The Sweet & Brutal Jouissance of the Story

UntitledFirstly, I’d like to call your attention to an interesting series of posts called On The Art of Erotica  going on at EroticWriter.wordpress.com hosted by Will Crimson. The first post is by him (Three Ways to Take a Woman), the second by me (The Wages of Sin), and there will be more going up in the next few days. It’s a delight to read people writing on writing. To see how people approach the craft differently, and how the order the subject in their minds.

This and the discussions that followed on twitter reminded me that I am often far too dour and dry in the way I write about my practice. I don’t often express the immense joy I get out of it. I can’t say it’s always a pleasure. Sometimes it starts that way – there is pleasure in the ideas I’m juggling – but by the time I sit down to write it I realize it will require a lot of intellectual effort to produce something crafted and perfect. Then it’s just hard work.

But sometimes it is entirely different. Do you remember falling in love with someone and being so addicted to them that it almost made you sick? You could not leave them alone, and when you had to, they were like a huge, dark cloud that blocked out half your horizon, so that everything you did was in a half-dream? You could still smell their sweat, still hear their breath in your ear? You felt the ghost of their hands on you hours afterwards?

Some of my pieces have been like that. I’m not sure that I produce them, but more that they erupt into my life and take it over. The story, the characters haunt me. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep. I need to be with it, to dwell in it, to sing it to the finish.

Some stories ride me like a voodoo god. I have to simply submit to them, give myself over to them. There is no other way to tell the story or get it out. Those stories are like insatiable, brutal lovers. Better than any sex. More intoxicating than any infatuation. They make me give and give and give until the story is wrung out of me. When it’s like that, I am in ecstasy. This is the jouissance of writing. And when it’s over, I feel emptied of everything, but not abandoned. Because the story is there and finished and lives.

I often wonder if my readers can tell which stories were like that for me. Part of me hopes they can’t. Part of me thinks they can smell the ones that were.

I just wanted you to know. Sometimes when I write, it’s just that glorious.

  4 comments for “The Sweet & Brutal Jouissance of the Story

  1. Lady Flo
    June 13, 2013 at 2:24 pm

    There are stories written only with the rationality and technique, with predetermined paths, with excell tables of plots and characters … these stories have the flavor of “déjà vu”.
    Instead, the stories written after they were experienced in the flesh or in the immagination, displace the reader, they bring him(her) in new worlds …. of course if he(she) wants to go there.

  2. June 13, 2013 at 5:42 pm

    I adore you. I have too many thoughts about this. But mostly I adore you.

  3. TFP
    June 15, 2013 at 11:11 pm

    RG,

    Your writing is exqusite to say the least, of course some is not to my taste (Poems, maybe I;m dont have enough knowledge of poems) Yet, by and far the writng is very intense and keeps the interest. I believe the dedicated readers can discern which writings have the more focus and passion. Your mind and intellect is very much of interest. Your creativity seems not to wane, I follow blogs, writers, and various things that spark an interest, usually the creative flow ends or stops. How do you keep the fascination and creativity to the forefront? What keeps you from leaving the quill to pick up a brush and paint on a canvass?

  4. June 17, 2013 at 8:37 am

    I loved this. Also I am so glad to see Lady Flo here RG.

    xxoo!
    VB

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