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Posted by on Oct 29, 2013 in Blog | 9 comments

Where does Ruby end? Identity and sex blogging.

Are you ever asked about your sex blogging or erotica writing persona as if it is a detachable part of yourself?

As you may or may not be aware Ruby Kiddell isn’t my given name, my given name is Ruth Douglas, which isn’t news to most of my friends nor anyone with the ability to use Google and ten minutes to spare.  This post isn’t about what my name is but rather who I am perceived to be when I use my names.

I am, as you can see from the above introduction, open about both my writing name, the content of my writing and by extension the work I do putting together the Eroticon conferences, in fact I’m incredibly proud of the conferences and shout about it regularly on both my professional, @eroticnotebook and @writesexright, accounts and my personal Facebook account.  I first used a pen name to tweet and write about sex because at the time I was also trying to build a family orientated craft business and wanted to distinguish between the different audiences for my different work.  Of course parents are interested in talking and reading about sex, but they probably don’t want to do it while shopping for children’s birthday gifts.

There of course came a point where I decided to be open about Ruby/Ruth, though I’m still mindful about who I tell and how, based on who I’m talking to and my perception of their openness to my work.  Though in truth the more open I am the easier it gets and with the advent of Fifty Shades of Grey and the raising in public awareness of erotica writing then things seemed to get easier still.

For all this perceived shift in awareness and public openness to erotica and sex blogging, there seems to remain a tension between the acceptance of the writing and content and the understanding of the people behind it.

Erotica writers often receive feedback that conflates their fictional writing with themselves; you write about being spanked therefore you must enjoy being spanked.  Sex bloggers receive feedback that conflates their personal acts with public acts; you write about your sex life therefore you must want to have sex with me.  In fact both fictional and factual sex writers that I know are regularly propositioned by strangers because hey, if you write about sex you must be willing to fuck everyone.

Newsflash people, not so much.

I also get questioned on my representation of myself;

“How real is Ruby?”

“But Ruby isn’t really you?”

“How can you be Ruby and Ruth?”

Ruby is Ruth, Ruth is Ruby.  It is all me all the time, but like everyone I know I play to my audience.  I’m always a parent but I’m not always parenting, I’m always an erotic writer but I’m not always writing erotic fiction, I’m always a scuba diver but I’m not always scuba diving, and so on.  My persona dresses for the occasion; so the Ruby of @eroticnotebook may talk about her daily life but will also flirt a little, swear a little and talk about sex, bondage, politics, feminism and more.  In fact Ruby is the uncensored version of Ruth, and sometimes it is work; I write about sex and writing about sex to promote my businesses and my publications.

While I know of writers who go so far as to construct a fictional author persona for their writing including writing as a different gender, age and experience, I prefer to have a truthfulness in my life, both its online and offline representations.  Of course truthfulness doesn’t equate to telling the world everything, I still choose what I do and don’t write about and when, but if you are wondering where Ruth stops and Ruby begins, the simple answer is they don’t, they, we, I am the same.

So if you find yourself wondering just how this funny old sex blogging and erotica writing malarky intersects with “real life” here is a non-exhaustive lists of answers to your questions:

  1. Yes I write about sex, both fictional and factual.
  2. Yes I have done some of the things I’ve written about.
  3. No I’ve not done all the things I’ve written about.
  4. Yes sometimes I mine my real life for aspects of my fictional writing.
  5. Yes is really me.
  6. No I won’t have sex with you/

This post is, of course, my personal point of view, I’d be very interested to hear from other sex bloggers and writers as to how you perceive yourselves and the kind of questions you are asked around your writing and your identity.

I’d be especially interested to hear from anyone that has actively created a blogger or author persona which is deliberately fictional in order to write.

Do please comment and share…

 

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, don't be shy leave a review!

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Posted by on Oct 28, 2013 in Erotic writing | 0 comments

Have you ever killed a man? #worddiscipline

This piece was written during Aisling Weaver’s Word Discipline session on micro fiction at Eroticon USA, after challenging us to write a story in a tweet, 140 characters, including identifying hashtags, we then had five minutes to write a short story.  It was one of the sessions where I got to be participant not organiser and it felt so good to exercise my writing muscles.

[hr]

First is my tweet story:

You left me because you were lonely but scared by the world you came back & locked us into a stale grey future. I hate you.

[hr]

My five minute fiction:

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Killed a man?”

“No, yes, no!”

“What’s worse than killing a man?”

I looked at Janine and didn’t know if I could trust her.  I could feel her gaze on me as I drove and I knew she expected the truth from me.

“Yes, I’ve killed a man; I’m a soldier it’s what happens and its awful.  It never gets better and there’s no point talking about it.”

I hoped this would shut her down, but she just nodded and waited.  She waited all through the rush hour traffic, waited through red lights and roundabouts.  Through school pick-ups and supper time.

We filled the silence with small talk, family life and at night with tender kisses, clasped hands and fucking delight, but still the question;

“What’s worse than killing a  man?”

[hr]

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, don't be shy leave a review!

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Posted by on Oct 27, 2013 in Erotic pictures, Erotic writing | 20 comments

Wrapped : #sinfulsunday

Wrapped : #sinfulsunday

wrap

Jake was waiting for me when I finished work, he grinned as I climbed into the car;

“I was just sending off an order and thought I’d pick you up, there’s something at the workshop I’d like to show you.”

As much as I hate Jake’s car, a mess of dog hair, food wrappers and drink cartons, I love his workshop and the sawmill that it is next to.

