#25 Should I write porn?
Last week, I asked my editor about my decision to use my real name as a pen name. I had spent too much time thinking about what I should call myself entering the publishing world, and I couldn't find a name that convinced me. On the one hand, even if I write fiction, I am deeply connected to some of the things I've laid out in my stories, and I could not find a reason why I should hide behind a fake persona. On the other hand, do I really want everyone on the planet -once I become a bestseller author- or my closest circle to know what goes in my head? Everything? The good and the horrible?
Writing sometimes seems like being a stripper, showing the bits, hoping it will make others happy or at least make them feel something. There is no pole or tiny lingerie but a lot of coffee and back pain when things don't go the right way-- which I guess might happen in the stripping world as well. Many writers use a pen name to distance themselves from their work and personal lives. It creates a barrier. It says to others: "That's not really me, but someone I turn into occasionally." That's why, when talking to my editor, she said it would be okay to keep my name--the real one-- since I was writing fiction and not porn. "I would advise otherwise then, " she told me, and I could not stop a smile way too big for that moment. What would my family say? My children? My co-workers? But even better... would they read it? Apparently, there is a great market for this genre, but there is a great deal of shame and secrecy around it as well. Now, here comes trouble: if something makes us happy, takes our time and effort, and becomes our way of living (legally), why should we hide it?
I don't see myself writing porn, though, mainly because it is too hard, and I haven't managed yet to write an intimate scene without losing my marbles and questioning if I have any talent for this profession I chose. Instead of something that could bring a bit of shame and lots of money, I opted for writing coming-of-age stories and things that could happen to anyone, with clothes on. I chose to write what I wanted, the same way I decided to fight for what I believed was right at my previous jobs (my former managers can vouch for this), and it is not easy. Nowadays, every other agent wants "different" and "minority," and I am a white privileged woman with no addiction to chardonnay or a group of friends to throw glasses at. I used to work full time and battle my kids and pets when I was back at home, which many considered a miracle. Now, I spend my days in front of my laptop, writing, reading, and studying, which I did before, too... although before, I did not work from the living room every day or had a continuous urge to take care of the laundry or cook the following three meals. In my opinion, that's the real miracle: to keep going despite the obstacles.
Choosing the right path is difficult; knowing it will work out is impossible. Still, what else can we do? Should we do something because it's supposed to give us money? Or should we follow our dreams? What is crazier?
