The Four Whoresmen by Kris P. Kreme
Dylan Reed never had a problem writing, even if sometimes people might have had a problem with the erotica he wrote. Then came the day he lost inspiration, stumbled and grew frustrated.
A trip to local Mount Colette changed all that with the discovery of a strange rock and coincidental spark of inspiration when four people rode by on horseback.
His writing had never flowed easier in the nights that followed, but were the characters he wrote about fictional… or were they becoming real in those around him?
My name is Dylan Reed, and until the incidents surrounding my first big erotica novel in quite a while, I was just a typical author suffering typical author issues. Inspiration Dysfunction was what I liked to call it, and sadly no late-night marketed pills could fix it.
I’d never had much trouble writing, usually finding inspiration in the most seemingly bland and ordinary places, but lately it had been tough. I’d always been into nature so why not try a hike on Mount Colette to clear my head, to get the blood flowing and hopefully inspiration would follow? The strange thing was, it worked, and possibly too well.
I found a rock, and while it was unique, brightly colored and something I dubbed purple pyrite, I never suspected that there might be more to this rock than what shined back at me from the surface. As luck would have it though, on the way down from the mountain I was struck with inspiration as four people on horseback rode by.
Erotica can be a niche market but I always liked writing variety, spicing up the niche as it were, and so I quickly returned home, set what I now thought of as my lucky rock on the old monitor in my office and began writing The Four Whoresmen of the Apocalust.
It was never meant to be a deep read, nothing too heavy, just the tale of four lowlifes in a town who messed with the wrong man and were manipulated into changing their individual lives and those in them. A man in the story made sure his stepdaughters and their mother earned their keep in the house, a coach took to whoring out the cheerleaders for his team, a drunk pastor made every girl confess their dirty secrets, and an artist found inspiration in art verging on porn. It was all fine and good, until that is I realized what my own inspirational writing had been blinding me to.
Somehow the characters I wrote in the story were affecting the real life inspirations for them in my own town. I’d never had trouble writing until this bout with Inspiration Dysfunction, writer’s block to those outside the author world, but never did I imagine my own dramatic return to writing would inspire all new lust and perversion as it did while writing that story.
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