Missing the Tide - Notes Taken After the Flood
About a fortnight after I confidently blogged about how literature fragments because the materials and language used break down over thousands of years , my home flooded. I mention this mainly to warn other authors of literary erotica that the universe takes an unreasonably dim view of parodic self-aggrandisement. But also, I mention it because a lot of my work operates around a nexus of control . Almost entirely, I write about women who revel (or at least, learn to revel) in control - often of a man's orgasm, of course, but even in my purely sapphic work like Her Ascendant Intern , control remains the locus of my fascination - merely seen through another lens as Hannah strives to make sense of how easily Beverley seems to be able to control her. In a flood, it turns out, control is not really a thing that you get to have. At the point when a neighbour rang me and told me to come home I had no idea what I would find, and faintly assumed I'd have an amusing ...