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Hi,
I shared with you my editor problems a few weeks ago.
An update: The friend of mine who had helped me all these years, apologized for cutting my writing out of my story and taking it without my permission. The story is now dead and buried, will never see the light of day.
Unfortunately, our friendship (And partnership) is obviously beyond repair.
I reached out to as many people as I could who might give my stories a look over and help me.
Unfortunately, it seems no one wants the tedious job of reading my story even once before it gets posted to help me polish.
Which means no one really wants to read my stories at all. A pity. I spent six hours editing the latest chapter of "Sailor Moo" only to find out it had dozens of errors. This week, I haven't touched SOL due to the Christmas Holiday with the family.
While I do not put a lot of stock in ratings on here because it's a broken metric easily manipulated by trolls, the score reflects the poor editing. I have made the difficult decision to take the story down, and shit can it and all future stories until I find a proper editor.
I used to say that I could catch mistakes in other people's writing, but after six or seven hours of working on a chapter, I could no longer find errors in my writing on my own. I have Grammarly, MS Word, all sorts of tools that may help me, but without a human being at the wheel, it doesn't work.
Unfortunately, my eyesight has been deteriorating for years, and even something as simple as a fucking caption on an image is beyond my ability to do correctly. I am disappointed in myself and the quality of my work. I think I still tell great stories, but if no one wants to help me, it's a sign that I don't deserve help/beyond help.
Sorry.
I enjoyed writing.
The quality of my writing has always been a challenge for me. I just don't tolerate low quality from myself.
I don't care about scores or reader totals on here. I used to give a shit, but it's a broken metric that the web admin likes to perpetuate. It can be easily manipulated. If 20 people voted on a story with 10,000 views, not even 1% of the readers were counted. If half of those are the same pathetic troll who is pissed you wrote a story about some kink he personally is uncomfortable with - he thinks he is "punishing you" by down voting it.
He could have ignored it, because the codes told him ahead of time. Trolls can't do that though.
I write as I hear it in my head. I am southern, and I write like a person from the South in the United States was sitting across from you in the bar, telling you the story.
I had an editor who was helping me. I like to say he was a writing friend. We encouraged each other even though I don't enjoy his writing style, and he definitely didn't enjoy mine or my subject matter (For the most part)
On a recent occasion, he stole one of my stories and started to erase my style out of it. He showed it to me and that pretty much ended our friendship. I told him twice before, when I gave him a story, that I would be happy to give him some of my unfinished stories to continue, but not if he erased the essence of my writing out of them.
I like details. I live for the little details. I don't think it's prattle. I think it's storytelling. I am like Jerry Clower (if you remember him, you are probably an old pervert like me). It's how you tell the story, not that you mechanically tell the events of the story.
I want you to hear the sounds, smell the scent, and see out of the character's eyes, or be a fly on the wall. I want to paint word pictures
I want you to be there with me as I tell it.
Unfortunately, the quality has gone downhill over the past few years. I have MS Word, Grammarly etc. I used to like to say that I could catch mistakes in other people's writing, but after six or seven times reading my own story, I just needed that extra help.
Even though my friend apologized, it's evident to me that our friendship hasn't survived, and his help stopped. He'll send me a a quick spell check from ChatGPT out of a sense of obligation, I guess.
I can't find another writing friend to read my stories once before I publish and let me know where I fucked up. Trolls have been a constant source of negativity for me. They glom onto me because their own sad, pathetic lives are so empty that they need to pick on someone just trying their best (but failing) to produce good quality output. It's easy to be critical when you do nothing/provide no benefit to society.
"Hurr, go touch grass! all you did was hit enter on a prompt to make an image, hurr hurr, hurr,"
No motherfucker. I made hundreds of images, studied prompting, used Photoshop to edit and adjust, AI tools to alter faces, to make it consistent, keep consistent outfits as much as possible, caption it, upscale it, sharpen it, etc. If you think all you have to do is type what you want in once, and get the images that I make - you haven't made any yourself.
I am not Picasso, and I don't claim to be an artist, but my point is trolls like to diminish everything while adding nothing. Their greatest joy is taking away without adding. They are failures in everything they do, so they think that if they can stop you from writing, they can have some company as a failure. They are like that sad old muppet in the balcony of the muppet show, whining and bitching, except their mommy pays their bills still.
Sadly, it's my inability to get one person to help me edit that's taken me down. What I write has obviously been popular enough some people would like me to continue but not enough anyone would help me except for my one friend and he stopped a few weeks ago.
AI is a tool, just like spell check, just like AI music. You can put in lyrics and out comes horse-shit slop. However, the REAL producers of some of the best AI music I've ever heard? They are like producers, and they are now able to produce the things they hear in their head that they couldn't have done without a studio before. I was able to transform my vision for the story into pictures. Now, my eyesight is failing, and I can't even caption the pictures without a spelling error.
The trolls can't beat me up any worse than I beat myself up. I want the quality of my output to be higher. I just can't do it without a partnership.
They love to send me little nasty grams. I have learned to deal with them, but my biggest troll is me. I can't stand low-quality output, and I can't tolerate it from me. The story may be great, but the technical errors make it intolerable. The continuity errors when I call someone "Greg", but it was really "Peter".
AI can help, but lately they tightened the censorship so hard on those tools, that it's like trying to slide a finger into a Karen's asshole to get it to help you with continuity. She's going to scream and wiggle and not let you get near it.
I sent about a dozen editor requests. I see other people on here asking for beta readers. I guess that's what this request is but it's more like I want a writing buddy. I don't have to love your work, you don't have to love mine.
However, full disclosure, I am a fucking pervert. I like embaressed nude females, power exchange, and I don't censor myself. I like to write what I think would genuinely happen. I don't have a list of dos and don'ts that is taboo, beyond I don't do rape. I may lack the imagination to tell you what else I don't do, but if you read my stories, I like to take risks and explore things that go beyond sexuality. The sex is a byproduct of the real story.
