Month: July 2016

Scarlet Steel

What experience do you have writing about sex, Ms Violet?

A fair amount, Ms Scarlet. I write about dating and love and sometimes sex and hang on, I just gotta ask you something – is your name really Scarlet?

Does it matter? Of course not. Scarlet is my porn name. Scarlet Steel.

Oh. Oh. You’re a porn star?

Yes darling I’m a porn star. I felt that was kind of obvious from my profile. And my brief. I presume you read the brief? I’m looking for someone to write my story.

I probably should’ve read the brief before applying for this particular writing job. Scarlet. She was lap-dancing in her pic. Wearing a g-string, smoking a cigar, really fabulous tits.

Really fabulous tits.

Are they real, I asked.

Violet, quit messing around. I need to know if you can write my story.

Yes, but – god, I’m fascinated.  They’re perfect, I want mine done like that. Also, can you really do that with a cigar? How. How? I want to learn all this stuff.

She was silent for a while, then asked me to send her some of my writing.

I quickly went through my most recent stories. Politics. Diet Pills. Lunch boxes for gods sake. Very little on sex. In fact, no sex, I have not been having sex, I have not been writing about sex.

I’ve lost sight of my brand.

What the hell. I sent her the lunch box story.

Scarlet, I typed. This may not be exactly what you’re looking for. But, I’m curious. I really would love to know your story. Maybe write it for you.

I seemed to pique her curiosity too. We chatted a whole lot more. We exchanged contacts.

I may not write her book. But we’ve become friends. Kind of. She’s going to tell me about her tits. And her life.

I’m going to tell her about mine.

Maybe I’ll get the job. Maybe we’ll just become long distance friends.

Either way, I’m not unhappy.



So I did my first online freelance writing job yesterday. Being quite particular I asked for a brief and who the audience was going to be, target market etc.

The brief was ‘Write about diet pills, be quick, here are the key words, GO.’

The money was okay, they wanted ten articles, 400 words each, and hey, I could do this. I’ve learned I can write about anything.

I agonised quite a bit over the first article, particular side effects of the diet pill. I did a whole lot of research, wrote beautifully and intelligently then sent it in to make sure I was on the right track. The response was immediate.

Great, keep going.’

I guessed immediately she hadn’t read it properly, but hey, I kept going.

I sent in each article as I went along. I learned about and wrote about Fat Burners, Stimulants, Appetite Suppressants and how much weight Sue and Dave and Sam have all lost. I learned that I would never take a diet pill in my life and wouldn’t recommend anyone else take them either, but hey, money.

I was selling my soul.

Brilliant, she kept telling me. Do another ten.

Each article was pretty much the same thing – why you should take this diet pill over any other – just spun in different ways.

I got bored with myself. On Article Number 12, ‘What is a Fat Burner’ I wrote don’t panic, you might combust, there will be flames and burning fires, it will hurt, but hey, you will be skinny.

That one got accepted too.

She definitely was not reading them.

I’m being scammed I thought.

Except. I’ve been paid. Already. And they’ve asked me to do ten more.

I dont think I can. I dont know what else to say about an appetite suppressant. Except to say don’t do it. If you want to lose weight, ugh, just fuck. Have sex. Masturbate. Then write about it.

It’s a much more fun way to earn.



I’m good at a lot of things but possibly not very good at business. I write for a beauty Spa in exchange for anti ageing treatments. I write for a lingerie shop in exchange for lingerie. I travel blog for travel and I sex blog as Violet for fun and love but mostly just for fun.

But I don’t do any of that for money and I really need to earn. This morning I sat with a friend, over very expensive coffee and croissants, moaning about my financial situation.

There are tons of jobs going on Freelancer, Violet.  A lot in your field. Try.  It’s worth a shot.’

I’m not sure what my field is, but I googled Freelancer and signed up immediately.

Profile:  Writer. Quick. Creative. Funny. Imaginative. Perfect grammar.

