Here’s a weird thing that I may have discussed before, but I don’t recall because Alzheimers, so we will go through it again.
Me and my two commenters, that is. (Rude.)
When I began writing a suspense novel, no one asked me if I’d ever committed a murder or had one attempted on me. No one asked if there had been any murder incidences among close friends or family members. People assumed the story was fictional, which of course it was. (BWAHAHAHA fools.)
But when I write a romance/erotica story I invariably get someone going uh duh is that YOU? Are you writing from experience heh heh heh? Gah, so annoying. At least when I wrote the crazy dragon thing no one asked that. But why not? I don’t understand why no one asked if I’d had sex with a dragon or at least an alligator. Weirddd.
But I write a threesome and it’s all BAM… did you do that??? Like I have enough imagination to write about a freaking dragon but not two chicks getting it on with some dude. Nope nope. I must have been one of them.
And poetry… geez, give me a break. Poems can be totally fictional, hello! Mine mostly are, though I do sometimes eat avocados.
It’s all lies and guacamole around here, my peeps. Trust me, I’m a liar.
Oh nubby green frogskin
Gleaming dully in my fruitbowl
You split with a pop
Under my old serrated knife
I saw around your oval
And twist your seams apart
To find perfect unmarred flesh
Yellow-green and fresh
Odors of earth and sun
Promises of spring
Rise softly after a year of sorrow
Sprinkle salt and pepper
This my solitary supper
Silky as creamcake
All dreams are possible