Right now, I’m working on a series of short stories dealing with sex, and I’m terribly disappointed with the drafts. Why? Because they read like cheap erotica.
I see two possible reasons for this: my generation’s discourse and language of sex, and the nature of the sexual incidents described in this series (#18). Sex is over-discussed and frequently consumed, both the real thing and media depictions of it. It’s such a vital part of our existence that it has become an inevitable topic of our daily conversations as well; and through these dialogues, we have created a common language of sex, one that is rife with overused vocabulary and innuendos that are understood universally, sometimes even across languages.
And when I write about sex, especially sex that is nothing more than pure carnal pleasure (you might call them “one night stands”), which is what #18 explores, most verbs, adverbs, and nouns (there are only so many other things you could call the various body parts involved) start glaring off the page as clichés. The print starts mocking me, Of course, what else would you do with that? How else would he grab it? Where else would it go? Ha. Ha. HA.