Stars Are Good Today....Especially After Your Revelations Last Night

I thought I might have a go at writing erotic romance novels for girls. I would have to write under a chicks name, or course, but that's okay. A friend of mine is a connoisseur. Apparently, there's a lot of two boys, one girl, as these are girls fantasies, of course. There is even gay sex between the boys, as straight girls fantasise about 2 boys together, apparently, as much as straight boys fantasise about 2 girls together, even if girls don't publicly admit it quite as much.

I could write that. How hard can it be?

Pulp fiction is the place to make money. Literary novels never paid the bills, except for a small few.

I told Shane last night. He sent me my stars - he and I are the same star sign - thinking they were good, as far as my idea was concerned.

Be glad of any errors of judgement that you have ever made. Celebrate your dodgiest decisions. These, it now turns out, are coins with which you can afford to buy yourself a safer future. The more you can lay claim to, the better the purchase you can make. There is no upper limit. Don't be ashamed of what has happened. Just be glad of what's suddenly starting to become possible. By drawing on what has gone wrong so far, you can now summon the strength and wisdom to make something come wonderfully right.

My friend Jill, who is the devote, is also a marketing guru, as it turns out. Hello! Got to use what you've got. There is a good chance that if I finished the book, she would do every thing she had to sell it, which, after all, is her field of expertise and romance novels are her passion.

Jill lent me four books to read, to get acquainted.

I sat up in bed and read one of the book.

Oh my! Goodness me. It is such crap! The writing is so bad, it's unbelievable. Just crap. No character analysis. Such scant setting it's almost laughable. I'm up to chapter 10 and the only descriptive detail of the three main characters has been the mention of their hair colour.

No subtext, no discriminable theme, pretty much straight into the sex. It's really just porn described in words. That's what a good number of chicks want.

I smoked a j and got turned on, once I'd got use to the abysmal writing, which is what this stuff is designed for.

So, let's take all of the above and use it as a positive; I should be able to bang one of these books out in no time. Even if I dumb my writing down, it will still be far superior to what I'm reading, even if I do say so myself.

I've got a plot line worked out already. Remember, it never has to be rewritten passed the cliché stage.

Wealthy heiress, whose family paid her money rather than showed her love all her life, attends a country soiree at a fabulous country estate. Another fabulous weekend in her thoroughly empty life.

She meets a high class male prostitute, lets call him Zac and a Hollywood leading man, lets call him Alex, who are both holidaying at the hotel. The two men are old school buddies. The Hollywood actor is a method actor and he is about to make a movie about a bisexual man. The prostitute has made a shit load of money and is now contemplating changing his life, the problem is prostitution is all he's done, since he was seventeen, when that high powered, career-focused female colleague of his father's paid him for a weekend away. He doesn't know how to do any thing else.

A steamy manois de tois ensues.

The male prostitute becomes the eventual hero, the heiress the heroine.