a.k.a. How I end up writing a detailed history of the machine's takeover of mankind while trying to make something to jack-off to.
I'm not a bad writer, I think. Though I may very well be wrong. Ignoring that ignoble aspect of me (and my writing), I have in the past attempted my hand at writing erotica. I would normally just come out and say smut, or porn, or call it a fap-fic, but my masturbatory magnum-opus was to be a thoughtful and plausible look into sexuality in an age dominated by cybernetics, fledgling artificial intelligences, and liberated ideologies.
Instead I ended up making the boring parts of Blade Runner with a lot more vibrant descriptions of how a 3.5mm coaxial socket could be attached to the base of a pubic mount to apply electro-stimulation and acquire feedback from the user. Which is probably what most people did with their illegal replicants anyway.
The muddled point of this is that I get caught in the detail and the plausibility of my smut. Rather than simply accepting the fact that a computer can spontaneously change it's programming (which it can't, usually) and act on its own, I need to write a scenario where the computer has the artificial intelligence in place to do just that, and then write in a society that is able to produce such feats of engineering, and then explore the world to make it believable.
This is good if you're building a world to explore, and is a fun mental exercise. But when reading something to get off to no one [usually] wants to read about how the advancement of artificial intelligence research leads to an age of increased human productivity while (un?)knowingly building their own replacements and how as people have more leisure time they are forced to come up with more ways of entertaining themselves and pushing the limits of what society considers normal in a cultural renaissance. They just want to hear how the shiny lady makes the man's peepee squirt.
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