Enraptor is the first weird erotica book I’ve written, and I wrote it because it was raining.
Ok, maybe there’s a little more to it, but not much. You see, I normally work outdoors. Due to the nature of my particular job, I rarely work when it’s raining. I also don’t work in winter.
So autumn rolls around, and I know the clock is ticking down on my yearly employability. I’m not too worried, because I’ve done this for a while, and I know it’s coming. I know I’ll be struggling for work for about three months, so I’ve saved up carefully and I’m ready for it.
What I’m not ready for is a month of rain. In autumn. I needed that work, and now I’m in trouble.
So I’m sitting at my computer, listening to the rain relentlessly coming down, and I know I have to do something. I don’t know what I’m going to do, though. I can’t go into customer service because I’m the sort of person who talks about the social implications of MILF porn to strangers. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s so interesting, I just have to share, damn it. Knowing this compulsion about myself, I have a tendency to stand very quietly and let other people talk. Other people aren’t as weird as me, and that’s good.
I can’t go get a cafe job because I have trouble understanding spoken word. I can’t handle a constant barrage of people shouting orders at me because I confuse words too easily. If I have a second to think and a little context, I can work it out. But shout “latte no sugar” at me, and I might hear “Batman nose roar.” I know you said something about coffee because why else would you be here, but that made no sense, and the more I ask people to repeat themselves, the madder they get at me.
So I like my outdoor job. My coworkers tell me what they want at the beginning of the day, then we work together to do the things. I only have to process words for a small amount of the day, and the rest of the day I’m hanging out with people who have known me long enough not to get weirded out when I blurt out something inappropriate.
But I had over a month dragging ahead of me with the possibility of no work. There was a storm from the ocean rolling in over my city, and it showed little indication of letting me go to work in the critical weeks before my whole job shut down for the winter.
I could think of only one thing to do.
I wrote my first story when I was seven, and I grew up loving reading and writing. I’d never wanted to make a career of it, so I left it as a hobby.
When I sat down to write, I started with regular erotica. I’d heard erotica sold well on Kindle.
I spent a week doing nothing but writing porn for Kindle.
Nothing happened. No one wanted it.
Another week, and I had about ten stories online. No one wanted any of them.
So one day I got drunk and thought to myself, “Fuck it.”
That was the day I wrote the first part of Enraptor. I told my boyfriend, who thought it was hilarious. He then gave me the title for it. As soon as he said the name of the book, I fell in love with the idea. This would be more fun than I expected.
I published the book and went to bed. The next morning I got up, ready to write more porn. To my amazement, someone had purchased a copy of Enraptor.
That was the moment. There was no turning back now.
I had found my calling.