I've had fairly good reasons to not rush through the first draft of the story I started after creating this blog: I had deadlines that required all of my focus, then my attention had to turn to family and making up for all the Christmas prep I had no time for before. Now I have a few weeks with no deadlines and I should be able to turn my whole mind (at least for a few hours each day) to writing that story. Yet, I hesitate.
Am I still hung up on the fear of sharing my taboo fantasies with the world? Yes, but that's not exactly it. In the wee hours of the morning, before wakefulness could take hold, I had a moment of clarity on the subject and realized a few things:
1. I hate rape. OK, I was never confused about that. Rape is a sick, horrible violation that causes deep scares in its victims whether the act was accompanied by brutal violence, mental coercion, or unconsciousness/incapacitation.
2. The fiction that I'm talking about isn't that, but damned if I can explain the difference.
I don't want to say that the difference is that these are just stories--words, even when strung together in make-believe--can change lives. But just being stories is part of it. As a child, I was trapped in a situation I couldn't get out of, and for all that I fought for healing and personal power, I landed myself into a repeat of that dynamic with my first marriage. But I can turn off a video that freaks me out instead of turns me on. I can close a web page or delete an e-book. Having that control instead of having control ripped away makes this different.
When American Online was young, and so was I, kiddie porn showed up randomly in my inbox. I don't know if I was in a chatroom that led some psycho to think I'd be OK with that, or if they spammed many people with the images. I don't care. I contacted the authorities and I hope they caught the fuckers involved and helped that kid. I don't have that reaction when some pink haired little Lolita gets tentacle raped in an anime. As much as it may feel otherwise when we love them, characters aren't people.
Some folks despise anime porn and declare the artists and the fans freaks. Others call it protected speech. I say that as long as it's drawings and imagination, that kink is no worse than mine, which is no worse than bdsm, which is no worse than vanilla sex.
And maybe that gets to the root of it: I don't particularly want anyone to see me having vanilla sex, either. So I'm not only choosing to share fictitious versions of something I deem very private, but I'm adding to that by heaping on taboo that is loudly rejected by many.
All right. I've mentally worked out why I'm still hesitating. Now we'll see if I can actually get past that.