by Matthew Firth

There’s a line in a song by the Strokes, a band from New York you may know, that says, "We all like it a little different." I think that’s a good theme for talking about writing about sex.

First, I’ll start with an apology of sorts. I am going to be reading from notes. I am – like many writers I suspect – more comfortable with the written word. As such, I’ll be reading a fair bit over the next hour or so, but I’ll do my best to entertain and to elaborate beyond my written notes.

I’m here to talk about erotic fiction. But I have a confession: I don’t like the term erotica. What’s more, I don’t write erotica, at least I don’t think I do. I am a fiction writer – short stories, and a novel in the works. I’m also an editor. I’ve just co-edited a fiction anthology called Grunt & Groan: The New Fiction Anthology of Work and Sex. I write about sex. I don’t write erotica. Erotica is far too fluffy a term for my liking. I prefer to call what I write (sometimes, not always) sex fiction. Because my fiction often has a sexual dimension to it, a blunt sexual component that differs from what is commonly called erotica.

Erotica is quite different from sex writing and from pornographic writing. While erotica, as it is commonly known, is certainly sexual and sometimes pornographic, the term has become sanitized; it is sex writing that is commercially-driven, formulaic, and not terribly realistic. Erotica is closer to fantasy than reality, whereas sex fiction is closer to reality. Porn fiction is somewhere in between.

Erotica has carved out a niche in the mainstream. You can stroll into Chapters or Coles, go to the right aisle, and have a bevy of lustful-looking books at your fingertips. There are web sites aplenty dedicated to erotic fiction and magazines and journals that cater to this genre. Sex stores – which usually stock erotic fiction – are now often located in strip malls, right next to a Tim Hortons or a grocery store. Sex is out in the open. It has become big business to write dirty stories.

I’ve read a lot of erotica and found that it can get dull and boring pretty quickly. There is a fuck or suck or lick scene per chapter, usually some escalation of the sexual activity, maybe some toys and gadgetry, perhaps a jealous relationship as some sort of subplot. The writing is adequate but not as important as the quantity of sexual content. A thesaurus is required to ensure a myriad of terminology is used to describe male and female genitalia and sex acts. And the intent is to provide fantasy for the reader, perhaps arousing him or her, to facilitate masturbation or to stimulate sex between people. The response to erotic fiction is on a largely physical scale, with little attention afforded to an emotional response. So be it. Fair enough. Typically, erotic novels feed into fairly predictable fantasies of sex in public, sex with a stranger, sex with more than one other person, rough sex, etc. There is lots of description of penetration, of prodding various orifices, and of wonderful and glorious orgasms and perhaps multiple orgasms, just for good measure. Again, this is all fuel for fantasy, and that’s fine.

Erotic fiction can really be situated just one notch more explicit than your average romance novel, the sort where there is also lots of sex, but the terminology is toned down, is less crass and vulgar, however relative these terms might be. For example, with fantasy or romance novels, men have "broad shoulders" or a "throbbing manhood" rather than, say, a "cock as big as a totem". There also tends to be more character development and a clearer storyline in romance novels, but still oodles of sex, PG-rated as it may be.

Now then, sex fiction is a different beast. It has a few similarities – or can have similarities – with erotic fiction. It can be arousing. It can describe fairly standard sex scenarios. Where it differs is with respect to fantasy versus reality. Sex fiction is not about embellishing sexual activity, about exaggerating the intensity of orgasms for the purpose of bragging, about depicting sexual situations most of us can only dream of. Sex fiction is writing about sex by accurately portraying how people fuck. The goal is authenticity, believable characters and believable acts. And sex for real, living, breathing humans is not always as mind-blowing as the sex depicted in erotica. Sex for the average Jane or Joe can be lousy, can be quick and dirty, can be exploitive and hurtful, can be compassionate and caring – and all sorts of things in between.

A key difference between erotic fiction and sex fiction is akin to the old debate about what the purpose of art/literature is: that is, is literature supposed to be something that uplifts us and inspires reverence, or is it simply supposed to be more firmly rooted in the social; that is, an accurate portrayal of reality as we know it, warts and all, or, in this case, unfulfilling orgasms (or non-existent orgasms) and all? Is it supposed to be something beyond our grasp that we aspire to, or something that we can identify with because it accurately depicts a reality that we know and experience? I favour the latter, both in the erotic fiction versus sex fiction context, and in a more general sense regarding what literature should do.

Like the so-called oldest profession, sex and the written word go way back. I’m not foolish enough to think I can cover all the ground on this topic, but I will hit on a few key moments in the ongoing development of sex fiction.

