Tallulah82
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2021
- Posts
- 7,349
Thursday thoughts:
If you know me well enough, you know that writing stories is really important to me.
My earliest memories of loving stories goes back to growing my collection of Enid Blyton books from age 5. By aged 8-9, I had many (I'm thinking fifty-ish). I had created my own library in my bedroom, including creating a borrowing system that no-one used because I trusted no-one to treat them with proper respect, haha.
The first stories I began writing were in my teens. I began a novel, which I even got my history teacher to edit some! I never finished it but it's still there, handwritten filled file. Maybe one day I'll return to it with grown-up eyes and ideas.
I loved English classes, except for Poetry because it goes over my head. It still does. I have great respect for poets and those who can read and enjoy them.
When I was around 14 years old, I had an awful, awful English teacher who look a great dislike to me for reasons beyond my understanding. And as difficult to believe, I was the quiet student who tried her best. It was never good enough. Then one day, she set us an assignment to write a fictional story with a given opening line. I can't remember what it was (though I'm pretty sure I have it in storage somewhere still). At this point, I figured I had nothing to lose and I threw myself into this task. I wrote a ghost story, with elements of horror.
In my reading at this point, I was hooked on the gothic horror of Virginia Andrews, but I hadn't yet discovered Stephen King, Dean Koontz or James Herbert, or John Saul.
I submitted this story and expected it to fail (not actually fail, but lower marks than I'd become used to from her). She never actually verbalised her like of it or anything, but this story scored me the highest marks. And it was here I learned a valuable lesson: to not write trying to impress. I write for my own personal pleasure and with a 'fuck you' attitude, when necessary.
I still have every short story I wrote, my teenage ones on paper (either hand written or typed up on a typewriter) and then the rest on USB/hard drive.
When I joined Lit, I made it a goal of mine to attempt some erotica - just for kicks as a personal challenge. And some of my closest friends on here have been borne from a mutual love of writing (porn or not).
It's been quite a while since I completed anything for here. I have many ideas (noted and filed on my laptop, in a super organised way, naturally) but I do try to focus my writing time on non-erotica projects. But maybe I should indulge just a little again.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I did write a Christmas love story but I kind of missed the season, so that's waiting for later.
But writing is in my bones. It's a huge part of who I am and I literally get wistful for writing when life has overtaken too much. So yeah, maybe it's time to dust off the quivering thighs and smouldering looks again.
If you know me well enough, you know that writing stories is really important to me.
My earliest memories of loving stories goes back to growing my collection of Enid Blyton books from age 5. By aged 8-9, I had many (I'm thinking fifty-ish). I had created my own library in my bedroom, including creating a borrowing system that no-one used because I trusted no-one to treat them with proper respect, haha.
The first stories I began writing were in my teens. I began a novel, which I even got my history teacher to edit some! I never finished it but it's still there, handwritten filled file. Maybe one day I'll return to it with grown-up eyes and ideas.
I loved English classes, except for Poetry because it goes over my head. It still does. I have great respect for poets and those who can read and enjoy them.
When I was around 14 years old, I had an awful, awful English teacher who look a great dislike to me for reasons beyond my understanding. And as difficult to believe, I was the quiet student who tried her best. It was never good enough. Then one day, she set us an assignment to write a fictional story with a given opening line. I can't remember what it was (though I'm pretty sure I have it in storage somewhere still). At this point, I figured I had nothing to lose and I threw myself into this task. I wrote a ghost story, with elements of horror.
In my reading at this point, I was hooked on the gothic horror of Virginia Andrews, but I hadn't yet discovered Stephen King, Dean Koontz or James Herbert, or John Saul.
I submitted this story and expected it to fail (not actually fail, but lower marks than I'd become used to from her). She never actually verbalised her like of it or anything, but this story scored me the highest marks. And it was here I learned a valuable lesson: to not write trying to impress. I write for my own personal pleasure and with a 'fuck you' attitude, when necessary.
I still have every short story I wrote, my teenage ones on paper (either hand written or typed up on a typewriter) and then the rest on USB/hard drive.
When I joined Lit, I made it a goal of mine to attempt some erotica - just for kicks as a personal challenge. And some of my closest friends on here have been borne from a mutual love of writing (porn or not).
It's been quite a while since I completed anything for here. I have many ideas (noted and filed on my laptop, in a super organised way, naturally) but I do try to focus my writing time on non-erotica projects. But maybe I should indulge just a little again.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I did write a Christmas love story but I kind of missed the season, so that's waiting for later.
But writing is in my bones. It's a huge part of who I am and I literally get wistful for writing when life has overtaken too much. So yeah, maybe it's time to dust off the quivering thighs and smouldering looks again.
