I have a new piece up on the Blowfish Blog. It’s about the strange nostalgia I have for the days of my youth when erotic fiction anthologies were few and far between, instead of numerous and widely available like they are today. It’s called The Erotic Fiction Anthology: A Victim of its Own Success, and here’s the teaser:
I don’t normally indulge in “It was so much better in the old days” nostalgia. I’m 47 years old, and am highly conscious of the dangers of incipient old farthood. And I’ve felt for years that if you refuse to see anything good in current popular culture, you might as well just start yelling at kids to get off your lawn. Anyone who thinks movies aren’t as good as they used to be needs to start watching documentaries; anyone who thinks hip- hop is just artless noise needs to start watching “America’s Best Dance Crew.”
But when it comes to erotic fiction anthologies, I have to admit that I have more than a touch of cranky old-fart nostalgia.
And strangely, it’s a nostalgia for the days when erotica was stigmatized, marginalized, and dirty.
To find out why a sex- positive writer like myself would be even a little nostalgic for the days when erotic fiction was even more stigmatized than it is now, read the rest of the piece. Enjoy!