Chapter 3 third chapter

Please don't get me wrong.It's not that I haven't written fiction.If I remember correctly, I wrote twenty-three volumes in total.and then?The Internet killed the whole magazine publishing industry including Lust, just like TV and movies killed books before, like this or that something I can't remember killed poetry earlier.It could also be suicide.All in all, perverts finally stopped reading, and I was at the end of my career in porn.Luckily, a former editor of Lust got a job at a science fiction publishing house, so I got a job again, writing books under various pseudonyms. (Of course, it’s a pseudonym that’s different from pornography. I’ve used quite a few names in the past, but it’s mainly Tom Stanks, and when I need a female pseudonym, it’s Gillian Gasoline.) My entry It's the Zog sci-fi series.It was a transitional period for me, because Zog is a soft porn planet, with lots of sexual slavery, light bondage and erotic torture interspersed between fight scenes.In my imagination, this place is half future and half ancient, with castles and starships, weapons like lasers and swords, women with huge breasts and bearded chests, and bearded ruthless men with ridiculously developed chest muscles, flying dragons, flying missiles, lifting beasts Horn drank mead.I write these books under the pseudonym TRL Pangstrom. "Zog's Whore Master" was the bestseller, but the one I found most interesting was "Zog's Sex Robot Revolt," where the girls finally got the upper hand.I even wrote a dedication at the very beginning of the book: To J.

Then I started writing inner-city African-American fiction, which the marketplace calls "urban experience."The protagonist of the series is a former Special Forces captain and veteran of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq who became addicted to drugs after being injured.He returns home to Harlem, recovers from drugs, becomes a dedicated cop, and is fired when his shady history is exposed.He ended up doing street justice for two hundred dollars a day plus reimbursement as a private eye, or independent contractor.I made him a dark-skinned Jew of Ethiopian and Native American ancestry named Mordekai Jones, nicknamed the Sheriff of the Slums.I sign by J. Duke Johnson.From my interviews with Race magazine, readers know that the "J" is short for John, but everyone calls me Duke.

Later on, I got into vampire fiction, which seemed to have the potential to be the most lucrative genre ever.God knows why vampire mania is sweeping bookshelves.Take a walk around Babe's and you'll see these sorts of things lined up for yards.Why?Stop asking me.Probably has something to do with the rise of a new wave of goth/horror/industrial nightclub culture.Piercings, black dresses, stockings, etc., my slut writing skills come into play, and I think I can finally earn a living, because the literary career is declining, and writing street novels for nerds and perverts is the only way out: Books become the subject of fetishes, and only fetishists still read.

According to the twenty-six-year-old editor at Illusion, the point is that vampire novels are basically told in the first person by young women.As far as writing goes, I'm totally fine, as many of the short stories I write for Sweetheart magazine under the pseudonym "Jillian Gasoline" begin: "Today is my eighteenth birthday, and as a cheerleader...  "But when it came to signing and providing the author's photo, I was dumbfounded. I haven't had much trouble with my other pseudonyms. TRL Pangstrom is me in a fake beard and black-rimmed glasses, with a pillow tucked under my shirt.In my mind, he—or more accurately, his readers are chubby nerds, and I try to make him appear to be the cooler, more promising ones. The photo of J. Duke Johnson is actually a photo of a friend of mine named Morris who runs a flower shop down the road from my house.He was outright gay, but he was also outright big, dark-skinned, with long, thick braids, and a big, regal face.That's what J. Duke Johnson was supposed to be, if I asked him to—tough, wise, and taking no one's credit for it.I don't allow him to smile in pictures because he has dimples and the cutest gaps in the whole world.We dressed him in a suit and top hat, borrowed some rings, and I treated him to dinner and drinks with his slender Vietnamese boyfriend, Gary.After drinking for three rounds, he was tired and sleepy, and finally put on a sophisticated, majestic, and less fucking annoying look in my eyes, and I pressed the shutter of the disposable camera.For TRL Pangstrom and J. Duke Johnson, small blurry black-and-white photos were enough.I throw these two pictures out for every PR request, and besides, I don't have much chance to do PR, you can trust me on that.

However, readers of vampire novels obviously want more: better photos, more contact with the author.Also, the writer has to be a woman, because God knows why, readers (who are overwhelmingly women) only trust and really believe in first-person female vampire stories written by female authors.The authoress had better be attractive, but not too young or too thin.That's how my dead mother got involved.