Three years ago I wrote a blog post called You’ve been warned, a combination rant, promise, and manifesto. A couple of weeks ago, a commenter, KatieS, took exception to this part:
When I write, dear reader, I don’t want to build a careful tale for you to discuss with a smile in a sunny place, I want to own you. I don’t want to be The New TV Series, I want to be pornography: to thrill you so hard you’re ashamed but can’t help yourself crawling back for more.
The problem: I’m deep into Hild at the moment, so far down that other projects feel like alien dreams. In idle moments I’ve toyed with a few notions: changing pornography to the Forbidden, or X-rated or banned. But rants are blunt and brutal poetry. The rhythm of each word, its deep meaning, is vital. None of the alternative satisfy me. It’s nagging at me, like a thistle in my shoe.
The solution: I need your help. I thought we might crowdsource a solution. So. How should I rewrite this sentence?
I don’t want to be The New TV Series, I want to be pornography: to thrill you so hard you’re ashamed but can’t help yourself crawling back for more.
Give me a suggestion. (Give me a polite suggestion.)