101 Reasons to Stop Writing

Writing sex scenes is hard, oh oh my god it’s sooo hard. As Iain Hollingshead observed, it’s often a delicate balance between awkward metaphor and guttertalk euphemism. (Well, actually Hollingshead thinks these are your only choices, but he’s an award-winning bad sex writer.) It’s either the sunlit unfolding of silken petals, or his c*** slammed into her c***.

As the annual list of Bad Sex in Fiction nominees attests, even the most celebrated writers are often clumsy and inept when it comes to literary coitus.

Part of the problem is that it’s like telling strangers what you think is hot. You can argue creative freedom and the anonymity of the author all you like, but you know that you’ve read sex scenes in books and thought, “God, is he really into this?” or “I wonder what her mother thought when she read that.” Or worse, “I’ve never heard it called that.” Or “What does that even mean?”

Like actual sex, it’s awkward to give (or receive) feedback. “I don’t hear anyone complaining” is not praise. For all you know they’re rushing off to the bathroom to finish themselves off with an Anais Nin story. Perhaps they’re rereading D.H. Lawrence behind your back.

Maybe they really are only reading you for the articles.