I don’t write fiction. I have never been good at making up stories.
In seventh or eighth grade there was a creative writing section in English class. My papers were never very good usually C’s. The teacher always read the good papers out loud and the common theme was some sort of tragedy. People were crying when these papers were read. So on the next paper I saw the way I needed to go. The teacher always suggested writing what you knew so I searched my life for inspiration. I wrote what I thought was an awesome paper. I was proud of the plot twist at the end. I ended up with an A on that paper. I also spent at least a year in counseling as a result of that paper.
I was bubbling with excitement over the paper one night and I told my Dad all about it. He asked me to read it to him. As I was reading it out loud it occurred to me how bad this could sound. So as I read it I tried to change things and leave things out but it was apparently pretty obvious. Dad took the paper and photo copied it to show my mother. Two days later I’m pulled from school and sitting in a counselor’s office. She seriously asked me “What would make you see the light at the end of the tunnel?” I’m not stupid. I said a puppy. 😀 That woman was seriously a freak. She told my parents she really thought I was considering suicide. Never never a thought in my head. I was not even depressed. I ended up at another counselor long term and I’m not even sure when we stopped or why. It was a total waste of money in my opinion. Most of the hour we sat in silence. I can still hear the clock ticking and the hum of the outdoor parking lights.
So you will probably not find me writing erotica. The last thing I need is Daddy thinking I really want that guy in the park to chase me down and chain me up in the shed.