So, with erotic fiction…is it all unbelievably beautiful people fucking on every page? Or is there room for dark gritty stories of crime, where regular folk go through a shitty patch in life? You know, the kind of stories with fucked-up endings, where most don’t get what they want, even if they deserve it? Stories of drug use and cheap booze, broken cars and broken dreams…stories where the rent doesn’t get paid and the landlord comes knocking, where unregistered guns are sold out of the trunks of Cadillac's right next to the kid peddling dope on the corner.
I’ll admit that I don’t read the genre. I’ll also bet that changes over the next few months with my new digs here at TJ Adams Fiction?
I’m deep (no pun intended) into a 1930’s, private eye, prohibition era story that is right up to the point of being erotic anyway. So far, I’ve managed to keep the private dick from doing the dame in his second floor office with noise from the traffic on the streets below streaming through the open windows and the fan on overhead. The gal is being blackmailed and the PI is more than willing to help with the case.
Was planning this one in a novella length from the start and after An Innocent Act found a home, I’ve decided to let it go in that direction. It may turn out OK? It may not? But I’d like to try.
I’m also working on a modern crime short. The gal in this one is a hooker set on revenge and the story lends itself well to being something that my pal TJ would think of?
Anyway…enough for now and I hope that you don’t mind the vintage gals that keep these posts company?