Job ads

So, looking at writing job ads – one job I was doing just fell through – and they’re asking for romance writers.

Well, every writer always wonders whether they can write a Mills and Boon. So, a little more research and it’s for interactive romances. Read a bit, the set up, then the reader makes a decision and it passes down one line of the plot tree. Almost all in dialogue.


To the examples and – this is porn, not romance. Or maybe someone can tell me, romance is these days a cover description for porn?

Fairly light porn, to be fair. Having a knee trembler outside the nightclub and enjoying it type porn but porn all the same…..

18 thoughts on “Job ads”

  1. It is a tough gig. You would find it almost impossible to comply with the style guide. Grammar and sentence construction are not your strong suits

  2. Ummm..yes? “interactive” + “romance” = porn, that thing which the Internet is for.

    And really.. Even dead-tree published and bestselling chick-lit that can be attributed with a “romance” tag has to have at least one steamy scene, and plenty allusions, in it per volume. Regardless whether that bit has actual relevant for the overall plot. No sex = no sales.

  3. We’ll set you a little test. Try writing a scene – steamy, but with real tenderness and the distant promise of long-term commitment. If it’s convincing, we’ll let you know, and you can apply with confidence.

    The three participants in the scene I want you to write about are Afua Hirsch, Murphy, and Bigmouth Carrie.

  4. Porn or romance?

    Is it romance if someone keeps at least one foot on the floor?

    Or is that snooker?

  5. So Much For Subtlety

    Sounds a bit like “escort” really meaning “whore”.

    Yeah but telling my parents I had spent all my savings on a used Ford Whore doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. Although it may have greatly enlivened my childhood if I had done so.

  6. It’s probably a job that is going to be automated soon. The GPT-3 AI can produce text output that is pretty indistinguishable from human output, so it’s only going to be a short while until someone gets it to write porn, err “romance”.

  7. I am reliably informed (friend of mine (no, really!) knocked out a few self-published porn stories on Amazon) that there is a very limited set of plots. I’m sure the Dada Engine could turn a tidy profit churning them out.

  8. [excerpt from “The Tax on Joy” by Tom Wirstall]

    Jane looked around her. The dimly-lit pizza restaurant in Ely had seemed an unpromising venue for their blind date, but The Professor had insisted that he had a discount card. Now it was emptying rapidly, not least because The Professor was haranguing other diners and the waiting staff loudly, claiming that he wanted debate but moving on quickly when any was offered.

    While The Professor seemed expert or at least supremely self-confident on a dizzying range of topics, from green energy to Scottish monetary arrangements to the need for tax (or was it that there was no need for tax? – she couldn’t quite remember), she had been unable to find out which university he worked at.

    Jane awoke with a start. Now the restaurant was empty. Surely he he hadn’t spiked her drink? It seemed unlikely, not least because he had made her pay for and go to get it herself. And his manner was unchanged: “Eighthly, the problem with neoliberalism…” he intoned…

    Suddenly The Professor seemed to notice her presence. He leaned forward, his grimy pink shirt doing little to conceal his considerable bulk. “Your time here is over” he breathed. “Come back and see my model railway set. I have a narrow gauge.”

  9. Cadet, where are the squirrel suits?

    As for squirrels, what is the erotic charge in wearing such a suit? I must note, though, that the one who visits our bird feeder in the spring is well endowed in the ball department.

  10. Lucy could not help but notice the bulge in Henry Bracewell’s trousers. How wrong about the man she had been! Far from being a simple stockbroker, he was now revealed as the undisputed leader of the secretive and widely feared posse called the Bond Vigilantes,
    He removed his wallet, placing it firmly on the table. Lucy gasped as she admired its shapely dimensions. “Now, my dearest” Henry allowed her to hold his sack, and Lucy gently caressed the Sovereigns, Napoleons, Maximillians and Swiss Thalers under the skin “I am, perhaps by nature” his tone became urgent “a bi-metallist, but…” he paused, his discourse becoming more even “I could be persuaded” his deep baritone seemed to rise in pitch “to seek to find…” Find what? Lucy was on the point of swooning “A permanent store of value. Do you not agree?”
    Yes! Oh Yes!

    Never forget, chaps: it’s about the money. Jane Austen (she’s surely the doyenne of chick lit) always has her heroine marry the guy who’s stonking rich.

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