The masculinity of the machinery that eats through trees and transforms them into smooth planes of wood makes my cunt twitch in the same way that cathedrals and empty schools do.  It is something to do with reverence and immense machismo that makes me feel small and out of place.  The sawmill turns me on and Jake knows it.

We parked up in front of the workshop Jake kissed me as I got out of the car;

“I thought we could have some fun, if you wanted to”

I mumbled my yesses through my kisses and in a moment he had me pressed me up against the body of the car, a hand hooked inside my dress and under my knickers.   I cried as he pinched my nipples and his fingers fucked into me until the wetness of my orgasm spilled down my legs and soaked the knickers that trapped them.

“Slut!”

Jake spat the word at me as he pulled my knickers off me, pressed them into my mouth and led me towards the sawmill.

Inside the mill smelt of green wood and aged wood, of resin and machine oil and of the sweat of the men who had so recently clocked off.  The air crackled with the heat from the giant saws, teeth menacing even in their stillness, I shuddered with fear as Jake’s hand tightened around my wrist and he pulled me through the half-light of the barn into the common room.

The salty tang of microwave lunches and bitterness of cold coffee mixed with the familiar wood and oil of the rest of the building to give a threatening masculine staleness to the room that added a strange sense of being watched to the scene.

“Take your dress off.”

I did and the remains of my underwear and shoes too.

“Here”

Jake pointed at the sofa and motioned for me to bend over the arm, there were no more words from him, but he made sure I could see him as he pulled a roll of pallet wrap from his bag and flipped it in his hand, like a bartender flipping a cocktail shaker, he winked at me and started to wrap, ankles to thigh.

Finished with my legs Jake pulled my arms behind me and wrapped my wrists too, the sweat trickled between my legs, my trapped skin as slick as my exposed cunt.

And then he fucked me.  Straight into the wetness of me, hardness forcing into me from behind.

I wined through the sodden fabric in my mouth and hiccoughed as I tried to hold back my orgasms, tried to wait for him to finish, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t let me.  Each time he felt my orgasm rise he’d lie over me and whisper how tight my cunt was or how I deserved the roughness, he knew all the ways to make me come, how to release me even as the plastic wrapping tightened around me as I wriggled beneath him;

“Come for me baby”

I lost count of the times I heard that phrase but every time he used it I obeyed and every time I obeyed he’d shift his hold and fuck me in a different way and every different fuck hurt in a new and beautiful way.  The rough weave and wooden frame of the threadbare sofa pressed into my hip bones as he covered my body in his; my shoulders stretched and ached as he used my bound wrists to pull me against him when he stood up and grunted his long thrust into me; the smell of spilt drinks and tobacco burned my nose as he laid over me and with a fistful of hair pushed my face into the sofa cushions.

Finally I was limp, exhausted with the fuck of him and he hauled me up one hand across my chest, fingers pulling on my red tortured nipples, the other arm supporting me across my waist as he whispered his sex into me.   Jake told me of the beautiful fucked rawness of my skin, of how he loved me as he finally let himself go and the scent of sweat and spunk and tears mixed with the smells of the sawmill.

[hr]

I wrote this story and made the image for Molly’s Sinful Sunday, click the link below to see  more filth.

Sinful Sunday

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, don't be shy leave a review!

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Posted by on Oct 26, 2013 in Blog | 2 comments

Eroticon USA : afterword

Eroticon USA : afterword

Ruby Kiddell opens Eroticon USA

Thank you to Molly for taking this photo of me opening Eroticon USA, she seems to have captured a somewhat dreamy quality in my eyes or maybe that’s shell shock?  It wasn’t stage fright because I couldn’t have been tottering around on stage trying to be engaging and motivational in a very British way to a nicer bunch of people.

After two years of Eroticon in the UK taking the conference to America was a huge risk for me and not one I was always sure would pay off in terms of professional credibility – would the American bloggers and writers “get it”?  So while I worried about many things in the run up to the day I stayed true to what I believe makes Eroticon unique and powerful – lining up fantastic speakers who are generous in sharing their expertise and insight.

Thank you to everyone that trusted me enough to hand over their hard earned cash for a ticket,  your trust and belief in the conference, in me, made the conference happen and the enthusiasm and open hearts you brought on the day made it memorable.

As ever my own experience of the conference was somewhat different from everyone elses, the moments that I can switch from organiser to participant are rare and many of my notes filled the page headed “For the future”

One thing that Eroticon USA did for me was bring into focus where the conferences are in terms of their business development and my professional development.  America is unashamedly go-getting and capitalist, which is something of an interesting contrast for a socialist accidental capitalist from England,  but it was refreshing to listen to Jincey Lumpkin break down marketing plans and business development in her #sellingsexy plenary.  Although many people might not feel that their blog or writing is a business, or be interested in making money from them, if you’re wanting to find an audience to read your work then the concerns are the same – creating your work, identifying your audience, finding where they hang out and making sure they know about your work; product, marketing and distribution.

Talking to Lori Perkins during brunch on Sunday inspired me to be bolder in my networking, it seems I need to get in touch with my inner brash New Yorker to exploit the little black books and Rollodexes of my existing network or contacts.  Sex blogging and erotica writing is a supportive community, if you share your ideas then you’ll find many ears willing to listen and many arms willing to hold you up.  I’m proud that Eroticon is a space that facilitates such co-operation and humbled that I continue to be on the receiving end of such love and  support.

Thank you all for continuing to help me and the conference grow.

Read more blog posts about Eroticon USA via the conference website www.writesexright.com

Thanks for reading,

Ruby x

If you enjoyed my writing you can find more of my erotic fiction stories on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, don't be shy leave a review!

Read More