You’re likely familiar with the more famous sex manuals from bygone eras, e.g., the Kama Sutra and, from Ancient Greece, The Manual of Classical Erotology. These were the how-to books of the day. They are celebrated still. Many copies of these books, and more contemporary instructional sex books, will sell in the next couple of weeks as Valentine’s Day gifts for naughty husbands, wives and partners. Similarly, the pillow books of medieval Japan were fiction and how-to books, often presented discreetly (i.e., laid on the pillow) of a newly married couple.

Quite simply, people have been fucking and carrying on for ages. In the same way people like to gossip and grind away at the rumour mill verbally about sexual matters, people also want to write about sex – to brag, to instruct, to titillate, and to shock. This too has been going on for ages.

A long, long time before the so-called Sexual Revolution of the 1960s there were writers laying bare sexual activities on the written page. Some of the more notorious and well known to this day include Boccaccio in 14^th century Italy and De Sade in 18^th century France. There were, of course, many others before, during and after these two. De Sade in particular, endures to this day and has become a cult figure. His name, too, is associated with a certain form of domineering sexual behaviour. Likewise, the case of 19^th writer Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, whose name/fiction has been associated with submissive sexual behaviour.

But perhaps the biggest explosion of naughty books (prior to the 20^th century) was in Victorian England in the 19^th century. That was an era known for its repressive social customs, but it also produced an absolute tonne of writings on sex, most of it flourishing underground, privately printed materials, and lots of it very explicit. One of the more renowned is a collection called My Secret Life, a huge book, covering more than 2400 pages and spanning 40 years in the anonymous writer’s life. It is comparable to De Sade, in that it is an absolute unrelenting onslaught of sex writing. Perhaps because it was underground writing, and completely subversive, its delivery is brash, bold, misogynist, and at times simply perverse.

This book and the many others like it from the day was not for sale in bookstores. The author is anonymous. There would have been small print runs of the book for sale underground to collectors at high prices. The books might have been printed in a mainland European country and smuggled into England – in the case of the first printing of My Secret Life, the book was produced in the Netherlands with strict orders to destroy the plates after shipping the books to England.

It was not until decades later that this book, and others like it, was mass-produced and more widely available.

Which brings into question the role of the publishing industry in loosening the constraints on sex fiction. From the 20^th century, three presses stand out as liberators of sex fiction: Obelisk Press and Olympia Press in Paris, and Grove Press in New York. There were of course many smaller presses that also pushed the envelope, publishing pulpy porn novels in the 50s and 60s, but these three presses really opened the floodgates, but not without opposition. These three presses also published some of the heavyweights of sex fiction, such as Henry Miller, Anais Nin, George Bataille, Alexander Trocchi, and others.

Obelisk Press was founded by ex-pat Englishman Jack Kahane in Paris in the 1930s. That press published Henry Miller’s Tropics at least 30 years before they would see print in the US.

The Olympia Press was founded by Kahane’s son Maurice Girodias who was responsible for publishing the notorious "Travellers Companion" series of dirty books, books that were all printed with the same dull, green covers. Among Olympia’s titles in the 1950s: Story of O; Naked Lunch, Candy and Lolita. This was a ground breaking press, marrying sexual content with high literary standards, and tapping into a literary rebellion raging against social repression. Olympia published a mix of books, merging literary titles that had a deep sexual flavour, like those mentioned already, with out and out smut. Interestingly, sometimes – as in the case of Alexander Trocchi – the same writer produced both types of books, using a pseudonym for the more purely pornographic fiction.

Grove Press in New York was the third big player in loosening the fetters, on moving erotic and sexual fiction away from small private presses and into a much larger arena. Grove too published a mix of literary/sexual titles with smuttier, low-brow fiction. But it was also a groundbreaking press, widely introducing readers in North America and beyond to writers such as William S Burroughs, Hubert Selby, Jean Genet, Kathy Acker and other literary bad-asses.

Grove published Lady Chatterly’s Lover in 1959, with that most alluring of phrases adorning the cover "Completed and Unexpurgated." Grove also published My Secret Life, De Sade, Henry Miller and others and often went to court to defend its right to print this material in the US. But at about the same time that Grove was emerging in the US, Olympia Press was being shut down in France. For the first half of the 20^th century, France was reasonably tolerant of erotic publishers but this changed in the late 50s when the French government clamped down on Olympia, banning the press from publishing any more erotic books.

Back in the US, when the courts struck down obscenity claims against Grove, the doors truly opened on a mass scale for the first time. Grove flooded the market with dirty books, reprinting Victorian underground books, French novelists, old Japanese pillow books, and it developed some American pulpy pornographers. Grove remains a relevant player. In the 1980s, for example, it was Grove that published Dennis Cooper, a near-modern equivalent to De Sade.

