Interview with the Incest Love Story Writer

Just in case anyone clicks on the website in the hopes of learning more about why I'm writing this kind of a story ... I give you an interview of sorts that may or may not clear that up for you.

. . . 

Interviewer: O-Bug (aka Omniscient Bug, the kind that's like a fly on your wall, or a chip in your phone or on the bottom of your bedside lamp ... O-Bug is everywhere)

O-Bug: So, why the hell are you writing this kind of a story when you know everyone's first reaction is to gag? Are you a glutton for punishment? Sick in the head? Twisted?

Do you even have a sibling?

PB:  I've always been fascinated by taboo love. I don't know why, I guess it's just the no-no part of it. I've been exploring the whys and hows of this kind of love in my head ever since I read Flowers In The Attic over 20 years ago. I was repulsed at first, and then heartbroken for them ... and then I was hoping that they'd make it despite everything.

And yes, I have a sister. I imagine I couldn't write this type of story if I had a brother, though. 

O-Bug:  But why wouldn't you just write this story for yourself? Why are you posting for the world to see and judge? That's, like, crazy-nuts. 

I kind of think you are twisted. I don't care what you say, either.

PB:  I've been afraid for years and years to admit that I was thinking of even writing such a story. No one who knows me knows I'm writing this. Well, except for my sister, but that's only because we both know the worst and best parts about each other. I've sworn her to secrecy. 

I had the first chapter written for a year or so, and then one day I just decided I'd try and go for it. And I wanted to post it somewhere where I could get live feedback. Somewhere where I could be held accountable to keep writing, to better understand perceptions about what I was writing, and to see if I really was nuts.

O-Bug: What? So you don't think you're nuts or twisted?

PB: No more than anyone else, I don't think. The reception has been both better than what I anticipated, and worse. There have been hardly any negative comments--most of my comments are from people who are whole-hog into the story, who are rooting for the characters. 

But then again, silence speaks volumes when nothing else can. I get a lot of hits, but out of those hits, only 3% comment. And that stings. They're reading, but they're just not saying anything. So in a sense, I feel gypped.

O-Bug: You'll get over it. You have to. After all, you're posting a taboo story online for public consumption and opinion. You had to have known that it was going to be a hard thing to do.

You weenie.

PB: It has been a hard thing to do, but it's been fun at times, too. Some of the comments make me laugh. Some have made me cry. 

O-Bug: Like I said. Weenie.

PB: I'm definitely a weenie. 

O-Bug: What do you hope to accomplish with this little story of yours? And don't say world peace or I will whack you on the head with my wet pool noodle.

PB: I haven't written in years. YEARS. And now I am again and it's all because of this crazy story. And that's all I wanted to do: to stir the muse awake again. She's been asleep longer than Rip Van Winkle.

O-Bug: Who the hell is that?

PB: Never mind. I did what I set out to do, so I should be satisfied with that. 

O-Bug: You don't sound satisfied. You sound constipated and irritated. 

PB: I'm hungry. I want a hamburger and a glass of Chardonnay. And, I guess it'd be nice if I had more comments. 

O-Bug: Now we're getting somewhere. 

It's all about the comments, isn't it? Don't lie. I'll know if you lie.

PB: It's not just about the comments, but I admit that's a big part of it. I mean, if I wanted to, I could just post my story here. After all, hardly anybody knows this place exists. I decided to post the story so I could get feedback and inter-action. And I'm always wanting more. Because I know there's more. 

Call me selfish. Call me egotistical, whatever. I just hoped for more feedback.

O-Bug: Well, so why don't you just call the whole thing off? Take your toys and go home, you baby.

PB: I've thought about it. How could I not? But for every comment I get, I know there are at least 20 others who feel the same way. And I am having fun posting my story online. I get a kick checking out the stats. So I'll just suck it up. 

I mean, I'll keep sucking it up. I'm writing a good story. That's enough. I'm learning. I'm growing. Maybe ... hopefully ... I'll write an even better, stronger story one day soon.

O-Bug: You're killing me. Are we going to be singing Kumbaya during the next paragraph? Because if that's your plan, I gotta tell ya that I have laundry to do. And I have to wash my antenna. And call my mom. Stuff like that. I'm busy, you know.

PB: I hear you. You can go now. Thanks for talking with me. Next time, I'll bring the bratwurst and you bring the buns.

O-Bug: Seems more like I should bring a straight jacket.

PB: Don't make me squash you like a bug, O-Bug. 

. . .