I was told about Fifty Shades of Grey by a friend before Wendy Williams briefly spoke about it in hot topics. My sister (hearing all the hype about it) decided to buy all three books and in my curiosity at her voracious devouring of the novels, I decided that I would read this “mommy porn” as they call it. Now, why it is called a “twilight knockoff,” I spent about 12 hours straight reading this book, with about another 5-6 hours needed to actually complete it.
Of course, if you’ve read the book, you’d know that it’s chock full of all kinds of kinkery and sexiness. I also have to say that it’s
well written a quick fun read, at least in my opinion. The constant mood swings between the characters to me emulate what it is to be human. Yes, the main character can be a bit repetitive, but so was Sookie Stackhouse in the Southern Vampire Series, and I enjoy those books just the same. The phrases that the protagonist comes up with aren’t that stilted, but she does use a lot of non-American phrases and it’s chock full of vocabulary which I love. And it makes perfect sense as the main character is an english major who wants to work in publishing.
The book has kind of both renewed my inspiration to write that story ‘Game of Hearts,’ but also makes me feel so nervous and uncertain. The last few days I’ve been wondering if I have the chops at all to be a writer. I have so many distractions and on top of that, writing does not pay the bills and my attempts at making money at the moment are not panning out like I hoped they would.
Any how, back to the writing portion of this dilemma: I find myself stuck in my head often. I have the words, but they don’t come out write, or when they do they don’t sound good enough. My sister tells me “people write books all the time, some not as good as the stuff that you write,” but yet they still get a green light while I’m constantly rejected by publishers for not being “what they need right now.” And maybe that’s the roadblock too. I won’t say that I have writers block, because I’m sure that if I wanted to produce a piece of fiction, I could. I guess it’s more mental than anything.
I haven’t written new poetry in so long, I’m ashamed of myself.
I don’t know what more I can really say at this point. A friend said to me that she wanted to make a pact for us to read and write every day. I told her that I would try my best. My track record with pacts isn’t great, as evident by my own novella challenge. And it doesn’t seem like I was really missing out, as my story wasn’t picked as a finalist or semi-finalist any how. *Le Sigh*
Sorry for the dark lament, but I’m having a Sylvia Plath moment.
Thanks for listening,