In the 80s and 90s, many smaller presses, like, for example, Vancouver’s Arsenal Pulp Press, jumped into the fray, publishing anthologies that celebrate gay and lesbian fiction, sexual fiction by writers of colour and nearly every imaginable sexual subgroup.

Similarly, while earlier erotic and sex fiction was written predominantly by men (with a few exceptions) there are presently many more women writing dirty books. In fact, a lot of mainstream erotic fiction – for example, the Black Lace series – is written by women, often with fairly cheesy pseudonyms.

Dirty books are back, seeing the light of day perhaps like never before. A trip to any local bookstore in the next two weeks will reveal that sex on the page is credible, is lucrative and is no longer seen as something to conceal in a plain brown wrapper. However, dirty books are still not afforded the same weight as so-called serious literature. The literary establishment still often ignores big names like Henry Miller. Dirty books – erotic or sex fiction – are, like all genre fiction, for that matter, not placed on the same pedestal as so-called "literary fiction". Which is maybe a good thing, as there might still be a glimmer of subversion in erotic fiction yet. This is also not surprising when we consider that our society has yet to become fully comfortable with all aspects of sexuality. But it is encouraging, nonetheless, to see sex books out in the open and perhaps more widely available than at any other time. Thinking back to the 19^th century and My Secret Life, this strikes me as progress.

I’m going to conclude with some how-to remarks on writing dirty stories. I think the first consideration is to decide whether you want to write in the style of what I’ve called erotic fiction versus what I’ve called sex fiction. Of course, this is just my opinion and perhaps some of you see no distinction, but I think it’s a worthy point to consider. To me it’s a matter of whether you want to be naughty or truly get down and dirty; whether you want to flirt in the realm of fantasy or wrestle with bittersweet human reality. But either way, you’ll need a fair bit of resolve, a fair bit of courage. And maybe the answer as to which route to take lies with whether you prefer to write "honey pot" or "snatch". Remember, terminology is crucial.

Like any form of fiction, you’re going to have to know what you’re writing about. So, take a notepad with you to bed the next time you get it on and write down what works and what doesn’t work for you and yours … I’m kidding. Sharp objects like a pen are not a good idea when you’re fucking. But you should draw on personal experiences and fantasies when writing about sex. Also, listen when people talk about fucking – what they say, how they say it, and what sort of terminology they use. Beyond this, in this era, there is no shortage of sex media from which to draw. Watch those fluffy sex chat shows on late night TV. Go to a sex shop and sample the merchandise and try out the media (printed page, video, etc.). This might give you an idea whether you’ve got a stomach for sex writing or not.

And as for the erotic and sex writing – read it, as much as you can. This is the universal rule of good writing: you must read what others are writing. Never lose sight of the fact that you can learn from what others are doing. For erotica/sex fiction, go to the many erotic writers websites and see what they have to offer. This will be your best source of info on markets and anthologies. Also check out the small presses that specialize in erotica and sex fiction (or publish this sort of material as part of their publishing programme), for example, Arsenal Pulp in Canada, and Cleis Press and Circlet Press in the States.

Like any other form of writing, it’s best to start small. Aim to first publish stories in magazines, online journals, anthologies, etc. You will need to establish yourself. Lots of erotica publishers do anthologies; they might first welcome you into the fold in one of their anthologies and then perhaps be interested in hearing about a short story collection or novel that you have in the works. Erotica is a genre market, and genre markets, by and large, like to publish familiar names (I’m talking books here, now). So you’ll need a track record.

And be sure to read and meticulously observe publishers’ submission guidelines. There is nothing that pisses off a publisher more than an inappropriate submission or a submission that has not been submitted according to the publisher’s standards and wants. For example, don’t blindly send a 350-page novel to a publisher that only publishes anthologies and expect to be treated like an intelligent human being. Likewise, be wise to the sexual leanings of the presses and their anthologies. If they want Gay Vampire stories, don’t send them hetero romance. This stuff sounds rudimentary but it’s vital for finding the right place for your work. Publishers are a grumpy lot; don’t give them an excuse to be grumpier than usual with you and your lusty prose.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Matthew Firth been writing seriously for the last dozen years or so. He has two collections of short stories published: Fresh Meat in 1997 and Can you take me there, now? in 2001. He co-wrote a non-fiction book in 1997. In 2002 he co-edited a fiction anthology called Grunt & Groan, published by Boheme Press. He also writes reviews for The Danforth Review and for the Ottawa Xpress. He edits/publishs a new fiction/review magazine called Front&Centre. He also runs Black Bile Press, which publishes chapbooks.