I do have some stories where bad shit happens to good people. You can't make an omelet if you don't crack some eggs. However, in the end, even if it doesn't end how they hoped, it ends well.
It wouldn't be an Indiana Jones movie if the hero didn't take a punch and get dragged behind the plane before they finally overcome the obstacle, right?
However, most of my stories aren't about bad shit happening because too much of it happens in my real life.
If you are interested in helping me write, please shoot me a note. I don't do outside email. I just need someone to read it before I post and let me know if there is a problem. I can run it through ChatGPT myself.
I need more than that. My eyesight has reached a point now where the quality of my work has just slipped beyond the quality that I am comfortable with on my own. Until, I get some help - I think I need to stop publishing. I will likely take down Sailor Moo. It's an embarrassment because it was poorly edited.I spent six hours before Christmas on two chapters and then logged into discover that I didn't even caption the additional photo properly.
Last year, I wrote one of my favorite stories of all time "Twats the Night Before Christmas".
It was meant to be a short story, but for me, that's 12 chapters of 15+ pages each.
It was a fun idea; He's finally 18 years old and his parents have an 18+ annual Christmas Party. He's been excluded. He feels that is a double standard because his older sister got her invite right away.
He crashes the party and learns about this particular "Twatmas" party - It's a HO-HO-HO lot of fun and games.
I inserted my alter ego into the story as "Uncle Eddie". That version of me is stil just as full as shit as the real me, but he's gregarious, life of the party, and he is married to a woman that looks like Moran Fairchild - because why in the fuck not?
Pretty much every guy jerked off to her in the 1980s.
I thought a fun idea might be to revisit a romance of sorts that kicks off in that story. The neighbor's husband is an inattentive prick. I had plans for a story featuring Mrs. Sandusky, now in a committed relationship with Nick as her master, but still living with her husband, two daughters, and son.
In the story, she mentions a daughter, but I'd probably find a way to explain why she didn't bring them up.
The problem was that I just wasn't feeling all that fucking jolly this year.
That story is one to be told when you are feeling happy, and can laugh joyously. I had a falling out with a friend on here that was going down, and with real life drama - it just didn't seem like that story was ready to be told. I had no inspiration.
I've got this Sailor Moo story to edit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I have procrastinated my ass just like I have with Christmas shopping.
I just now caught up to chapter five with a repost and updated photos. (They are harder to make, now. About the time I was on chapter six, some legislation must have happened, and suddenly all of the LLM image generators online turned into ninny machines that freak out if they saw a pussy. In fact, I like to say that if the developers of AI image software ever actually saw a woman naked, they may not be so afraid to let you make a fucking image of one.
I spent a good part of hte evening on one picture. Hopefuly it was worth it. Chapters 6-12 are completed. I am just editing and it's taken weeks.
I have this great Spanksgiving story I started around Thanksgiving. I have chapter two pretty much done. I've done a shit-ton of research on it. I am calling this "Domestic Bliss" - it's sort of this 1950s ideal traditional wife/good housekeeping magazine type of world. There are no arguments. The dad is the head of the household and "Father knows best".
But like the executive officer on a ship, the wife would never contradict or play devil's advocate around her family when he says something. She'd discuss it respectfuly in private. It's a world where spanking butts and corporal punishment isn't a bad thing - it's for their own good/a sign you care enough to spank them. In short, it's my recollection of growing up.
I set in idyllic "Peach Valley", a sort of perfect suburb with just the right mass transit, small town vibe. Everyone has a big white two story house, you can afford it on a blue collar salary. Pool, two-car garage, even though the wife doesn't drive.
I mix in characters like J.H. Kellogg who had 42 foster daughters he raised in his insane asylum and most likely experimented on to prevent their 'chronic hysteria (masturbation). He and six other rich assholes invented a spanking holiday where wives say what they appreciate about their husbands after getting spanked in public.
Like anything Americans do, when I say "invented", they stole it from a German holiday, and completely changed it to suit their needs. They schedule it the day after Thanksgiving , simply because it's the start of the shopping season for Belsnickel. What is Belsnickel? Well, it's JUST like Christmas, only spanking of naughty girls is involved.
I created a theme park in this story, that I put a great deal of work into designing. I hope you will be patient with me. This story is a work of love. It's ot something I can bang out quickly.
In this story, my alter ego is cleverly named "Ian Neff" (A play on "ENF" or embaressed nude female). I don't always make an alter ego of myself in my stories but it's such a fun setting, I had to do it. I have plans to write many other stories in this universe.
The problem is mostly time. If possible, I'd still ike to drop a short Christmas story that's been percolating in my head called "The Fundamentals of Fundaments" based on a book written by Ian's father "C.M. Neff" (CMNF - clothed males, nude females), another genre I love.
In this story, the neighbor agrees to teach young Pete Omegan the birds and bees because he has in sisters to do it for him.
I also have this idea for a story called "Tamilfarmer108". I love Indian culture, and I feel like there is something missing from Indian erotica. I've already done a ton of research on this one as well and it will be picture heavy.
I came up with several stories centered around this concept. India has some of the most drastic repression when it comes to public nudity or even public displays of affection. Imagine though if some sunny day a new prime minister is elected and they decide to change the laws drastically!
Has anyone ever done a NIS (Nude in School) story in India? Imagine the fun you could have writing about the traditional beliefs of most people there who would feel shame/shun it, against some cute, highly intelligent Indian girl that volunteers for the program despite her conservative family's wishes and her walk to the school on a daily basis?
Most NIS stories are either Great Britain or the good old US of A in a fairly (all-white) setting. I have a couple other Indian story ideas up my sleeve, but it's really a matter of focus. I need to edit and publish the stories I do have. I have some older stories (Girl Scouts, New Foal, Aunt Scarlett) and some existing stories to do first.
