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Sex scenes are a bit more difficult to do than say, murder scenes certainly, doesn't everyone find ?
Ages ago, I rote this thing in what everyone was suddenly rich and famous, because they'd had a major Lotto win, celeb burn-out etc, in which one of the characters was called Leanne, and Seventeen, Bardot look-a-like, from Dagenham or wherever, who was prone to saying things like " I wouldn't mind if it was just my body they were after... "
Originally conceived as a kind of walk-on figure ( one of the main leads was in the business of trying to get her back home, just to hurt her Dad, the cabbie, over the head of the money, to which the guy had a nebulous, but valid, claim, so -
'What have you done to my daughter you scumbag ?'
'Well, let me see...'
And so on.
When I got to the point of anyone showing any interest in this stuff, I was asked by teh 'agent' to 'do a bit more with Leanne.'
'Right,' I remember coughing, 'Well ok, so...'
'She should have more sex.'
'Right...'
The upshot of this was, that while the burned-out narrator sat about in the living room doing coke, Leanne and one of other characters were having sex on live feed down to the living room telly, for blackmail purposes, so to the extent that there was zex in this book, the narrator would just sit there quietly, worrying perhaps about the hole in his arm, but mainly more concerned about what Martin Amis refers to as 'consensual Lawrentian sex,' which never really happens, in the guy's particular world.
It was a bust, TBH, that novel, it remains unpublished, but I can't help feeling that if I'd copied even more out of 'Club International,' I'd have a bleeding sixty foot cruiser by now, dammnit !
It's not a mistake I intend to make again.
On the other though, Mr S, if you'd gone into forensic detail every time 'Dave' got his rocks off, Hinterland would have been more like the Yellow Pages, rather than wot it is, which is two fingers up to those 'Mickey Mousers,' specifically, Clive Barker. |
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