Porn is the secret of my future success

Excerpted from article by Lydia Millet in Salon:

I've spent years writing books. Novels, no less. And for what?
I'm turning my hand to the one thing that pays. Sex

lydia_millet2-620x412It seems to me that the time for subtlety, in our American life, has passed. Do we look for subtlety in news media nowadays? In pop music? In fashion? In TV, movies? Even in visual art, is subtlety what we seek out and richly reward? Do we seek delicate phraseology in politics or other forms of public life?

We do not.

Why, then, is literary fiction, that boutique culture where I’ve set up my modest shop, such a stubborn holdout? One thing: sheer arrogance! We offer no popcorn, no concessions of any kind, not the Raisinets, not the sour gummy worms, not the Junior Mints. We offer no booming sound system. We offer no beautiful actors. We offer no dance performances and only the most minimal costuming. We certainly don’t offer libations. Not even wine or beer. Much less cocktails. Strictly BYOB.

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Monster Porn

Big FootNow here is a topic I really didn’t expect to see. I suppose it’s two-fold: the first part being online self-publishing, and the second part being the imaginative documenting of the naughty adventures of luscious women with gnarly mythological creatures. If you need an introduction into either of these trends, I recommend you read more at The Daily Beast site.

But to focus on a few points from the article, I’ll quote a bit from Lizzie Crocker’s article:

Monster Porn Is the Latest Wrinkle in Self-Published Smut

Forget brawny cowboys and sadomasochistic millionaires. ’50 Shades’ opened the door for every horny monster, space alien, minotaur, leprechaun, and gargoyle imaginable. Can you say ‘cryptozoological erotica’?

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