I may try to bang out some short stories, and I may say fuck it tomorrow and just write the fundament story. I don't want you to think i've given up on existing stories if I do that. There are times where if I don't act on inspiration, i'll lose it forever. There are other times if I try to force myself to write - it wil come off wrong.
It takes me forever between posts anymore because editing my own work takes so much time.
I had a friend for many years on here, who recently started plagiarizing my work, but his caveat was he was erasing the parts that I held most dear (details) and just summarizing. I am a big advocate of SHOW, not TELL.
His writing is the opposite. Spray Paint the Canvas Method: Why bother telling the reader what people talked about, when "We talked about it" will do?
I am painting a picture with brushes. He doesn't want Bob Ross. He wants a can or two of Sherwin Williams.
20 lines of dialogue in a room full of people? attributing it to a person who is speaking with body language and tone of voice since so much of that expressive non-verbal communication is critical to understanding motivations? Just write it like this:
"Hello"
"Hello, I adore you, Mary."
"As do I."
"Yes, I know."
"Also, so do I!"
"Let us have vanilla sex with your parents."
"I see no reason we should be uncomfortable attending their sex parties even though we just found out they have them, and we are blood related, and none of us have done incest before."
Many things happened, and some characters that weren't in the room when we began came and went. You have no idea what room we are in, and what we are doing while we have this dialogue. (His stories are basically crossword puzzles you have to solve and a brief summarization where you have to fill in your own details.)
"Yes, it would get in the way of the story for us to explore that awkward feeling."
We went to the sex party. A lot of things happened.
"Well, that was some sex party."
You get it. I don't have to trash the guy. He writes what he likes, and he writes for an audience that enjoys that. He once wrote a rape into his story, and after the daughter tells the parents, they sort of shrug and laugh it off, and go to bed and have sex. You wouldn't know how they reacted to hearing she fought off her rapist and he escaped. I am assuming they laughed it off because he likes to keep it a mystery. I implied that from the fact that they didn't call the police, they knew where the guy was, he was likely to try it again, and they got her no therapy or even asked her how she was doing.
Sounds like they laughed it off. You'd have to guess.
I told him a million times the story worked without the rape and that I now hated the parents, but he chose not to correct it or elaborate.
That's what friends do. They try to help each other, and if the person doesn't want that help, they let them make their own decision. I didn't agree with it, and I still don't. That story (I gave him the idea for it) is still one of my favorites of his, it's just bittersweet because it could have been so much better with details.
In the most recent case though, he rewrote the first one I gave him instead of continuing it. It was a story we kinda-sorta collaborated on last year that he wrote into one of his Leo/Mary romances. I wanted to give the entire family the happy ending they deserved. The story took a weird twist as soon as he introduced the Leo side character. It was someene I never intended to play a major role in the story, when i wrote the initial version. When I handed it over to him there were 19 chapters. He started back on chapter 14 and had the Leo character become part of the story.
It was the weirdest thing, because it was supposed to be this family ensemble, and they all were supposed to get osmething for Christmas. Everyone else because a background character in his version. I eventually asked him to take it down because it saddened me. I had alluded to her little sister getting what she wanted, her step brother getting redemption for being a snake int he grass (And even wrote it into the future chapters), the gay brother telling his secret to his parents and gaining acceptance/losing his guilt.
All of it in the shitter.
As a friend, he took it down. That's what friends do for each other. A misunderstanding occurred. I asked him to continue it in the spirit it was heading. He could make course corrections, surprise me, but fuck - that's a "Great, I am driving the cruise ship? Firt step? Sink the boat and see how it does as a submarine."
Lesson learned, this year we were going to fix it. It was the first one. I had started over myself because as I crafted Mary Christmas, her sister Joy, Nathan and the parents I breathed life into them. They were "real" to me, the way Captain Kirk is real to me, in that our shared understanding of how he acts makes him more than just a throwaway "Captain James", the generic Starfleet captain. You can have a much greater visceral reaction to Captain Kirk's death, or loss.
I wanted the mom to feel she gained a family, Joy, to understand her submissive thrill-seeking tendencies to be a "Smart-assed masochist" and actually seek out bullies to goad so she could scratch an itch that she didn't understand. I was willing to start over with new motivations, but what I wasn't willing to do was erase my own words - the ones I used to create them and give them life in my head. My friend didn't understand that, but I didn't stop being friends over it.
It took more. An editor will stop helping you because they get bored. A friend will help you because they enjoy you - appreciate you. My friend was a friend through it all. He likes most of my stories about as much as I like his -which is to say not all.
He sees power exchange differently. To him, submission is weakness and a mental illness. Giving up control is illogical. Dominant people in his world are controlling bullies.
In the first story (Mary Christmas) - you won't find it on SOL. The idea was Mary's last name was Christmas. I've met people with pun names before and the first thing they say is "my parents were the jokers, not me."
Or they say "Go ahead and joke, I've heard them all"
I had a friend named Stan Smellie. It would be funny if he smelled but he was clean and tidy. People still tried the joke. Stan used the old Cyrano trick of offering much more witty options when someone tries to put you down.
The Step brother in this case was a manipulator but he had been taught to manipulate by the guy who ripped off his mother. He was going to get his ass kicked by Joy after he wouldn't stop doing to Mary what he was doing to Joy. Joy liked it, Mary didn't.
After being outcast and living with himself for a while, he had a mea culpa and offers to help them get what they really want because it requires a first class bullshit artist to sell this to the parents (in my version). All that went out the window but I was okay with it because my friend was writing new content.
It was just SO extremely off the mark that it hurt. He sent Ethan outside in the snow every day from morning to night in the nude and left him without a speaking part for the rest of the story because to him, it was easier that way not to address what he had done, and he hates dominant people. Ethan had a natural dominant/sadistic side. Much like Joy, he used blackmail to get what he wanted. He had never met a girl like Joy. She wanted him to tease her. He thought she was using some reverse psychology. I was hoping he'd learn he could develop his juvenile desires into something healthy with a stepsister that gets off on having her ass slapped and being dared to run around naked and embarrass herself.
