So what inspires a story? That’s a hard question to answer because it changes each time I write a story. Sometimes sheer horniness is the inspiration, but that’s rare. It happens when I’m keyed up and sex is being denied, so the frustration grows greater and greater until all I can think about is sex. When I reach this stage I find myself fantasising continuously and inventively and it is in this state that I create some of my long-running sex-fantasies, which eventually get too hot to stay in my head and have to be written down. “Tease” – the story I’m currently editing – was conceived like this, as was the next story to be worked on, “For Love Or Money.”

However this is by no means the most reliable method of inspiration, especially not now I’m married to a handsome, sexy man who satisfies me pretty much whenever I demand it – my frustration just doesn’t reach boiling point any more. Something which I find sparks off ideas more than anything is the simple need to write a story. On Literotica, for example, they run a story contest called Survivor which encourages authors to create as many stories in a year as possible and gives extra points if they are in different categories.

When I was a contestant in Survivor I attempted to fill every single genre of erotic story, it was this that led me to explore categories that I had not personally found erotic or exciting – or even palatable – and try to create a story around them that would excite me as a reader if I happened across it. It was this attempt that led to the creation of “A Bad Influence”, my ‘first time’ story that is due to be released on Excessica next Monday. Having created this first time tale, I grew attached to the characters and felt that a first time could only lead to a second and third and so on – and what would happen then? I was compelled to follow them for a little longer and watch as the character who had been so sweet and innocent grew to be even filthier than the original bad influence!

Pictures can also inspire stories, and not necessarily by just looking at them. I was thinking, the other day, about a photograph that I would like to create and whether it would be good as a book cover for any of the things I’d written. Having realised that it wasn;t I was disappointed, as it seemed ideal as the cover to an erotic story. Only one thing to do, I decided, and that was write a story to go with the photo. Now if only I could find a title so I could tell you what the story is called…

~E~

ps- sorry this post is a day late - Wordpress refused to acknowledge me yesterday!

Confucius say: “man who go camping with woman have one in tent…”

OK, so that’s a made up saying that I happen to find amusing, but you have to admit that there’s something about being outside in the open air all day, then snuggling up together with only a thin sheet of canvas between you and nature that brings out something of a primal nature. I guess that’s why I’m looking forward to this weekend so much, ‘cos me and my man are off to the wilds of middle England to spend 2 nights under canvas.

Even better, in my opinion, is that we’re going with some friends… no no no – wait up, I don’t mean it like that, everyone stays in their own tent! What I like is the fact that you’re with all these people all through the day, then at night you crawl into this private little space where it’s just the two of you and you can be together. That private space, however, when you think about it, ain’t so private after all – there’s only a few feet of thin air between you and the other tents and just a few millimetres of fabric. It’s basically the closest to al fresco sex and an orgy without getting done for indecent exposure!

Anyway, I have to go pack my sexiest underwear – hah! Thermal underwear more like! Sorry to be so brief in my blogging, but real life just keeps on getting in the way…

~E~

I asked some of my online friends, yesterday, what they do when they’re having a bad time. “Have an orgasm” seemed to be the mot unusual and yet – most popular response. I was surprised. When I’m having a bad time of things I comfort eat and watch rom-com films over and over: pretty much the very last thing I want to do is get involved in any sexual activity.

Apparently that’s the main difference between male and female sexuality – the fact that women need their head to be in the right place before their body will follow the lead, but many of the people who suggested an orgasm as the best cure for misery were women. Perhaps there’s just something wrong with me…?

Anyway, a new day has dawned, I still feel a bit glum, only I’ve eaten all my chocolate brownies now, I haven’t got any unwatched DVDs left and I need a cure, or at least ome comfort. Perhaps I’d better go back to bed…

~E~

I visited my mum and dad recently. They’ve just got a new addition to the family: a puppy. Personally I detect a distinct whiff of ‘empty nest syndrome,’ but that’s besides the point… The reason I bring this up is because I’ve never had much to do with a dog before, so I was experimenting with some basic training commands – ‘sit’, ‘come’, ‘drop’ etc – and I was amazed how quickly this tiny little scrap of fluff learned the words. Each time it obeyed I gave her a titbit of chicken and very soon she started sitting as soon as she saw me.

Maybe this is a roundabout introduction to the point I intended to make, but I was thinking about how certain words have an actual, physiological effect. Now, when I say ‘sit’ to the puppy, its bottom hits the ground before the word has even entered its consciousness. You can see its face going ‘hey – I just sat down’ while it tries to figure out why. Seeing the effect of words on an animal that only knows a few I started thinking about their effect on us – with our vocabulary or tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of words.

