When a friend and fellow writer said her lover calls her that, I about pissed myself laughing. I kept thinking: WHERE have I HEARD that? Oh, yeah.
And I had a good laugh recalling various names I’ve been called that tickled me…and ones that didn’t.
During a rape, the way I survived was to concentrate on two things. #1 – it’s just sex. Bad sex, but it’s still sex. You’ve done this before – you can survive. #2 – what he’s calling you is just a word.
It took years before I could say, much less write the C-word without thinking of that. I had publishers who pretty much demanded it (strong suggestion more than once = a demand, IMO). But I got through it by remembering what had happened years earlier and convincing myself: It is JUST a word, and the connation is the one you assign to it.
So when people ask me HOW in the HELL I can write using words like that, I have a silent moment of recollection and plaster a smile on my face before telling them…I guess I’m just a smut slut at heart. Get over it. They don’t need to know that it’s because I’m a survivor, and a part of me enjoys reclaiming sexual passion by getting over hurtful words and actions.
Every syllable I write, every orgasm I have whether literally or figuratively makes me stronger.
It takes guts to be who we are. We come from all walks of life, some situations shared, some not, but we have one thing in common. We know that words have meaning, and much of what we write means what we make it.
Here’s to all the writers who are survivors with great senses of humor. Call me whatever you wish, I’ll substitute the word I want in there anyway.
Still a smut slut. Get over it.
~ Sunny Lyn