So two things.
a) I haven’t been writing hardly anything at all this summer, partly because I do creative stuff at work now and also because I’ve been having so much fun drinking blue sangria in hot tubs with all of my sister’s awesome friends. So I was just thinking, what do I always always want to talk about? Maybe I’ll write about just that and have some focus in this totally unfocusless until now little project. And I was like BOOKS. So from now on, just book stuff? We’ll see whether that sticks. WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:
b) Over the last weekish, a few of my lady friends and I have read 50 Shades of Grey together, which is a great basis for a drinking game with fifty rules, but now is starting to make us feel a little bit depressed and upset. Not only is it just really abominably written, but the sex is disgustingly preteen and pedestrian and pretty much comes from the same puddle-shallow pool of any sex scene in any romance novel ever, and leaves the huge echoing cavern of what sex can mean and what it can do to you and how it can make you feel more or less, in our opinion, unspelunked. In 50SOG, women have vaginal orgasms in their first fifteen minutes of sex ever in their lives (newsflash: 75 percent of women can’t have vaginal orgasms at all), are excellent at oral sex even though they’ve never even seen a naked person before, and never ever actually say the words ‘vagina’ or ‘penis,’ because yucky! Also, we actually are a little bit concerned that the main character might have a mental disability. So here are my humble alternatives to this tree-killing disappointment (please forgive bad scan quality):
So try those on for size. Also, those are absolutely the tamest sentences from The Story of the Eye (by Georges Bataille) and James Joyce’s letters. They are NASTY.