I feel a bit depressed about my writing. I know I'm no great shakes as an author--I'm certainly not in the top 10%, maybe not even above average. But I've always known that, so what's changed?
The problem is that I've gone off writing about the classic gay themes. You know them: stunningly beautiful man with seven-incher has hot butt-sex with straight guy who at once turns gay after sex so good he just has no choice. No uglies. No wrinklies. No shorties. No fatties. Let's exclude, in other words, about 90% of the human race. What am I writing, Harlequin for men?
I had a romantic view of m2m love once, but these days my perspective is more jaundiced. Men are bastards. We cannot think with our hearts, we struggle to think with our bigger heads, and far too often we take decisions based on the reactions of our small head. Yup, I know: these are all massive generalizations, and all generalizations are false (including this one.) There are many exceptions: many men are very loving and not totally obsessed with sex. All the same.... Also, I like female characters in my stories, I like a world with women in it. To make me even more of a weirdo, I believe that humans are pretty much bisexual. But lots of gays won't even read stories with women or male bisexual characters.
I dunno. Maybe because I'm still not well (5 weeks of illness so far), maybe because I'm feeling a bit down, but I'm just thinking what's the point? My focus on love instead of sex is so old-fashioned and passé. Who cares? Who will read my stories? Will I ever make even enough money to pay for a daily cup of coffee from them? Why not just give up? I started writing because I hoped that I would make it easier for guys coming out now. But though the world is still full of horrible gay-haters, many younger blokes I talk to have no idea of the struggles we went through. They don't care. Same-sex acts when I was in my twenties were illegal in most places. Now most civilized countries have legalised gay marriage or its near equivalent. I talk to youngsters who are accepted instantly by their parents, friends and society when they come out. Gay ceases to be relevant when things are like that. And why would anyone need uplifting gay-shaded stories about finding someone to love, about living happily ever after, when their lives are so peachy?
I fear I am a troglodyte, outdated, dull, uninspiring and irrelevant.
Never mind, I expect I'll feel better tomorrow!
1 comment:
What kind of story has characters suffer through one ecstatic moment after another? Bad times define good ones. Telling others your sorrows comforts them and makes them feel less alone.
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