This is our truth, tell us yours
Stories are part of the story around Carter and my relationship. Part seduction tool, part way of admitting desires and checking out with the other how they felt about about X.Y. or Z. And of course we both like writing, or perhaps its deeper than that, we both need to write. Sometimes the things we write are very private, sometimes they are unlikely to interest anyone else, but not all the time, or at least I hope not.
Over the time we have been communicating through stories hundreds have been lost, broken computers, lost emails, abandoned websites, and very few shared, Posting on literoterica just led to more requests to “kneel bitch, and write something for me” than I was interested in. Carter may or may not still post in other places, I have never asked, but if he does I know they will not be those stories that are a conversation. Those are the stories that interest me the most. Writing is supposed to be a room of ones own, a lonely garrot. Personally I think thats so much middle class wank, Woolfe as classist as her intellectual granddaughters over at the New Statesman.
Both Carter and I come from oral traditions (stop snigering) stories are not the production of a tortured soul with a household of servents to create the illusion of being cut off from the world.When one of us starts a story, and the other plays with the idea, turns it into something else, we are honouring that tradition.