This month long super project at work is killing my brain cells. I dream of statistics instead of breasts and that is unacceptable. I force myself to write and so far my productivity has only dropped a little. I do worry about the quality though. It also gives me something to talk about today.
Being brain blasted, I wanted to indulge in a videogame yesterday. I am a big fan of the Leisure Suit Larry games, simple adult oriented adventure games that focus on a loser trying to get laid. The games have a sense of humor that I appreciate because it mostly makes fun of male sexuality, which is quite silly at its core if you ask me. The latest game, ‘Box Office Bust’ had terrible reviews but hey, I would give it a shot. I am so work exhausted, maybe I would enjoy it.
It was awful. I have played a lot of bad games, watched a lot of bad movies and read a lot of bad stories, but this game was just awful. The jokes were flat and the game was oddly visually ugly. The biggest crime was just boredom. I spent five minutes running across a near empty map to get to the next part of the game. Five minutes of just pushing a control forward. Five minutes of me daydreaming about work.
I uninstalled the game and thought about boredom. Erotica surprisingly has a big potential for boredom. Some writers feel that you need to know the characters before they fuck, so we get big long stretches of mundane activities designed to inform us about motivations and preferences. I understand this. Erotica gets such a bad reputation that people want to show that their characters are real. They want to evoke sympathy and interest. In their quest to bring these characters to life, they run the risk of boring the shit out of us.
After uninstalling the boring game, I installed X-Com: UFO Defense. This is a 15 year old game that I had always heard good things about but never played. The graphics are slightly better than Pac-Man and learning curve is brutal. In the first five minutes, I had no idea what I was doing, BUT I was also shooting down a UFO and invesitagting the wreckage with my squad of soldiers. A few seconds later, I was getting slaughtered.
Shit was happening.
I envy a lot of erotica writers. They write these stories about romance and desire that come across as real life accounts. They read more like confessions than stories, which I know is calculated to draw the reader in. For a lot readers, erotica has to feel real. It has to feel like it could not only happen to them, but also that it already has happened to someone. That is a great skill to have.
I don’t think I will ever have that ability. I don’t find reading those stories boring BUT I do find that writing them is. Cripes, writing about people with jobs, marriages and stress gives me the shakes. I write for fun. I have to write about fun. I have to write about erotic librarians, evil Queens and sexual werewolves. I know if I wrote more college girls getting laid than I would have ten times the readers but I would also take up self mutilation. There is a trade off there.
My wife has no tolerance for fight scenes in movies. For her, a fight that goes on longer than two minutes needs to get to the fucking point. She fakes a yawn and says “Bored now.”
I hear her voice when I write now. Especially when I am proof reading my own stuff. Oh great, I spent a page describing how some science fiction thing worked? Bored now. I described a complicated military procedure? Bored now.
When I find a boring part, I don’t take it out. I enhance it. I add breasts. I add masturbation. I suspect 90% of my librarian stories is Claire experiencing a sex act while something is explained to her. It works though.
Shit is happening.