Not a bad day today. The new album by The Dead Daisies arrived. It’s really rather good. I wrote a review for it and put it up on my other website. No. I’m not going to tell you what that website is because I’m trying to keep these things as separate as I can.
Another thing that I bought today that fits into the “do something that makes you happy” bit of treating your own depression is the new Eighth Doctor box set from Big Finish. It’s called Ravenous, and carries on from Doom Coalition.
If you’re not a fan of Doctor Who, this will mean absolutely nothing to you. Same goes if you think it started in 2005 and the first Doctor was Christopher Ecclestone.
He wasn’t. He was the Ninth.
I’m really looking forward to wrapping my ears around this one, at least partly because of the carryover villain from Doom Coalition – The Eleven. He’s a Time Lord whose previous regenerations didn’t really go all the way, so he has all his previous personalities rattling around in his head, like a Gallifreyan version of multiple personality disorder.
Mark Bonnar manages to create all eleven personalities and give them all life, making him a pretty damned sinister character, especially when ten of those personalities are varying levels of evil, with one “good” one trapped in the middle.
OK then. Time for bed.
If I can get my brain going in the right direction, I might even start doing a bit of writing again.
Wasn’t really feeling it again this morning. Since the Mother-In-Law, Sister-In-Law and nephew were due from the north east of Scotland, The Mrs had made me and The Boy work on tidying the house and generally cleaning up.
OK, I will admit it was needed. The house can become a tip with an 8 year old, one adult with depression and another on with acute fatigue syndrome. And two cats. But that doesn’t mean I won’t get stressed and start to dive a little.
So I did.
You know what helped? Being dragged out of the house for a couple of hours. We went into town, dropped something at the post office, called in at Boots and then went to Burger King (I had the Angus Burger – probably the most expensive thing on the menu, but it actually tastes of something, unlike the sort of thing you get at Maccy D’s, washed down with Dr Pepper).
When we got home, I was feeling less down. Got sat down and relaxed… and started to dive again.
Took The Boy for his swimming lesson (so got me out of the house again), and in that hour, having read a couple of issues of X-Men: Gold whilst he was in the water, I’d pretty much recovered my equilibrium, despite the impending arrival.
It’s pretty much bedtime now, and I’m feeling OK. Not brilliant, but somewhat relieved that everything went OK in the end. Amazing what a difference just getting out of the house and having something to do makes.
I’m told that one of the biggest causes of depression is bottling everything up. I’d go along with that. I tend to bottle things up, and I always have done, which is probably a good part of the reason I get pretty nasty when I’m off the medication for any reason (or it’s starting to run out, and I have to eek a few more days out of what I’ve got).
So I thought it was time I had something of a rant.
You know that feeling when you really can’t be bothered anymore?
No, I don’t mean THAT. What I mean is when you reach the moment when you reach faecal saturation. When you are sick of someone’s shit. I’ve reached that point again with a now former Facebook “friend”.
So I just unfriended.
Simple. He probably won’t even notice I’ve gone, and I’ve got one less vegan banging on and on and on about how farming is cruel and we’re murderers.
We’re not murderers. We’re the apex predator. Our species has got so good at killing other animals for food that we don’t really even need to hunt them anymore. Anyway, as anyone with any knowledge of Biology knows, we kill to survive. OK, the vegan doesn’t kill animals, but what about the plants? They’re alive (they fulfil all the seven criteria used by biologists to denote life) and recent research suggests they feel pain. It’s been known for a while that plants secrete alarm signals when they come under attack, so it’s logical that they must be able to sense that attack, therefore they feel pain.
Every time you wash your hands, or any other part of your body, your clothes or your food, you are (by your own standards) committing murder. The same goes when you uproot the plants you’re going to eat. Not only do you kill the plant, but you damage the ecosystem it has formed around itself. Millions of micro-organisms go to their end in your pan of boiling water.
My own personal theory as to why some people go vegan: being vegetarian isn’t “special” enough. You don’t really get to wallow in your own sense of superiority and rub it in other people’s faces if you’re “just” a vegetarian. There are LOADS of vegetarians out there. They’re not special. They’re mainstream.
Vegans, on the other hand, are going that one step further. They’re “special” because they believe themselves to be morally superior to all the carnivores because they don’t cause the deaths of animals to feed and clothe themselves.
Bollocks to all that. I’m not biting anymore. I’m just hitting “unfriend”, and in extreme cases “block”. My mental health is more important to me than that, and it’s about time I prioritized.
If I have ANY regular readers, please let me know. It’s a bit lonely in here, and for someone fighting depression, like my good self, it’s heartening to know that there’s someone out there.
So if there is, please leave a comment or something. That way, when I do take a spiral down (which will happen at some point), I can hold onto the evidence that someone does actually give a shit.
Anyway. Not been too bad recently. The job bumps along. Looks like a colleague is well and truly fucked off (and I can’t really blame him, based on what’s been happening and the changes of circumstances he’s been through recently), and is planning to resign in February. I’ll miss him. His truly (deliberately) awful jokes and puns really did help lighten the mood.
The experiment into dropping my dose of sertraline to 100mg per day seems to be working. Although I’ve got less resistance built in to spirals, I do feel somewhat more in control and a bit more present. So that’s a good thing.
Really do need to start going to the gym again, though. I managed regular visits for nearly a month, but a few days of feeling crap have lead to me not going for something like a fortnight now.
I need to do something about that. The workouts help the brain chemistry and therefore help the depression (and also help with the inevitable weight increases caused by the drugs), so this is something I really do need.
