How to Write Smut

Two

I loved Half Price Books. It was a lot like Barnes and Nobles, except it was a lot smaller (well, at least where I lived) and everything was used and half the price of the books in Barnes and Nobles. It even had this small café to the right, that was far more superior to Starbucks because everything was cheaper and I just loved their vanilla lattes.

When I got there, I couldn’t help but stop to buy one. I grabbed a napkin, a dark straw, and began my search for any smutty books.

My editor told me that smutty books were basically those romance novels. I’ve never read one myself; I basically liked young reader novels, such as anything by Sarah Dessen. However, I was always willing to try new things out.

The store wasn’t filled up; there were only a few people in the lone aisles, eyeing the various numbers of books. Once, one of my old friends found a Beatles book here which had a special autographed paper inside, and it was only 4 dollars. I suppose the people working here didn’t see the paper, but he was so elated to find that paper since he was a huge Beatle fan.

I guess I’d be a Beatle fan, if I was into music. I’m not a huge music fan. I like listening to it here and there, but my love is mainly for writing.

And that was why I loved bookstores.

They’re like an author’s paradise.

Books—everywhere.

Call me a nerd, call me a book worm, and I’ll take that as a compliment.

Back when I was in high school, I was always embarrassed of my love for writing and books. When I told people I liked writing, they always asked, “So you like writing long, boring essays?”

And I wanted to slap them, except I was never that violent. Should have been, though.

But come on—just because I loved writing didn’t mean I loved writing those long, technical essays. In fact, I hated writing essays.

I liked the creative side of writing; you know, the side where you could create your own world and your own characters. Where you could be a princess or an evil villain—or even a dark raven?

It was wondrous, I tell you. How could people not like to read?

I guess it was for the same reason why I wasn’t a huge fan of music. People simply liked what they like.

I strolled past the good old classical literature, spotting Frankenstein and Moby Dick, and headed back to where the romance was. I could see a smaller sign hanging above the two aisles, and, sipping on my drink, I slowed down to look over the titles of the books.

Lustful Nature

 

Bride of Lust

 

The Unwilling Jewel