particular, and I thought they’d get a kick out of it.

Then I procrastinated for a long while, and recently decided that it would be simpler to just mail them a physical copy of the book, because it’s one of my stories that is long enough to work with Amazon’s print-on-demand publishing feature. So I mailed them a copy of the book, along with a note thanking them for their podcast.

Then I waited almost a full week to see if they mentioned me on their podcast.
AND THEY DID!!!!

More than just a quick “ we got this thing from Richard Bacula,” they spent a bit of time discussing the book, and Kayla read the back of the book for her listeners. I knew that it’d feel good to hear myself mentioned, but I was surprised at how over-the-top happy it made me!!

It’s a small thing, but it’s one of those things that makes me feel like a real writer. Thanks to working with Kelli Roberts on “Letting Go,” I’ve seen my name in a couple prominent places before. We got a press release on the AVN (Adult Video News) website when the book came out, and a couple of years ago the novel got a mention in Women’s Health Magazine as a way for couples to spice up their love life (i.e., read this book it will make you both horny), and while those were each certainly an absolute blast to see… this mention in a podcast with a much smaller audience than AVN or Women’s Health gave me as big of a thrill, perhaps more.

It’s one thing to see your name in print somewhere, and it’s another thing to hear it, and to hear people talking about your book. Hearing it makes it all seem more real somehow. I wrote a thing. I self-published it. I got a physical copy of the book. I mailed that copy to a couple of strangers. And They Talked About It!!

So I’m in a good mood.

This is the kind of success that is in some ways more important than direct sales, because morale is often at least as important than money when it comes to writing, at least for me.

 

Anyway, if you want to hear what they had to say about my book, you can listen to the entire episode here:
What You Can and Can’t Say in a D/s Relationship LB130

 

(Or just skip to about 59:47, if you just want to hear the part where they talk about me!)

Finding Words And Thoughts

It’s the 19th of May, and my challenge this year is to write a new blog post for each day of the month. So far, I’ve written only TEN blog posts! That’s not great. I need to catch up, and I need to do it fast. I’ve set an 800 word minimum for my posts this month, so if you’re following my blog you should probably expect to see a number of upcoming posts that are short and hopefully sweet, things that I churn out quickly in order to get to the next post.

I’ve gotten quite good at doing that kind of thing with short stories, but blog posts are a different kettle of fish. With writing short erotic fiction, especially stuff in the 800-word range, the only thing to focus on is the sex itself. There’s no time to say much else in that kind of project, although other stuff can be squeezed in. With blog posts, it’s all saying other stuff, which is less in my area of expertise than with writing highly-detailed sex scenes.

As I’ve mentioned before, the key to cranking out a lot of writing fast is learning to get out of your own way. You have to push all of your doubts aside, shove your insecurities into the basement and lock the door. You can’t spend time second-guessing or third-guessing everything that you type, because you’ve got to get through the word-count and move on to the next project, then the one after that, and so forth.

This is also where it becomes important to be what they call “fluent in writing.” Writing is a kind of language all its own, different from and more difficult than speech. Being fluent in writing means that the time it takes to translate the thoughts in your head onto the page are minimal. Ideally, you can more or less type out your thoughts as quickly as they occur.

Learning fluency in writing takes time and effort, which is why most writers hand out advice like “write every day” or “keep a daily journal” or so forth, because learning fluency takes a lot of practice. When you first start writing, it’s difficult because you have all this stuff in your head, and it’s hard to get it onto the page properly.
You might envision a tall, muscular, dark-haired man with a mustache, with a basket-hilted longsword on his hip, a cloak on his shoulders, and a top hat on his head, riding a black seventeen-hand Shire stallion with lovely brown eyes that match his light brown leather horse tack. This man is riding quickly, but not at a full gallop, and he’s in a forest of Scotch pine. The full moon is high in the sky, but the forest is still dark. He’s in a hurry to reach his true love, but he’s wary of the bandits that sometimes set upon unwary travelers in this forest.

You might, in your early years of writing, write that down as “James rode Augustus through the woods,” and then be completely puzzled why your friends and family aren’t blown away by what is–in your imagination–a very powerful scene. That’s because you haven’t learned the language of writing yet, so important details were lost in translation.

Fortunately for me, I have wasted decades of my life arguing meaningless minutia with people on online message forums. I started out on dial-up Bulletin Boards, and continue to some degree to this day. More fortunately for me, I have always had in my head an inkling that I wanted to be a writer someday, so as I was typing furiously back and forth with all those people online, I tried to use it as practice. I put forth some level of effort in everything I wrote, trying to make sure that things were well-spelled, well-punctuated, and whenever possible cleverly phrased. The net result of all this is that I am fairly fluent in the language of writing, to the point where I can usually write rather smoothly, with little to no need for serious editing or rewrites. Usually.

Another helpful factor is that I have always been a big reader, and it is always helpful when learning a new language–such as the language of writing–to immerse yourself in that language. The more you drink in, the easier it is to spit back out. You can subconsciously learn all sorts of rules and subtleties of the language that aren’t taught in school, and you find it easier to think in that language as well, minimizing the translation required to put your thoughts to paper.

All of which is to say that when it comes to blog posts, I know that I’m capable of the speed which will be required for me to catch up to my goal, and to complete my May Challenge for this year. The main obstacle will be finding enough material to write about. All the fluency in the world is of absolutely no avail when one runs out of things to say.