Writing skills:  Erotica. Sex. Soft Porn.

Then I added a few more, suddenly anxious in case my dad found me on Freelancer.

Travel.  Advertising. PR.

Somewhere along the line I ticked Italian too.

A mistake, a mistake!

I do not speak Italian.

My first job offer came in. I got so excited and hey, it wasn’t in English but still it seemed to be well paid and of course I had to take it.

I turned to google translate. An erotic story set in a bank. Seven hundred words.

Easy, I could do this in my sleep.

I did it. Wrote it. Translated it. Sent it in.

Oh mio Dio ti prego prendere ora , alzare la gonna , duro , in me, più forte più forte , spinta, oh Dio , sì , così, di più, di più, cazzo me , oh Gesù venire venire cazzo me girare intorno al mio culo sì, come che , oh sì sì più di più , sei così grande , duro , il tuo spessore difficile Oh cazzo cazzo cazzo.

I got quite turned on just reading it.

They replied quickly.

In broken English.

‘Violet, it’s Marcello.  Your writing is fabulous, amiamo,  bellisima, but we are looking for content for a banking website.’

Oops. I’d got it a little wrong.

‘Sorry about that,’ I typed.  ‘So sorry.’

But then I added:-

‘Shall I try again?’

‘Why not,’ said Marcello. ‘We like your style.’


I think I’m going to like Freelancer.


English or Italian?



A kind of love letter

My difficult friend has gone to Europe for a couple of weeks. We didn’t say goodbye. He is unsentimental that way.

‘See you in three months time, Violet. I’ll miss you.’

‘Call me just once during your trip. Please.’

‘I will,’ he replied. ‘When I get to Italy.’

And he will, I know. He is a man of his word.

Also, very unneedy.

As I pretend to be.

Before he left though I had this weird feeling. I texted him to say ‘eat your vegetables, drink good wine, read great books, don’t have sex with strangers and have lots of fun.’

But I also added – ‘Be Careful.

I never say things like that. But I had this premonition.

And it isn’t really a premonition. Stuff has been going down in Europe for a while now. Everything is fragile. Anything could happen.  And it’s unlikely that anything will and I know that, but still.

I feel uneasy.

So I hope he’s reading this.

And if he is – hey, difficult guy.

Make your one phone call tomorrow.

I worry.  A little.

Man holding a note that reads 'call me'


In the scheme of things being very important
I just looked at my legs
realised I hadn’t waxed the whole of winter
and you know
I am not very hairy
at all
and wanted to say
Thanks Mom for forcing me to wax from the age of twelve.
It was very fucking sore
but worth it.

This post brought to you by my fabulous beautician Layla.



The hazards of girlfriends

Last night I had cocktails with girlfriends, this morning I had coffee with girlfriends, tomorrow I’m having lunch with girlfriends and the hazards of this are:-

nail polish
ice cream
hand cream
more glitter
some tears

and really

there are just no hazards at all.

Have a groovy weekend y’all.

Girl power!




Yesterday in conversation, the word silence came up many times.

The media were talking about Melania Trump’s aggressive silence.
At a work interview I experience an uncomfortable silence.
My difficult friend mentioned perfect silence

And I had an argument with someone who treated me with angry silence.

Silence is silence. So how come we convey so much with our silence. And how come every one of you reading this knows exactly what I mean by all these silences.

Silence can be delicious. The one when you’re on your own, walking, thinking, drifting, dreaming.

Or when you’re quiet with a man, or woman, a fire, wine, bare legs…

These are good silences.

But the fighting silence, the sulking silence, the ‘I have nothing to say to you’ silence – they’re dangerous.

Like powerful weapons.

A lot of hurt comes out of these silences.

We need to work on them.  Talk them through. Make a noise.

And aim for the perfect silence.

Okay, I can hear you, you’re all going ‘Sweet Jesus does she never ever shut up…’

So yeah.  I’ll just be quiet.



It’s a perfect silence.

Don’t fuck it up.