I could have lived with them getting something else, but in the end, no one mattered except Leo and Mary. The parents had gone from strict to "You can fuck in our bed " to strict, to not caring at all; it was a mess. So he took it down. We were going to fix it. However, his idea of "Fixing it" was to eliminate the parts of the new setup that meant the most to me - the details.
I said no, and he stopped. If that's all that happened, I could still use another friend, but I'd still have one.
My friend Mike McGifford has been the only steadfast and loyal friend on here, but unfortunately, he's not in a position to help me. He has a DOOZY of a motherfucking story coming out (hopefully soon). It's better than anything I've ever written.
I have a few friends that I won't embarrass with their names, but they aren't story collaborators like these two are (or were in my former friends' case). We've tried writing where I write a chapter and he writes a chapter and that didn't work.In that case, It was another idea I gave him. Imagine an ageing hippychick who used to follow the grateful dead that PREFERS to live homeless and free. She sells ass for money sometimes. She has two precocious daughters who are used to running around topless at the homeless camp because nudity was not a big deal to her, but now they are growing hair/puberty, and they have a little brother. I wanted to explore homelessness. In his turn, writing the story, she immediately gets an apartment and a job. So that didn't work. We didn't try it again, even though I had asked him not to do that to the story. He continued writing it. In that case, since he wrote new stuff, I just left it alone and let him move forward.
However, I had such a sour taste that I never again wanted to write that scenario. I wanted to see how it felt to look up at the stars on the flat ground behind the Dollar Tree and wonder if you are doing right by how you raise them, and your values. Safety was not an issue in this story. I don't write rape or bad shit like that happened to anyone, so I assumed my friend wouldn't either. (He subsequently did in another story).
A year goes by fast, and Mary Christmas and her chubby giggly sister Joy still rides on top of my brain. It's getting chilly, I can picture their first run in the Minnesota snow completely naked again. I start to write a different set up- one that has no blackmail. I have 40 stories or more that I've put aside for one reason or another. Many of which with 20+ chapters with characters that are dear to me.
I was working with my friend on trying to write something (anything) other than Leo Meets Mary, without trying, they fall in love immediately and fuck. I thought, "Maybe he would like a chance at redemption, just like Ethan, and write this non-blackmail story as a more fun story.
I seldom write blackmail anymore. I love reluctant nude females but there are so many more clever ways to get them nude. If I do write blackmail, you have to be willing tocrack some eggs to bake a cake. You have to let the victim get on top to make that work, so you can knock them back down. This time, it was a little different and a more plausible reason was used as the catalyst.
Unfortunately, I had such a bitter taste from last year, that I couldn't continue it.
For this version, negotiated with him to keep going on our second try of Mary Christmas for 2025, but he seemed insistent on changing my words. I felt bad, so I sent him another short idea that he could expand on, and rather than continue it, he wanted to erase me from it. so I told him absolutely to stop.
The third itme I log in "Hey look what I am working on" - it's from a draft of a story I never gave him permission to steal. It's nothing new - just erasing me out of it. No permission given from me.
That's not what friends do. They don't steal your work or erase you. I need a friend, desperately.
So after three times telling him to stop doing that to rewrites of my stories, some of which were quite dear to m, I had to stop being friends after what got me through Covid. The first two times I gave him the stories to work with. One was a story I had 17 chapters on that he said he would write the CONTINUATION OF. I wanted those characters to see an ending and it's a Christmas story, so I said yes.
Instead of continuing, he began to erase my context. If I had her in a Hufflepuff Hogwarts sweater, he'd take out that detail. I had a reason for that at the time, to establish a little about her. I believe in writing exposition into the story through context clues. People who don't follow Hogwarts wouldn't get the clue, but for those who did, they would connect that her reason for buying the shirt was she liked cutie Hufflepuff stuff.
I asked him to stop. He tried to make me a better writer by checking continuity and grammar - the type of stuff MS Word will ignore because it could technically be intended by the author. I tried to help him understand the basics of 9th-grade level show versus tell.
All of his stories follow the same plot; Leo has a sad life. He meets Mary. He doesn't have to try with her at all. She eagerly becomes a dick hound for him and only him. He loves bombing her by escalating the relationship way too fast, and she immediately jumps, with a giggle, "I won't marry you! Today, anyway. It will have to be this weekend."
I have tried to offer my help over the years, and his story "Must Love Dogs" for instance is based on an idea that I gave him. That's what friends do. It's my story. I was going to write it. I gave it to him. That was a choice, no problem.
However, I GAVE That idea to him. The second time recently, I gave him another idea and wrote the start with SHOW, not TELL, to show him how it would be done. He spent the entire time erasing that back out.
I asked him to stop. You would think after that , he would get the hint. After encouraging me to work on a story that he particularly liked in draft form and realizing I want to finish the current one, he sends me my own story back and says "Look, what I've been working on, it's taken my several hours" except it's just the first five paragraphs of my 7-chapter story I already sent him.
I don't understand that, and I didn't end our friendship immediately. I sought to understand why on earth he would do that is what friends do.
His explanation was that he hadn't erased too much of me from this one, and he didn't see why I'd be so concerned about him PLAGIARIZING MY story with just utter permission AFTER I TOLD HIM TO STOP ERASING ME THE LAST TWO TIMES.
If you want to take one of my stories on here and continue their adventures, be my guest. I would be fucking flattered.
Tell me about it. I'll be your biggest fan. If you want to blow out a scene with greater detail, or write the lead up, or jump 20 years in the future - write, write, write that motherfucker. I'd be jumping over the moon.
If you take my story idea and rewrite it as your own, not much I can do about it.
If you take my words, though, and you just start erasing my context, summarizing into a reader's digest version? that's a problem. It hurts more if I thought you were a friend. Life in 2025 is way too shitty for us to get bogged down in internet bullshit, but damn, that stings.
