shiny vampire dino porn

 

Stop. Come back. It’s okay. This is actually a sad-rant about marketing. As in artists marketing their stuff in the age of social media. At least, that’s what this will try to be or at last try to be for this repetitive paragraph.

So, yours truly, gentle readers, talked to a friend of mine via email, on the nature of marketing when you’re an artist.

That old standby of you have to be a whore and sell your body of work on the Hollywood and Vine of life. Because sales matter more than artistic effort or how ‘good’ your whatever is. That people have to be told what’s good, what’s not, otherwise THEY WOULDN’T KNOW.

Which is rather a…chilly little notion. Does popularity make something ‘good’.

We all know it doesn’t. We can, subjectively, name popular stuff that’s crappola on toast. Though others might have differing opinions on what’s crappola on toast and…yep. There are people who love the Twilight books and others who find them not even good enough to use as toilet paper, for a hasty example.

Would we ‘love’ Hemingway and Dickens and Shakespeare —Dead White Guys, to quote a professor of mine. The Western Cannon is mostly Dead White Guys. Her pointing that out should have not been astonishing to moi, but it was. Mm!– if we were not told, repeatedly, that we ‘loved’ Hemingway, Dickens and Shakespeare?

We’re told we should all hate Nickelback. They are the worst band since…ever. We’re told…yeah, one can just start listing things we’re supposed to like or love and things we’re supposed to hate or despise.

Which brings up some uncomfortable, icky little worms squirming about in our collective flowerpot. Are we being manipulated? [Yes, absolutely] Are we being groomed to accept what’s ‘in’, what’s ‘out’, what was ‘never in to start with’? Fuck yeah, since cave man times, baby.

Those cave paintings on that wall in France— was that not an advertisement that hunting is good, hunting is cool, everyone wants to get their image on a stone wall?

So, where does that leave yours truly?

Fucking nowhere, that’s where.

The dirt road going up toward Lookout Mountain, Oregon. Nowhere, indeed.

 

I had the absurd notion that being a writer is enough. That writing something and then sending it out to be published or seen was enough. That sharing my stuff, and it’s flipping hard to do even that most of the time, is a giant step. A bigly one. Except. It’s not enough.

I am not a pushy hustler. I am not that jaded hooker on Hollywood and Vine in a too-tight shiny something advertising my rates for this and that. I don’t have, yet, that metaphorical iron crotch needed for artists these days. Well, always needed for artists.

 

In that email exchange with my friend, who is himself quite a writer, by the way, I jokingly suggested I start writing shiny vampire dino porn. Hence the title of this mishmash, darlings! Now. There is actual dinosaur-human themed porn. Yeah. My mind just exploded and oozed from each ear, too. But. It’s out there and it sells.

So, my half-satirical thought was to combine the sexy male monster motif with the sexy male dino riff. Combine Eric Northman with a randy velociraptor.

From True Blood. Which gets into sexy Viking Pirate Kinky Boots time, because ole Eric swung both ways and…yeah. Then, mix that persona with a muscled up, sly, scary smart dino?? Bango! Pingorama! So many likes over on FB!! So many retweets over on Twitter! Tumblr won’t know what hit it!! Other sites will just EXPLODE WITH ARTISTIC FIREWORKS.

Which is a writing challenge. It gets me out of my box. [Box, get it??] I did boast, to my friend, let’s call him Schmee, that I could write aforesaid shiny porn in my sleep.

Now. I should actually try and write aforesaid shiny porn. And shop it around, of course. No matter how ‘first drafty’ it actually is. We writers and artists should always be stretching our limits. Exploring new territories. Looking into dark corners. Lifting rocks, peering beneath. Bathing in the stuff that’s left in the bottom of that sink strainer…

It could be the NEXT BIG THING.

 

Okay, back to feebly hustling my ‘real’ writing to the indifferent public. Smooches from Obscureland.

Because I read on some promote your blog/book stuff that you should always be cheerful and post positive everything and be, um, a super-manic sales sort 24/7. Always Be Selling Your Book. ABSYB!!

 

I feel like I should apologize for my blog-blitz-y postings this month but I won’t. Which is a passive-aggressive way of saying sorry/not sorry. Sorry!