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
My eyes widened from the mere titles, and I slowly pulled one out to see a man and a woman embracing. The woman’s green dress was slid down, revealing most of her back, and her breasts were soft and perky from under the delicateness of the dress. And the man had long, blonde flowing hair, and he was wearing a thin, white shirt that revealed a lot of his chest.
So this was a romance novel.
I return the book to it's place and looked through more of the titles. Honestly, the titles were a bit amusing.
I was going to have to buy one of these and read it. It was inevitable. I had to see what smut really looked like. I pulled out a random one, and this one had a light purple coloring and had Maiden of Inverness written plainly over the top, with a couple embracing behind, except the man with long, flowing hair was behind the woman, who was sporting a deep, red dress. I slowly turned it over and read the back:
A Woman Born to Greatness
In a time of war, Meridene is just an innocent child, yet she is also the revered Maiden of Inverness, ordained by birth to place the ceremonial sword of Scottish rule in her husband’s hands. But Edward I, King of Britain, cunningly betroths her to a lowly butcher’s son…
A Man Destined to Rule
Of common blood, yet noble in his dreams of a united Scotland, Revas MacDuff accept his destiny—while his enraged in-laws would rather kill his young bride than honor such a marriage. Only retreat to an English nunnery saves the young maiden’s life, leaving a boy alone with his vow to one day win her back…
A Passion Fated to Possess Them Both
Thirteen years later, Revas will not find a grateful wife, but a fighting fury of a woman who despises Scotland, its clans, and the Highlander who calls himself her mate. Planning merely to seduce her, Revas begins to care. Determined to forever hate him, Meridene begins to surrender. Now, amid evil and treachery, the kindling of love’s bright fire can save a great land—or destroy a maiden’s hopes…her soul…her heart.
So this looked like it had some heavy romance and some strong historical fiction. I felt slightly intrigued because I myself was a huge fan of historical fiction, so I kept this one in my arms as I began searching for one more. Perhaps two would be good enough?
I pulled one out that had a bare naked woman and my cheeks flushed before I quickly put it back. Definitely too strong for my naive and inexperienced eyes.
“Oh, deary, that’s a great one!” An older woman said, taking the book back and giving me a sly look. She was a cute old woman, with a cane, and a jacket over her small body, her dark grey hair pulled up into a loose bun. I could tell that she had once been a very beautiful woman, judging by her sparkling blue eyes.
I wondered how she was able to hold the book, knowing it portrayed a naked woman’s breast on the top.
“You mustn’t ever judge a book by its cover,” She told me with a wink, before heading away to look at the other romance novels.
“Never judge a book by its cover, okay,” I told myself, nodding my head and forcing myself to pull out another book. This one looked like a western, with a tanned cowboy holding what looked like a blonde damsel in distress. Compromised Hearts, was it’s title.
No gentlemen would guarantee a lady’s safety in exchange for her virtue. But that is precisely why Cloud Ryder would never call himself a gentleman. He wants Emily Brockinger the moment he sets eyes on her, and volunteers to guide her and her ward through lawless Colorado territory—if she’ll share his bed. Yet to his surprise, the delicate Boston blueblood has a grit and fire that thrill him as no woman ever has…
Emily has no choice but to accept Cloud’s terms, and no way to control her body’s response to the virile, part-Cherokee drifter. The trail is strewn with obstacles, and the dangers only increase once they reach their destination. All his life, Cloud has shunned commitment, but now the only way to keep Emily safe is to open his heart—to the only woman with the passion and power to break it.
Honestly, this sounded good. Well, except for the part where the guy wanted to take the girl’s virtues in order to help her, but I always loved Westerns—when it came to literature. I wasn’t a fan of Western movies simply because I always felt like they were a bit too Hollywood, if that made any sense.
So I tucked the book under my arms, and after taking one last tip of my drink, I headed for the check out line.
I was behind two teenage boys, with those large hipster glasses, and they were both arguing over something to do with Star Trek.
I also had two younger girls with their mother behind me, one had a movie in her hand, and the other had a book that I’ve seen many places. Divergent, I’ve heard it was good. I made a mental note to read it when I had time.
But right now, I needed some studying to do.
When it was my turn, I handed my books to the woman that looked just a few years older than me, and I felt slightly embarrassed when I saw the covers of my books again. She looked pretty skeptical when she saw the titles, until she looked at me and said:
“These are great books. Are you a fan of Hannah Howell?”
“No, this is actually my first time getting books like this.” I replied with a low chuckle.
“Oh, well you’ll definitely love them. Especially if you like historical fiction.” She smiled at me as she rang up my books, and the books only came out to 12 dollars.
Beat that, Barnes and Nobles.
Or was it Barnes and Noble?
Eh, same thing.
I carried the bag out of my store and headed for my car, taking off my glasses to clean them with the bottom of my shirt. I wore glasses very seldom, mostly because they tended to bother me, since I felt like I was looking through goggles. I owned one of those large, completely unattractive glasses, and they were also an ugly brown color. They were old and worn, and I was honestly too busy to get myself proper, stylish glasses, mostly because I highly preferred wearing contacts instead.
I set my bag down in the passenger seat and started up my car.
I was 22 years-old, and what I planned for today was to read some hardcore smut.
And I was also going to learn how to write it.
Yeah, I’m definitely living life on the edge.
~~
When I read a book, what I did was this:
I sat on my recliner in the living room, and I had a nice warm blanket wrapped around me, with the lights dimmed just a little so I could read, of course. I would take a shower before doing this, mainly because taking a shower cleared my mind, and I would then begin reading the book.
Except this time, I had a red pen with me to take notes when I got to the smut section of the novel.
I was generally a very fast reader, since I’ve read so many books in my life so far. I read even faster when I was in this comfy, preferable environment, as opposed to something loud and distracting.
But when I liked to read, I liked to drown myself in the book. To lose all contact with everything around me, to focus and dwell on the author’s words and understand or comprehend them completely. I believed that that was what I owed the author herself when reading the book, to take the time to marvel at the art of their words construction and flow of their choice of words.
It wasn’t long until I reached one of the sections, and it took me three times to read the first part before my cheeks were on fire. And the sad thing was that I couldn’t stop.
The writing was amazing. It wasn’t crude language like I originally thought; the author wrote this so called smut in such a sophisticated way with articulating words. It was very admirable, to be honest.
I just could not understand how the author pieced the words together so perfectly to create such amazing sentences, or how they described something so sexual with such beauty.
It amazed and fascinated me.
I began to circle the words she used that helped flow everything together, and I took note of how the scene progressed, and where the climatic part of it.
And I continued reading.
I read, and I read.
I felt like I was studying for a test, except this was no test. This was something I hadto succeed at. If I didn’t, my book wouldn’t get published.
And it was my all-time dream to have a book of mine published.
I would probably cry if I ever did achieve that.
I felt like all my life, I’ve been watching literature sprout all around me. I’ve been an avid fan, ever since I was a young teenage girl. And now, it was my time to join this world of literature. It was literally my time to get a spot in the line.
All I had to do was learn how to write smut.
Easy, right?