As terrible as he is at writing context, he was a steadfast and loyal friend who helped me by reading over my story and telling me the errors in continuity and grammar that MS Word won't find. I can spot errors in other people's work but it slips right past me in mine.
I can't pay you. I won't use an external email client for a number of reasons, but I can easily just paste you an advanced draft of my story for review and ask that you send back something with the original line and recommended correction or note;
Their was an old lady with a pussy as big as a shoe
There
That's it. commentary on pacing, continuity, etc welcome but you have to like stories involving embaressed nude females, fetish, and you have to enjoy stories that strive to show not tell.
Should go without saying; but to be my friend -
You also can't plagiarize my stories as your own, just write them shittier. Literally verbatim, word for word, go through them and extract all that is Eddie.
I pour my heart out into my stories, I put effort into them, I extract and distill memories about frosty mornings in a trailer with a woman, feeling that cold air on her nipples, and stroking them. To see the details removed and replaced with;
We spent the morning together. It was enjoyable.
I delight in the feelings of warm, comfy sweaters after you pull them out of the dryer, faded Hogwarts design even if you'd like to stick a shoe up JK Rawlings tight ass. I delight in living through the eyes of my protagonist or storyteller, and for that I need the smells, sounds, textures as well as the basic plot. I need to see the arched eyebrow and quizzical look that went along with the dialogue.
I only experience joy writing when I can leave something of myself in that story, knowing that none of us have eternity on this world.
I've said this many times, but I'll say it again:
Am I the best writer?
No.
Am I trying to be?
Also, that would be a no.
I am trying to do the best I can, and appeal only to those dirty minded perverts that like how I spin a yarn, in a down to earth "So no shit, there we were" method like I am shooting the shit with you at a bar and confiding in you the most fucked up or interesting thing that ever happened to me or a friend of mine.
I will never have mass appeal; dont' want it.
I will never be perfect; don't try.
I will never write stories that are "safe" - enjoy taking risks and I like to explore strange what-ifs.
My stories are grounded in the real world most of the time. The one that I have lived in is trailer parks to suburbs. There are no impossible 50 shades of gray Jeff Bezos the bilionaire lifestyle type stories. There is no magic, demons, sci-fi in most of my stories.
I write Kinky embaressed nude females and taboos, mostly. I enjoy BDSM power exchange and the relationships that evolve dynamically because all relationships have different ways of working and usually the kind with domestic discipline, especially if they have blended vanilla family, are fun to explore.
I write Nude in School stories, and I illustrate my stories. I recently feel I "leveled up my game" with my most recent, and I enjoy that probably more than I do writing.
However, I could get the stories out sooner if I had a writing friend. I don't want to say editor because that's not what I need at all.
I lost mine recently. He threw a friendship away for a story I have about nine chapters already written on. He's currently writing a surprisingly similar setup, but it's so difficult for me to read that it's hard for me to follow. The worst part is? He still thinks I would not have minded him erasing my touch from the stories he has done this too.
In fairness (disclosure) I am not asking for you to be involved in that drama. Only to express that I think it's worse betrayal coming from a friend than some internet troll who took your stories and tried to claim them for his own with changes.
I am just trying to share why I need a friend - not an editor.
According to Reacher - Details Matter. Missing them can get people killed.
My stories are not for everyone. The context, the genre, the set up and even how I write. My stories appeal to a particular niche of dirty perverts that I genuinely appreciate.
I often say, "Am I the best writer?"
To which I answer NO!
Then I say, "But I am trying to be?"
Also, I answer "No!"
I will never have mainstream appeal. I do not try for that. It's not my target. To do that, I'd have to change what and how I write and write for someone other than me.
I write the stories I would want to read, how I would want to write them.
I've always had the goal that if I could inspire someone with my stories to write stories like mine, I'd win because I could have more to read.
I also believe that I should read as much as I write. This allows me to stay sharp as an author. I don't steal ideas, but I learn storytelling techniques through examples.
I try to polish my writing and make it pop with "Word pictures"
I don't get into "Decorative" writing, like AI slop or Danielle Steele. You know, "The wind picked up, and on the horizon, the dawn gently fell on my asshole." or whatever, I can't even write a serious example of it, but if you see it, you'll know it.
I write more JD Salinger Catcher in the Rye stream of consciousness. My technique could quite easily be called "Bullshitting".
You know when you are bullshitting with your old pal over a beer and telling them a story?
When I was a kid, my best friend and I managed to meet two hot girls roaming around on new years eve. We convinced them to come back to my old buddy's house and play strip blackjack, and drink some beers we had.
JACKPOT, right?
Not really, you see, we lost immediately and then didn't pay up. That wasn't how the story was supposed to go. It was supposed to end with bare titties and a blowjob at Midnight as our balls dropped, because that would be a clever turn of phrase and I like blowjobs and titties. I can still remember those girls, that night, and all the details. We kept walking up to the Little General (It was like a Circle K convenience store but cooler). You could buy cigarettes then without ID, pretty much. I got some Redman chewing tobacco because I didn't want to smoke, but I wanted to seem cool, and my grandfather chewed it.
Fuck, it's nasty as shit, and we got lightheaded from it and sick to our stomachs. I still remember the weight of the boom box I carried on my shoulder like a white boy imbecile, listening to Van Halen's "Maaarrrge your braking my hearttttt, you better starttttt...." and Bottoms up, Come on baby, Bottoms Up! I am singing, I am dancing!"
What a dipshit, I probably was. I remember those big ass D-batteries and how long they lasted. Rechargable? What the fuck for? These D batteries have been in this boom box since 1982.
Right? And if you ever did something like that, you remember it.
Now that I am old, all I have are thousands of memories about tipping a bottle of vodka straight up and chugging it like water until Bobby Glenn punched me in the stomach and then I puked everywhere in my best friends house - causing everyone to leave and throw me the fuck out of the party too. I still remember taking all my god-damned clothes off for no apparent reason and running my dumb ass through the golf course sprinklers. I still remember seling my best friend shake weed because he didn't know how much it cost, and wondering when he'd figure out it was mostly Oregano?