Something I also need to do is get back into writing. I was somewhat (pleasantly) shocked to actually get a few quid from my novella, Wild Caught Are Always Better (available from many good ebook retailers… and probably a few dodgy ones, too – click on the link if you have a Kindle or use Kindle software). It seems to be heading off into cyberpunk, which is interesting, not least for me as I watch it develop as I write it.
Might try and write a couple more paragraphs at least before I go to bed tonight.
Just mentioning something: even though I’m really not a fan of Rihanna’s music.
Generally, I can’t stand the sort of manufactured pop shite she’s a purveyor of, but in terms of the photos… she always looks incredible. The general hatred she seems to get seems to be a mixture of jealousy and just the whole “how dare you do things the way you want to do them and not the way we say”. It’s really all about subjugation. As a woman, she’s not allowed to be proud of her body and like to show it off. She’s supposed to be ashamed and keep covered up because only sluts show their bodies off.
My personal take on this? If you’ve got it, flaunt it. If you want to show off what you’ve got, it’s none of my business. You won’t find me judging someone based on what they decide to wear or not to wear (unless they’re chavs – then I’ll judge myself as being in danger).
Anyway… take a look at the picture. I can’t be the only one who would like to see her wearing even less.
Buy my porn! I’ve written some smut. Here’s the links: Wild Caught Are Always BetterAmazon | Smashwords
So yeah… the epic 2000+ words sex scene. Bit of a marathon, that. Certainly in terms of the writing. When you get to read it, you’ll hopefully notice that I tried to keep it interesting by swapping viewpoint and going into first person via the two protagonists’ thoughts.
This writing erotica isn’t the easiest thing to do. I’m learning a lot from reading some of the amateur stuff that’s out there on Literotica.com and also stuff I’ve picked up from Amazon’s Kindle store by the likes of Narcissa Rivers, SL Hadley and Emma Tilton.
The thing about reading other people’s stuff is that you learn what works for you and what doesn’t. You can then use that to inform how you write. They can also show you how NOT to write. One of the above authors definitely has moments of that. Usually where their use of words lets them down, making things a little… twee. For one of the worst examples of twee-ness, I can excuse it by referencing the POV character. It’s how they probably would have put something, but when that carries across… Nah. Then again, the author in question does keep their stuff readable and manages to create situations where the readers do want to know what happens next.
I know I’ve probably absorbed some of the style of all three of those writers mentioned above as well as the likes of Warren Ellis, Mike Carey, Douglas Adams, Michael Moorcock, Terry Pratchett and everyone else whose work I’ve ever read.
The porn-y bits, though, are largely from my own experience and imagination. They always say to write from experience, and since I’ve actually had sex, I can draw on that. OK, it’s never been as kinky as some of the stuff I’ve written, but that’s where imagination is used to extrapolate from experience. Some authors who shall remain nameless, but have multi-million dollar adaptations made of their modified Twi-shite slash fic don’t seem to have had that experience and rely on a not particularly active imagination…
One thing that’s worth mentioning is that when you’re writing this sort of thing, watching porn definitely helps. It’s more to do with camera angles and making the scene hold together more than what happens in the scene. There’s a certain narrative flow that the readers have come to expect. Usually because that’s how actual sex tends to go, and porn is a fantastical version of what tends to go on, rather than being an accurate depiction. After all, since when has real sex ever gone on for 20-odd minutes once arousal has been achieved on both sides?
So that’s something of a rambling glimpse into how I write erotica (or porn – although since I’m actually using imagination and depicting it with a medium of some kind, it can legitimately be called art). Why not have a go?
If you’re wondering why there’s a photo of Monique Alexander on this post… I’m a real sucker for a girl with purple hair. Or any sort of non-natural colour (we’re talking shades of blue, red and purple). Tattoos are definitely a bonus and are part of my personal turn-ons list, but only if well done.
Buy my porn! I’ve written some smut. Here’s the links: Wild Caught Are Always BetterAmazon | Smashwords
I’ll be unveiling the first chapter of the sequel to Wild Caught Are Always Better in just over 7 hours from when I’m typing this. Of course, if you want to get hold of a copy of Wild Caught…, what you need to do is click on THIS LINK, and if you’ve got an Amazon device or app, you’ll be able to download it for FREE until sometime during tomorrow when the offer runs out. As I type this, 72 people have downloaded a free copy. Let’s see how many come back to read the first chapter of the new one, eh?
If you don’t have an Amazon device or app, or even an Amazon account, keep checking back here because I’m going to be setting up an e-commerce page on this very site. Then, when Saturday dawns, for the princely sum of £1, you’ll be able to own your very own copy of the book almost nobody (bar a few dozen people) is talking about, direct from the author!
If you want a little more… erm… stimulation, I suggest you check out my Tumblr page and Twitter feeds. I’m really rather enjoying the monochrome images posted by Black Alice. There’s just something incredibly sensual and erotic about black and white photos that colour doesn’t have. The atmosphere of those photos is just that bit more… intimate. The interplay of light and shade on the curves of the human female body is just beautiful to look at. Colour photos just can’t really compete (except as wank fodder – but we’re not really talking about that!)
For those of you who prefer a hard copy of your mucky books, I’m just waiting for Amazon to finish setting everything up, then you’ll be able to order a paperback version.
I’m also looking at Smashwords as an alternate publisher and would welcome any suggestions from the fellow authors as to who they’d recommend.