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A few days ago, Kore Desires turned one.

Mouth and Candle Polaroid

Before I began this blog, I knew virtually (pardon the pun) nothing about blogging.  I rarely read blogs, had no clue about to set one up myself, or even how to create the avatar needed to allow you to comment on other’s blogs. I had only written two rather epic, rambling guest posts (under my real name), which I may well cringe at if I read them now.

Reaching the first anniversary of my blog caused me to reflect on the challenges of this year, and think about what I might have achieved and learned.

One year on, and I’ve met and connected with many other wonderful writers online, and have found in the sex and erotica blogging world what proved to be both expensive and elusive in the realm of my old-school tendencies ie – seeking knowledge and literary inspiration primarily through books. In this new-to-me realm, I discovered what I had long been hungering for – contemporary thinking and writing on sexuality – both fiction and non-fiction. Intelligent, provocative, diverse, creative and relevant – these writers are also in some way my contemporaries and peers – my stories sit beside theirs in published anthologies. This writing keeps me thinking, engaged, wrestling with ideas. The ongoing conversations between blogs and forums keeps me tuned like a cello, listening for my own chords, my own music. The exchange hurries me to the page at times, and has given me a sense of belonging in a like-minded, yet diverse, community.

Thirty-two posts on and counting, (plus a few guest posts), I’ve learnt quite a bit about this hybrid twenty-first century communication form, the blog.  It’s my observation that the form of a blog lies somewhere in the overlap between a journalistic article, an essay, a journal entry and a good conversation.  Depending on your voice, what you want to say, and who you want to appeal to, one borrows the shape of one or more of these four forms in differing intensities.

At times, blogging strikes me as a strange paradox. It’s like being in a private, quiet room, whispering thoughts to oneself – yet it’s also a room you share publicly, with readers you may know, but many who you don’t. Right now, I write within the illusion of solitude, yet at the back of my mind are the expectant rustlings and sighs of a would-be audience.  A blog is not a journal.  Anyone who claims they are the same has not kept a private journal. The mind’s focus is entirely different.

Sometimes, I feel decadent having a room all of my own here. A room, a kingdom… A domain. (I just bought mine – adreakore.com is coming soon!) I grapple with the narcissistic connotations of a blog, along with the subtle but present pressure to create and maintain a consumable, desirable image. I’m deconstructing this image right now by typing that last sentence, these words right now. But, you see, I will reveal, but only what I choose to. I will also conceal, and you the reader will not know what I conceal. Absences are enigmatic in that way…

The title of this blog came to me because I was thinking about the myth of Narcissus, the beautiful but vain youth who falls for his own reflection in a pond; about how seductive it is to remain gazing at one’s own (self-created) reflection, albeit a pixelated likeness in the greater online pond.




noun: pixel; plural noun: pixels
  1. a minute area of illumination on a display screen, one of many from which an image is composed.
    “the camera scans photographs and encodes the image into pixels”
1960s: abbreviation of picture element .

This might be a somewhat macabre metaphor for a blog, but I do think it’s apt in its reminder that we be wary not to fall for our own online reflection, lest we waste away and forget our real-life selves, like Narcissus.

“Narcissus” – by Caravaggio

As I’ve written elsewhere, the first two-thirds of this year had been arid creatively. Much of that has been due to the emotional impact of a relationship ending, the ensuing grief and confusion, and then the energy it’s taken to slowly reassemble the pieces of myself. I have been flung against the jagged edges of my own emotional limits. I experienced deep love, then the severing of that love, in what turned out to be an impossible situation.  It didn’t break my heart – it lacerated it, and also shattered parts of my identity. For several months, it was difficult to feel anything except despondency, failure and pain. I have learnt much about the conflicting impulses of my open, curious mind, and my more fragile emotional needs, and that for me, respecting my emotional well-being is paramount. Someday perhaps I’ll have the courage to write openly about it.

Although I couldn’t bare to write fiction, my critical faculties, suspended for a time in limbo with my emotions, flared back to life.  Some days, I think my intellect may have saved me from the seemingly endless spiralling of my darker emotions. I took hold of ideas and in responding to them intellectually, pulled myself out of that limbo. I discovered I still cared about what I thought about sexuality, and our culture’s responses to that. And for that stretch towards vitality again, I particularly want to acknowledge the inquiring minds and intellectual passion of Remittance Girl, Emmanuelle deMaupassant and Malin James. Thankyou. ❤

So, after several painful endings, and my time in a kind of torpor, some things are finally shifting.

Through this dark time, paradoxically I discovered something I love doing which allows me to assist and work with other writers – structural / developmental editing. After so many years interpreting play-texts as a theatre director, I believe I’ve developed a skill for sensing the spine of a story, for assisting the author to bring out its themes and nuances, and for hearing a writer’s voice, and seeing what might be getting in the way of the full expression of that voice. I have my first client for a significant project, a deeply imaginative writer, with whom I’m delighted to be working. I hope to attract more of this kind of work in the future.

And if you’ve read some of my recent posts, you’ll know I recently broke my drought of creative writing with a flood of story – my longest piece yet – Wet Satin Plaything.  I wrote it for a Submission call for House of Erotica, and I’m excited to announce that it’s been accepted. It will appear, along with stories from six other authors in an antholology called Licked – release date to be confirmed soon. (If you’d like a little preview, go to the end of this article).

I’ve also just found out I’ve had several of my erotic poems accepted into Coming Together, the well-known erotica-for-charity anthology. Erotic poetry antholologies are released far less frequently than story antholologies, so consider adding it to your collection. Edited by the prolific Ashley R Lister, proceeds for Coming Together: In Verse will go to domestic animal rescue organization Hope for Paws. I’m very happy that my poems can assist animals in need.

With at least some parts of myself reclaimed, I have newfound determination for several drafted future projects. And now, when I look at my reflection, maybe, just maybe, it’s becoming clearer …

So … wish me Happy Birthday … and many more to come…

Wanna slip into a little Wet Satin? Right this way, please …

For a sneak preview of one of the poems to be featured in Coming Together in Verse, come with me

If anyone is interested in my services as a structural / developmental editor, drop me a line here.

And here’s where you can connect with the creative minds of Remittance Girl, Emmanuelle deMaupassant and Malin James.