I can take a thousand strippers I worked with as a DJ, and a thousand flea markets and a thousand drunken adventures and all the crazy shit and merge those into authentic people that I want to write about. I can live through their eyes. I can go back in time and write how maybe it didn't go quite as pathetic as I remember it for my surrogate alter-ego in the story, and tell a story that will transport you with me to 1987, when Dinker and her friend were secretly little whores in those tight French cut one pieces down at the beach, and we dared them to streak around the downtown.
Bullshitting - is the method where I pretend that you are my old buddy. I am sitting across from you with a good beer and I begin "No shit, so there we were..." and I tell you what we did, and how we did it in a 1st person style that includes details, and introspection.
"I thought I'd see titties and pussy, but when she took off her clothes, I saw a dick bigger than mine!"
Right? That's fun, and all those little details about what song was playing when I did, and Wendy's salad bar having Pasta back then, and the size of that prick, and how it curved to the right - they aren't essential to the story.
If you are speed jerking, you don't need or want details. If you have a little attention span the size of my cock, then you don't want to be bothered.
When I tell a story though, In order to go back into that world, I have to see the sights and hear the words. I have to hear that music in the background, smell the elephant ears and beer on the midway, the sound of people laughing and the carnival barker telling me that he'll give me three for five dollars, and "Hey, hey, wait a minute, tell you what..for you, I'll do four for five dollars, look I'll make it easy. I want to give it away, man. I don't want to take these stuffed animals back with me. Come on, just play twice and if you still lose, I'll give you a prize, come on."
Does that have anything to do with the story?
Not the plot.
It has to do with the immersion.
A dear friend of mine helps me edit. I've seen him write well, but usually he writes dialogue like this;
"Hello."
"Yes."
"I am Leo."
"I am Mary."
"I adore you, Mary."
"Let's fuck."
"Okay."
Then we fucked for hours, and when we stopped, we laughed for a while.
"Hey, do you want to fuck again?"
"Yes, I do."
"I as well."
and I have tried my motherfucking hardest to help him the way he helps me by finding mistakes or making suggestions. He will pedantically tell me things like "Church mice aren't actually quiet" when I use a figure of speech, or that "Be back in a minute" he'll ask if it was really a minute. I once told him that they opened the porch screen door.
"Technically, you don't open it, you have to pull it in..." he said.
It's a DETAIL, right? So you would think he's detail-oriented. I spent an hour debating with him and showing him how that in some porch screen doors open out, others open in.
When it comes to writing though, he is in it for speed. He wants the facts, nothign more - no sweetners.
I once read a story about a director asking a screen writer about a scene he wrote. It was just dialogue like above.
"What are they doing?" The director asks.
"Having a dialogue," the writer responds
"Okay, but what are they DOING?"
and what he meant was while that's happening - are they moving around? how are they talking? is something happening? is anyone else there?
In my friend's story, that shit is for the reader to imagine and guess. I tell him it's like a crossword puzzle to me because after 20-30 of those short little dialogues with no attribution, I can't tell you who is talking anymore, I've lost the count.
More so, I've been denied the stuff I READ stories for as well. 80% of all communication is non-verbal. How was it said changes so much. There are people I've known who can arch an eyebrow and say more than I can say in four paragraphs of talking.
The actor who played the coach on the TV show Friday Night Lights (brilliant show, if you haven't seen it) Kyle Chandler plays the coach. He nails the coach's ability to do that with his expressions. That show took risks by letting the actors do their own dialogue and not use a script like Gilmore Girls that prides itself on its pithy phrasing and unnatural conversations (apparently).
A great example for me from that show is at one point the Coach and his wife are walking into a daycare and the wife says "You have to pull up on the little thingy," and shows him how to open the gate. "I..uh know how to open a god-damned gate," he says as he opens it.
FUCK, that moment. That moment right there is my FAVORITE SCENE IN THE WHOLE SERIES.
If I had to pick six seconds that completely encapsulate married life at that age, it's that fucking scene. It was ad-libbed, apparently the actress was giving him direction and being helpful, not intending to make it part of the scene. IF that's to be believed it's even more amazing because that summed it all up for me.
It had ZERO to do with the story overall.
It just made the characters more real. It took me to their world, and it made it feel less like a TV show of shit I will never relate to, and made them real to me. I've seen that scene happen, and I've been in that scene myself.
So when I am bullshitting on my stories, I might take a moment to paint a Bob Ross little tree off to the side, just as background. I want that little moment of how cluttered the house is and how it is lived in, how she smells, and I try to find the balance. I do not rush or hurry.
I'll probably never be appreciated because i wrote how someone in the pasture stepped in dog shit and that made that "Ew, I stepped in dog shit" face, or how the scumbag that ran the Matterhorn ride kept ogling the girls, and trying to keep the ride going after he saw them flash their tits once. "We were on there for an hour!"
"You better show your tits next time!"
There is a concept in story writing called "Chekovs Gun" that states that any detail that does not advance the plot, should be eliminated. I can understand red herrings that piss off readers. The TV show LOST did that by introducing plots or ideas and then just abandoning them. That's not the kind of detail I mean. I just want you to feel that feel inside the strip club with the AC blasting but it still smells like mildew, ass and cleaning supplies and how the day shift stripper looks bored as she bends over and presents her ass, not expecting a tip. I want you to taste that watered down drink, and hear the loud White Zombie warbling out of that speaker even though there aren't but two other motherfuckers in there with you.
When I am bullshitting, I try to show not tell. I try NOT to use the word I am describing in the description. You can't do it always, but giving you the non-verbal about how that stripper keeps looking to the left like she is high, or has a nervuos tic and putting you in that sticky-ass vinyl seat, at that wobbly table with a ashtray that hasn't been cleaned since 1993 is my goal as much as it is to present a plot and write believable characters in interesting situations.
