November 02, 2004
Life, just like any story, must unfold at its own pace.
I am off to sign some loan papers. Things inch along.
Well, not the Nano story. It sits on my desk, like an invisible paper weight, holding itself down.
I currently have two blog visitors committing to be characters. Jo Spanglemonkey wants to be a prostitute with a heart of gold, and Rachel just wants in. Apparently she leaves the rest up to me.
Poor Rachel. And poor Jo Spanglemonkey. I mean, literally. Everyone knows that the heart of gold prostitute never gets paid a penny.
I think the story is unfolding nicely, don’t you?
But wait! Your story will be a brilliant reworking of the usual cliche of the prostitute with the heart of gold being forever poor! Right? Right?
Shhhhh! Please Jo. I’m at the writing meeting. Do you want people to think I’m the kind of guy that can be easily distracted any time a prostitute walks into the room?
Methinks a prostitute who doesn’t need the money might be a VERY interesting story.
Just so it’s not about politics, though, ya heard?
What do I know about politics? Nothing.
This does not in any way imply that I have a working knowledge of prostitution. But I can imagine prostitution a bit easier then I can imagine politics.
Dare I say it makes more sense?
In 19th century England they had this persistent urban myth about middle to upper-class women who turned tricks in the middle of the day out of sheer boredom. Not to mention wanton pleasure-seeking.
No wonder it’s called the good ‘ol days.
I faintly remember a lecture about prostitution dating back to about that time. I think the prof jokingly referred to it as that time’s version of birth control. A housewife was apt to look the other way for her husband’s indiscretions simply because it was nice to have him leave her alone once in awhile. What was the alternative? Constant pregnancy?
I have no recallable knowledge about historical birth control or abortion methods. If I ever knew anything, it has all been lost.
Condoms have been around since at least 1350BC. In 19th century England, iirc, the pink bows they were tied on with were supposed to make them more attractive to women. (Like the idea of “constant pregnancy” wouldn’t be enough to make them attractive?)
I tried to google and verify this and learned that the Danish word for “condom” is “svangerskabsforebyggendemiddel.” Perhaps you can work that into your story?
I think I’ll use it for the working title.
yo buddy, nice “svanger!” said the Prostitute with a Heart of Gold.