Let’s try a little exercise. I would say ‘close your eyes’, but that may make doing the rest of the exercise a little tricky, so just – concentrate really hard, OK? Now, think of a lemon. A really plump, rich, sunshine yellow lemon. The rind is firm and waxy, puckered with little dimples all over and exuding a faint aroma of Christmas and summer. Now imagine that you have a knife in your hand, sharp and shiny. Place it against the skin of the lemon, see the blade bend, then lacerate the rind. Swiftly the silver knife slices through the tender lemon flesh. Picture how it looks, lying sliced in half – the pale lemon flesh oozing acid juice, the air full of that tangy, piercing scent. You suck your fingers and your mouth puckers with the sour, fruity juices you taste…

I bet your mouth is watering something chronic!

Seriously though, it’s impossible to picture the above and not have your mouth fill with saliva – such is the power of words: words and imagination.

Because, when it comes down to it, that’s the whole point of writing, isn’t it, especially in an area as tactile and sensual as erotica. The author paints a picture with words and the reader responds to those words without even realising it, their mind creating an illusion based on the words without the conscious mind having very much to do with it.

So, if I can describe a juicy lemon and make your mouth water, what can I do to you if I described a soft kiss, lips sticking to each other slightly as they pull apart for a breath; the heavy, luscious weight of a woman’s breast in your hand; the pungent, musky scent of naked bodies as they fuck…? Can I turn you on? Can I make you come? More importantly, to me at any rate, can I make you buy my book when it’s published?!

x
Emelia Bell

OK, it’s weird and there’s no reason for it, but the last few days I’ve been kinda… twitchy. Y’know, that nagging, tickly, if-only-I-wasn’t-so-busy kind of randiness that creeps up on you when you’re doing the ironing or cleaning the toilet or performing any one of a hundred mundane tasks that are totally unsexy.

I find my mind wandering to naked flesh and hot sweatiness as I wash the dishes, I lick my lips as I peel carrots, I find myself heavy breathing in the middle of a very dull television programme because I’m not concentrating on the programme, I’m running my own private viewing inside my head and it’s all XXX.

Maybe it’s this glorious hot weather we’re having lately. Every year, as soon as the days get long and the sun gets hot I find myself a little more willing to get naked. All these delicious men and women are going around in skimpy clothing and the general atmosphere is relaxed, luxuriant and permissive. The warmth of the day sinks through your skin, into that secret place in the pit of your stomach that initialises the spark plugs to your libido and sets your whole body warm and tingling…

Or maybe it’s just the fact that my other half, for work reasons, is just not interested: nothing like Sod’s Law for firing up your sex drive. What’s that saying? “Sex is like oxygen: you only miss it when you’re not getting any!”

Whatever the cause; it’s giving me some fantastic ideas for new stories. I’ve never been as inspired in my erotica as I am when I am brutally, mortally, sexually frustrated. So I guess, as far as you guys – my readers – go, long may it last. As far as I’m concerned, well, let’s just say I’m open to offers…

Ps- I’m not really open to offers, but I couldn’t deny myself such a perfect line to finish on. I’m more of a word-whore than I am a real-life one!

x

Emelia Bell

The problems of being an erotic author are many and varied. This erotic author, for example, is seriously considering moving into the more generally accepted ’straight’ genre of romantic or ‘chick lit’ fiction, not least because then I could finally let my mum and dad read something I’ve written!

In fact, telling people is one of the biggest reasons I am considering moving into a more ‘acceptable’ area of fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. All my friends know I write erotica, as does my partner and my mother, but I can’t let them read anything I write, nor can I tell people at my volunteer work who ask me what I do. The follow-up question to “Oh, I’m an author” is always some variation of “Oh? What do you write?” A total nightmare if you’re in a very conservative situation.

Add to that the difficulty of getting it published in the real world – let’s face it, nothing feels as good as seeing your work in print – and the continual problems of finding new vocabulary for basic human anatomy and you have a rough idea of why non-sexual romantic stuff might be preferable for me.

Of course, the problem there is that I just write sex too damn well, and I bloody well enjoy it. For the time being I guess I’ll just have to continue typing away, producing marvellous works of literary genius that just happen to be filled with pages and pages of raunchy sex and deal with the consequences. Though, looking as sweet and innocent and I do, it is always fun to drop a bombshell now and then.

“So Emelia, what is it that you do?”

“Oh, I write porn…”

Emelia Bell