WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, REVIEW? You can’t even recognize quality literature anymore?
Let me take a step back, tell you what’s going on. I’m someone who likes to read good writing, who likes to get lost in a great story. I even dabble in some composition myself from time to time. I know that erotica isn’t taken by a lot of people, but I’ve read some good smut and some bad smut – and let me tell you—there’s a difference. There’s a right way to do it. If it’s good enough—if it has a good premise, believable characters, and interesting chemistry—then erotica can even be something like quality literature.
I got wrapped up in this idea and the next thing I knew my nose was to the grindstone, trying to contribute a little something from myself to the body of smut in the world. I pick characters everyone can get behind—a small-town girl, a city boy, and a non-binary three-headed alien slum lord—and things take off from there. It’s like the story was already there, and all I had to do was write it out! And I’m a humble sort of guy, but let me tell you—I was proud of that stuff. Anyone could tell at a glance that it was worthwhile stuff.
I want the world to see this, so I go to the only credible publication I know, the Stanford Review. And can you believe the audacity of these people—they REJECT my submission! I’m not asking for anything at all! No money, no publicity—I just want it out there with my name on it. But no dice.
This is why I’m taking my smut straight to the top. NPR, New York Times, The Guardian, you name it. The world will know of my xenophilic word porn and the STAIN on its legacy that the Review left on it and I won’t rest till it’s done (Davidson).
