Off To A Good Start


I enjoy the memoirs here. A sense of a person and their struggles manifested palpably. The writing shines with clarity and insight.

Originally posted on emillywrites:

I started out at the top of my class. I enjoyed the structure of school—the desk and chair, the fat crayons, the thick, minty smell of  craft paste. On November 7, 1974 Mrs. Waldron wrote: Emilly is off to a good start. She likes to do her class work. It is a joy to teach her. Yes, she is active, but she gets her work done. On January 27, 1975 she writes, “Emilly is doing a good job. She likes to read and will do her seat work on time.” “Keep on encouraging her” April 8, 1975: “Emilly is just a smart child” “She likes to do her work well”.

My first grade progress report. By the end of the 4th marking period my grades in reading, language, writing, social studies and arithmetic were outstanding. Science, health, art, and music were satisfactory. Phys Ed was marked with an S…

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“You Don’t Belong Here, You Know” : Saloon Girls Chapter 5


There’s an erotic melancholy here. Not obviously sexual but sensual, the wasteland between commerce and fantasy. I love the writing here

Originally posted on emillywrites:


The nighttime customers are rowdy and drunk and looking for big fun. There is no hiding behind a smiling face and sunny attitude on this shift. These guys crave action and entertainment. They want slutty, smutty goodness for their money. I don’t know how I ended up on this shift, but I like to think I offer a softer option, a more modest counterpoint to the coarse flagrancy most of the girls display.  I play the naive new kid and stay out of trouble.

“Peaches, when are you up next?” Brooke catches me hanging out in the dressing room.

“There are so many girls on tonight, probably not for another hour!”

“Well, you’d better get out there and work it, girl. Shake that money-maker!” She gives a little shimmy, freshening her lipstick in the mirror.

Brooke has a face like Carly Simon.  A statuesque redhead, tonight she wears a lacy red…

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Two Pages

It’s interesting for me because I’ve written the last two books from a female POV and this one, being from a male perspective has presented a challenge in and of itself.

It’s fun actually. Palpably so, in that you may have noticed that the poetry I have been posting has been related to that assertive masculine sexuality. It’s a pet subject of mine and it feels right to have finally begun to write something like this. 

It’s for women, who like men and want to read about them and their experiences. I’ve really considered how best to portray the experience honestly and also credibly as well as to keep things intense and sensual. 

I want to write beautifully about the things that our culture so often decides are ugly and shameful. Betty Dodson has said that she can’t wait until we reach a point where we stop labelling one another as bisexual, homosexual and are just comfortable with being ‘sexual.’ 

When we get to that point, I hope I am still here to write about it. 


Anticipation of the ride ahead


, , , , ,

I believe in the possibility
You raise
The promise of the line of your thigh
Ive imagined you taste like honeyed wine
That your skin has the blushed fur of a peach wherever the sun has kissed it
Double cream where it hasn’t
Firm and warm
Your tattoos demand an attention
Reserved for art exhibitions
I’ve heard you speak with a glacial considered intelligence
And I want to hear you shriek
With joy
I swear in staccato syllables
Because fuck
I want you.
Ride me until you have what you want.

Anti-Advice for Writers

Originally posted on WritingBec's Blog:

If you are writing or thinking about writing, or reading about thinking about starting to write you will, with little trouble, come across a terrifyingly huge amount of advice. It comes in the form of: books, blogs, well-meaning friends, videos, hash-tagged conversations, mime performances, professional organisations and their magazines, software, spam invitations to pay for your own publishing, classes and lessons and courses, videos, strangers who offer up uninvited nuggets of truthiness the moment you mention the w word, author lectures, and worried phone conversations with relatives.

All of them have something to tell you about writing: how to do it right, what to write about, how quill is better than typewriters, while laptops are impossible cos Internet, what won’t sell, why they gave up or never started, and how everything ever has already been written.

So much to say about writing.

Don’t try to take too much of it in.

At least not…

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