The internet is a very interesting place, though. There are what I call "Arbitarians".
You can say you like Cherries and parfait.
"FUCK CHERRIES, THEY SUCK !!!"
You can say you like this or that, and you'll always find someone who doesn't like it. There are some people that I think are just wired to naturally hate what you like and vise verse.
I listen to a lot of AI music recently. I know - AI sucks. It sure does, and to those that think it's going to hasten the destruction of society, and lead to poverty and misery, I agree - but I will say this, AI sure knows how to jam!
I love sweet soul music, always have - Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, all that stuff.
I love old rock songs, old 80s songs, I've got a ton of eclectic favorites but around 1995 when I stopped working in strip clubs, I stopped following music. It seemed to all turned to Nickelback shit/3 Doors Down, and now if you ask me who is singing, I'd say "Fuck, I dunno, Katy Perry?"
But now, this AI stuff- they combine it. A lot of it is just some asshole with a Suno account who puts the lyrics and types "Hurr, soul music" and blippity-bloppity-bleep, and out comes a piece of shit.
They post that on Youtube and at first when I started searching on it, I would put anything in my playlist and think "Well, it's better then nothing"
Some uninspired Metallica Enter sandman sung by Otis Redding in a soulful way was novel. Nine more get made because these boring numb nuts can't think of anything to do except the same fucking nine songs (Nirvana Come as you are, ONE Nine Inch Nails song, etc)
BUT
https://youtu.be/T-rfu0p3ChY?si=MHzeW2OKPQGsTFbp
Just listen to this motherfucking jammy jam. This is created by Professor Nick Harrison. As far as I know, he's only a professor in kicking ass and taking names, and his license to take names expired, if you know what I mean.
This song is "My chemical romance" The Black Parade. I've heard it done before, but *NEVER* like this. This is not AI slop. This is fucking pure genius.
They say that it takes talent to sing, write music, and play musical instruments, and you won't get any argument from me.
But, the producers and arrangers do not usually do that. They hear the music in a way that elevates it, and that is what the Professor did on this track. You'll hear the scratch in the voice, the emotion. If this WERE a human singer, the producer would have been the one to arrange it - it's a different source, but the same skill required.
It's not just talent to make it. I am sure he didn't just type it into the AI and out this popped. This had to be arranged, and oh my god, I can't stop listening to it.
Now, I'll give you two more, and there is a reason for this. I am not trying to sell you on this music or start a moral debate on the merits of using it on existing songs.. I have an hour and a half commute one way each day. This shit makes me happy and makes me smile and even if its "Stealing from artists"
Not much makes me smile, so I'll fucking take this;
https://youtu.be/mxY9vWTcqW8?si=meGVhnsHcbQHI66_
This is pure fucking juice - out the bottle. I've ALWAYS hated Limp Bizkit. He was a man baby with a red hat, stomping around. The only thing he and I have in common is that I was pure white trash, too, and I love chocolate starfish as much as he did, apparently.
His song Roling is largely unlistenable to me. It's him hurping and durping about how great Limp Bizkit is in the third person. The only Kid Rock/Limp Bizkit macho dickheads running around in hammer pants at the county fair ever did for society would be to drop off the planet as far as I was concerned with his uninspired white boy rap.
But listen to what Happy Dasher does. Shit. The way he says "Tho your hands up" like a real singer might, the way he sings "Back up, Back up" to a different cadence.
https://youtu.be/1axXS_KgU8U?si=U770_Kd1vSPsnwnt
One last one, this is Creep by Radiohead. by my count, there must be at least 17 unspired versions of this song some shithead put on the Internet. This is a Disney version that is truly professional quality and clever as shit.
Here is the thing though, to me - this is the shit.
There are going to be other people on the Internet who think "FUCK THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and they will say taht some obscure horse-shit version of some song I've never heard arranged without change-ups is great.
So, there are people who like stories without rich, descriptive details. I suppose I could have said that there are people who like rich chocolate cake, and people who just want nutrients to absorb, and said pretty much the same thing. I have seen people gush over my friend's stories, so I know he writes for an audience that likes that.
Recently, he "Edited" my story and he removed my voice and basically made it soul-less.
Here is an excerpt
“Precisely,” Joy’s bubbly laughter didn’t come across cruel or wicked. She was clearly enjoying Mary’s embarrassment.
"Why are you making me... do this?" Mary asked out loud, looking straight ahead, with her fingers interlaced behind her head.
"Because it's fun," Joy said, stepping closer to adjust Mary's posture with a gentle push on her back. "And you're doing great. See how easy it is? Stand up straight, Bubble Guppy."
“If it’s so easy and fun, why don’t you get naked, Joy?” Mary scowled, but didn’t make any attempt to hide her lower body. She still wore a heavy gray sweatshirt with a House Hufflepuff logo on the front from Harry Potter, but nothing else.
dly
Is this the best writing in the world? As I said, no. I wanted you to see the Harry Potter sweater in your mind and know this chick would pick Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor because she is the kind of chick who isn't a surface Harry Potter fan that went with mainstream. She went with the more thoughtful cutesy house. That's a DETAIL. That means nothing to the story; the sweater never appears again.
He wrote this and told me he was streamlining it;
o, now I have to strip completely naked anytime my brothers tell me to?”
“Precisely,” Joy’s bubbly laughter showed she was clearly enjoying Mary’s embarrassment.
"Why are you making me do this?" Mary asked.
I will never be that guy who likes the latter.
Today, I was supposed to be working on my stories, but instead I spent 3 hours on adding ONE picture of FIVE paintings showing a sequence of events where a woman marries a man, has a gang bang with a bunch of black guys and his best friend on their honeymoon, cheats on him constantly while they they are married, tries to kill or cuckold him (not sure which) and then they celebrate chopping her up in little bits. The story isn't even about that.
