“Edge Lands” collage © Anna Sansom
In the world of “content creation”, this is unforgivable. But in our world – the one where we care more about depth and meaning than superficiality and speed – I know you’ll understand.
I want to write to you about bright, life-giving passion and desire and the expansive nature of erotic connection (with oneself and with others). But…
For the last 6 months (longer, if I’m honest), that place has felt like a remote destination.
Instead, my days (and nights) have been spent either in a place hidden underground where the only light to reach me comes from the faint dotted patterns of glow worm memories, or illuminated and numbed by LED, caught in a spiral of comparison and lack.
Yeah, not very sexy.
I’ve repeatedly said that I’m in a writing drought. But it’s not that my words have dried up; it’s that they feel like they’ve moved to another plane of existence. Like a wormhole opened and sucked them away at supersonic speed. Like they were taken before I had a chance to throw myself after them.
Until now.
Until I asked for a sign and I was told, without a doubt, “Start before you are ready.”
Until my partner idly told me that the area of ground we were walking on was called an “edge land” in geographical terms. And something in my soul lit up, remembering the time she told me about another geographical term, “desire lines”.
Desire lines are the routes we take when we are unconstrained by societal expectations. They deviate from the expected path and show that a person once moved toward something, somewhere, or someone they needed.
Edge lands are liminal spaces. They are the spaces where urban and untamed meet. Often derelict, not one thing or another, yet providing a haven for life that has nowhere else to go.
In my mid-40s, I reflected on the desire lines I’d walked on my journeys of sex and gender, and shared them in the book I call “more-than-a-memoir” because it’s not actually about my stories – it’s about yours. (click here for Desire Lines, the book)
Now in my 50s, those once-trodden paths are less visible to me, and I find myself in the edge lands.
A semi-wild place with no way markers.
A new landscape to explore.
I don’t know what I’m going to find, but I know there is life there.
And I want to invite you along for the ride.
What I can’t promise you…
Regular updates.
Erotic stories.
Writing here because I feel I should.
A map, the answers, or a definitive endpoint.
What I can promise you…
Unfiltered and unedited truth.
The voice of my embodied soul.
Writing (and other forms of creativity) that explores what it means to retain a desire for desire - no matter what.
Questions, curiosity, and compassion.
When I wrote Desire Lines, I was feeling bold, and I had the backup of the “brave space” – a writing container held by Nicola Humber of The Unbound Press and my fellow explorers in our Unbound Writing Mastermind group.
I feel less self-assured these days.
I am willing to walk in the wilderness alone if I have to.
But I’ll feel less alone knowing you are reading these letters (because that’s how it feels to me, like I’m writing you a letter, with words indenting folded paper, and an envelope dirtied from its travels).
Liminal spaces in your life where you’re not who you were but not yet who you are going to be.
Perhaps we can explore together.
Please scroll down for Book News, an erotic teaser, and ways to show your support…
A while ago, I found the opening of the wormhole and took a wild ride in response to a callout from Incision Press for their new anthology Monsterf#ck.
By the time the wormhole spat me out, I’d gathered enough words for a story.
It’s just been published in Monsterf#ck, along with 29 other queer and trans writers sharing stories of dark desires.
The back cover invites you to:
“Delve into your deepest desires and get slippery with us. Bring your lube and remember, it’s only weird the first time you try it!”
Find out more and get your copy of Monsterf#ck here.
Excerpt: The Switch by Anna Sansom in Monsterf#ck
CW: blood play
What would it feel like to fuck myself, Lilith wondered. And with that…She blatantly assessed the Daemon’s beastly appendage.
Summoning her courage, she told the Daemon, “I want to do it. How do we switch?”
The instant she expressed her wish, everything changed. Now, instead of looking at the Daemon, she was looking at herself. Colours were brighter, and the outlines of shapes in the cave were sharper. The sputtering of the torches on the wall sounded louder. And, she quickly realised, her mouth was salivating from a deep desire to sink her fangs into the tender woman-flesh in front of her.
Her clawed hands reached out at lightning speed and grabbed the Daemon-woman’s shoulders, pulling the soft body to her and piercing the fragile skin in one swift move. “Yes!” the Daemon shouted in Lilith’s voice.
Her claws dug deeper, and the tang of hot iron filled her nostrils. The need to taste it overwhelmed her. Keeping the Daemon firmly held with one hand, she brought a claw to her tongue and licked the blood from it. She wanted more. Lilith growled, then swallowed and summoned her unfamiliar tongue and lips to form words. “I want…” she said, her voice deep and foreign in her ears. “I want to fuck you.”
Writers love it when you buy their books. And they love you when you leave a complimentary review, or rave about your book to a friend, or ask their local library to stock it so others can enjoy it, too.
Writers on Substack love it when you leave a ‘like’ on their post. And they love you when you leave a comment that helps them feel their words have touched you in a way you weren’t expecting, when you subscribe and follow, or when you share their post on your socials or with a friend.
You can find all of my current books here.
Find books by Incision Press here.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.