In previous works and college term papers, I am used to self-editing my work. It has worked fine for me in the past, but after my long hiatus from the craft of writing, I am feeling a little insecure about writing to a modern audience. What I am looking for is a partnership, in which my craft with words can be honed by dedicated and understanding hands as I delve into my first real attempt at a novel-length erotic story.
I would like advice on how my story should be submitted...a chapter at a time or as a single monolithic work. I may also require some touching up of dialogue, as I have developed my own coherent, but not always technically correct, style of conversation while writing previous works (and old habits die hard). I will always give my work a once-over before sending it your way, and if you recognize a pattern in the corrections, let me know so I can avoid it in the future.
As for the details of this particular work, I have decided to work on the theme of incest from a very serious angle. It will be written from the point-of-view of a nineteen-year-old country girl, having just been uprooted from her life and supplanted in the city.
The story will start out innocent and lacking in sexual flare, while not skimping on character descriptions and development. There will be some foreshadowing, as the brother helps the protagonist cope with the loss of their mother and adjust to her new life, but everything will start off playfully innocent. As the story progresses, a widening margin of discomfort will develop between the female protagonist and her brother, as they get to know each other better and come to understand somewhere in their subconscious that they have become attracted to each other.
It will eventually lead to incestuous sex between them when an appropriate tension point has been reached, and will then spiral down a path of guilt and self-loathing for both characters, as they continue the relationship in secret. There will be some very dark themes at this point, but not really violent ones...mostly psychological turmoil tempered by the constant hammering of societal norms.
I won't give away the eventual conclusion here, but by now you should know whether it sounds like something you would like to work on or not.
A sample of the draft introduction (subject to further work before the first chapter is officially submitted for review):
It has been many years since I last set foot in my hometown. No, maybe hometown isn't a good way to describe it, since I don't know a single road, or a single scene here. The special place where I used to sneak off to to meet my first crush, the coffee shop I spent hours at reading after school, and the familiar friendly faces...all of those belonged to another place. I just left home...and the thought that I may never go back weighs heavily on my mind now.
I've been living off of an allowance from my father for the past six months, waiting to finish out my senior year of high-school. I was the loneliest girl in the class, as I shut out all of my old friends, as I dreaded losing them for good. The arrangement was always for me to "finish out school, and then you can either come live with me, or strike out on your own." Had there been any hope of me being able to make my own way, maybe I wouldn't have suffered like this. In the end, though, I was just a college-bound girl who never gave her life after school any real thought.
When Mom died, she didn't have anything left to leave me after all of the hospital bills and debt collectors were finished.
"What a lousy way to finish out her life," I thought, "watching the vultures pick away at everything she worked so hard to create, even as cancer ate away at what remained of her body."
That allowance was the only thing keeping me going, and now it ended, along with the last of my options. I was going to have to go live with the stranger my Mom always told me was my father.
I know that my father left Mom long ago, leaving me with her in the divorce. He took my older brother of six years in the ordeal. It was all supposedly a "mutual arrangement" between the two of them. Mom didn't talk about him much, but when she did, she told me not to blame him, and to try and understand that it was nobody's fault, what happened between the two of them. Maybe I would soon understand what she meant by that.
The bus arrived at the station I was supposed to get off at. The sudden urge to stay on-board until the end of the line, wherever that may be, struck me. Soon enough, though, the practical streak that had led me this far kicked in, and I stumbled out onto the platform. I was going to live here now. There was no wild fantasy that was going to rescue me and make me forget it all.
I waited for the appropriate luggage to be fished out of the undercarriage, and chucked to myself as I looked at the large, simple gray suitcase that now contained everything I owned. Some changes of casual clothes, small mementos, and some necessities. There were no major trophies of my achievements, nor farewell gifts from those friends I left behind contained within. No nice dresses or fancy shoes could be found within, either. Whatever could have been sold to pay the medical bills already had been, and what I had with me was the sum total of what was left: anything with only modest to no monetary value that would fit in the bag.