It's a painting inside a homemade haunted house intended to be macabre and illustrate their attitudes about women.
I sat there and put little details like I had her butt stuffed and taxidermied into an umbrella holder, and I put little "Well done" and "Rare" toothpicks into her tits, and I made sure the characters were consistent from painting to painting, and I put litle easter eggs in the pictures and call backs.
I did this because to me - that's the only reason to write stories. I want a creative outlet that lets me share my experiences but also live them with you, through the storyteller's eyes.
I almost never get feedback unless it's to tell me what a fuck up I am and drive me from the site. That's usually some entitled dick head karen troll that never contributes to the site and tries to run off authors that write stories they don't like by sending us snotty grams. It's the only power they have in real life, so they are fairly pathetic.
I might get a one sentence "Hey Eddie, when are you going to write the next chapter to your Twatmas story?" or but no intelligent conversation, no opinions, no feedback, no offers to brainstorm.
I've spent the last six months arguing simply that details in stories are actually good, so today I thought I'd just share my opinion. That's the point of a blog, right?
I work 10 hour days mon-fri, I owe more than I'll ever be able to pay back, It feels like I'll never get my masters degree at this rate (And I should be doing homework but naturally I am fucking around on pictures and blogs). I have an hour and a half commute, and a dozen or so stories half way finished that I should finish.
I cannot with the news. I simply cannot. Every day it's like this outrageous parody of reality, where people are laughign and fucking around building golden palaces while air traffic controllers have to work for free and using it like a game, and I just have to fucking go back to 1987 and write about some place, and some situation I'd much rather be in than this shit.
I could be wrong, maybe my writing details are irritating, boring, needless drek. I don't really want someone to send me that validation to piss me off. I am just putting it out there that even if it is - fuck you.
The only path I can be on where I write a story is if it has some details, some buttholes, some embarrassed nude females, some kinky shit. That's it - gotta have it.
But, sometimes you just wanna talk, and when you got nobody to talk with, then you just write a blog.
I haven't written a story worth publishing in a long time.
I have about 30+ that I haven't finished because I keep losing focus, and I don't want to go back to some of my earlier ones until I get the inspiration to finish them. I've been posting them on another awesome ENF forum, but this one is pretty much ready to publish. I need to edit, and I can't really stop adding to it, even though I think chapter ten could be a good finale.
I had the inspiration for Sailor Moo! during Halloween, looking at some of the expensive cosplay costumes on the teenage girls that came to my door for Candy.
https://storiesonline.net/n/52732/sailor-moo
I had the inspiration on Sailor Moo!
and before anyone asks if I am a registered sex offender, NO! I am not registered...)
:lol: ;)
Btw, not sure if you heard this statistic, because it's totally made up, but they say you have a 50% chance living next to a sex offender. Lucky I live next to a sexy 14 year old that loves to go topless and only charges 20 dollars an hour.
It's just starting out, so it's a slow start - I just have chapter one up on SOL as of this writing but it has illustrations. I think you may enjoy it. I wanted to explore gender roles/attitudes and have fun like my Christmas story.
The idea is Grandma accidentally ordered a Cosplay costume for adults called "Sailor Moo" a knock off of Sailor Moon. A plausible reality is that almost every costume marketed for women is slutty nurse, slutty whore, slutty teacher, slutty slut, slutty youtube influencer, slutty kardashian.
Well, the last one is redundant but you get the idea.
So, you are a full-figured teenage girl with big knockers - what can you wear off the kiddie rack? not much.
Ever been to Payless and seen a dad, that moment his teenage daughter goes from the aisle with the light-up Sketchers to the high heels because her feet are a normal size? It's fun to watch his realization as she sorts through all the sexy heels to find something to wear to school.
I just started it, and wanted to begin nice and slow before we push the race car's engine and see what it can do. There are a couple of illustrations. Don't get your hopes up that it will be chock full, but I plan to do a few more! I always love sticking easter eggs into the pictures and tweaking them - like nipples.
If this goes well, the next few stories will come soon enough. This is set in Girls Don't Need Modesty. I've got a dozen stories with overlapping themes to this one, but this one checks many of my boxes. I wanted a fun attitude for the characters. This world - this is just how it is. Boys rule, girls drool.
The idea is the less you have developed (small tits/small boobs), the less you have to hide, so you can run around nekked.
Obviously, though - when you are still in your growth spurt, you are still the age that can get away with being naked in public settings, but you kinda don't belong there. Ever been to the dog park with that 40 pound dog that's too small for the big dog section but too big for the little dog section?
Keep in mind, I do not advocate misogyny or the setting at all in real life. That should go without saying, but I said it
It's just a world to play in, like one of werewolves and vampires that only exists in the mind and nowhere else. I won't claim it's as lofty as Handmaid's tale in bringing to light the dangers of dystopian/authoritarian views on gender, but it could be "Handmaid's Tail" anyway.
More like Planet of the Apes, it's meant for entertainment of a world where tables are turned. When I was growing up, no one thought twice about stripping down a kid at the beach and washing them off before dropping us bare ass on a towel in the back of the big Mercury Monarch that had been baking in the sand been baking in the sun for six hours. Getting poked and laughed at by your cousin and wondering why her clit looks like a tiny penis/thinking it IS a tiny penis and your sassy aunt telling you "keep your fingers off yours AND hers, Eddie, or I'll snap a clothespin on yours and then you won't want anything touching it again!"
They let you play out in the yard in undies and panties. This is just an extension of that attitude that girls don't need modesty, because "meh, everybody's seen what you got" like they would about crying over showering in the gym. This is the world where Grandparents had a statue out in plain sight on a shelf of a guy with a trenchcoat and if you press the button his coat opens and his pee-pee sticks up, and another button whiskey came out.
It's a world like I want to remember, sometimes where people were not so fucking up tight and girls's PE shorts were like the ones you have to go to Hooters to see.
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