It probably goes without saying that I’m a writer. I mean, obviously — you’re here reading a blog post that I wrote. I’ve been writing nonstop since third grade, when my teacher walked in one day and said, “OK, class, we’re going to do a creative writing unit!” I started a multi-chapter Superfudge fan fiction, and the rest is history.
I’ve written for many different reasons throughout my life. In middle school, I wrote for fun and social capital. In high school, it was much the same — I created a comic book that was hundreds of pages long, chronicling the struggle to rid our school of evil zombies (and, admittedly, some teachers).
Little did I know at the time that I had developed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, which presented as “inattentive,” but I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 37.
What seemed like rebellious behavior was actually a learning strategy for my neurodivergent brain
When I turned 30, writing became my sometimes lucrative side hustle. I published short stories and my novel. Up until recently, this has been the purpose of writing in my life — to make some scratch on the side doing something I love, and that, frankly, I’m good at.
Then came quarantine. I was able to work from home, but I was left with a good chunk of downtime.
On one dull afternoon while my daughter was taking a nap, I had an idea for a scene between two characters I’d written about before but hadn’t visited since 2005. Just to amuse myself, I composed the chance meeting they had, and the resulting, well… encounter!
The next thing I knew, I had a steamy scene on my hands
When the chapter came to an end, I thought that was it. But the next day, I found myself thinking about it. And the next day. When I had free time again, I wrote chapter two. All of a sudden, I was obsessed. As in the story is ongoing, and is over 400 pages at this point.
There’s very little plot. It’s all about the relationships between the cast of characters, how they’ve grown and changed, the new challenges they’ve faced, and, of course, the drama.
Oh, and the sex. Allllll the sex.
For a long time, I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I was neglecting other writing projects. I was neglecting housework and home repairs, and I looked forward to writing at the end of the day to get me through the tough times at work. It seemed… weird. I want to make money at this. I want to do it full-time. But this monstrosity was going nowhere. It was unreadable by anyone else. In fact, the thought of anyone else reading it is completely and totally mortifying.
When I discussed this odd writerly behavior with my therapist, I began to understand why I was writing this book.
I was using the characters to explore things about my life, my relationships, and my own sexuality that I wasn’t comfortable addressing directly
There was enough of a degree of separation that I could craft scenarios to see how I felt about them. This character has this little sexual kink — do I think that’s sexy, or is that something that made sense for the character? How would I feel if my partner did that? If I did that to my partner?
The story invited me (invites me — present tense, because it’s ongoing) to ask myself, What do I find arousing? So far I have discovered many, many things that I never would have even addressed in the bedroom with my partner or thought about if it wasn’t for this story.
The most significant discovery was the realization that I am not just bisexual, as I previously thought, but pansexual
I could love anyone, find them sexually attractive, regardless of their bodily form, as long as I was emotionally drawn to them and felt safe, loved, and supported in the relationship.
I think many women equate their own arousal with arousing someone else. Putting on the lingerie and heels, being admired, gazed upon, lusted after. But this book has asked me, “What do you find attractive in others?” There are some physical aspects, but the overwhelming thing is a sense of safety, intimacy, and the ability to make mistakes and be forgiven.
Even if you don’t consider yourself a writer, but you want to learn more about yourself as an emotional and sexual being, try reading some romance novels. Yes, the books can be cheesy, predictable, problematic. But you might discover something about yourself based on which characters you connect with.
And even if you haven’t written a story since your school days, there is no law that says you can’t start writing a book like mine just to work through some of your issues. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll want to share it with the world. Remember, 50 Shades of Grey started life as a Twilight fan fiction. I have no doubt EL James learned a lot about herself writing that series!