Oiling the Infernal Desire Machines of Madelynne Ellis

by Mr Madelynne Ellis

So, what’s it like being the partner, confidante and (ahem) muse of an erotic writer? It’s all questions, like one long interview, or maybe a pub quiz, and it usually starts like this…

'So does your wife work?'

'She's not my wife. We're living in sin.'

'Oh. So is she just a housewife?'

Ha! If housewives were paid the going rate for what they do, they'd earn more than company directors.

'Actually, she's a writer.'

'Oh, that's great! Has she had anything published?' (As in: what a lovely hobby for the little woman.)

'Why yes. She's got three novels in print and a fourth has just been commissioned.'

'Wow! So what does she write?'

You asked for it...

'Porn. She writes porn.'

Expressions range from Gobsmacked Goldfish to Randy Gargoyle, but at this point it's anyone's guess where the conversation goes next. All right, I've got a sadistic streak that likes baiting people. Sometimes it upsets their little world, sometimes they make vague promises to read her books. Sometimes they've even read some Black Lace already.

I'd better say that I'm immensely proud of what Madelynne does. She's following her dream. It's kinda cool to have an artist in residence, and I think she's a fucking excellent writer. I know, I'm biased. But not very biased. Plus anything that accelerates the decline and fall of western civilisation has got to be good.

But it (she) is sometimes a pain in the arse. Oh, the birth pangs of a new plotline. All the pacing and knuckling of the forehead is exhausting to watch, and so is the agonising self-doubt as editors and publishers prevaricate about accepting a submission. I've offered to form a posse and do some kneecapping, but she won't have it.

Sometimes the Artist In Residence looks up at me as I cut my bloody swathe through Resident Evil (How many guys do you know who get left in peace to play videogames all evening?) to ask a question.

'Can you think of a Japanese/Egyptian/Atlantean name?'

I sometimes feel like I'm being mined for my knowledge of everything from comics to blokey attitudes towards sex. Do you all do that to your partners? Doesn't it wear them out sometimes?

'Do you like my new notebook?' (Madelynne has a notebook fetish. Art deco, paisley, mock Victorian, whatever. Her latest has spiders all over it, and she bought two of them. I just nod and smile.)

Sometimes if she's struggling with the biomechanics of some piece of sexual athleticism, and the limbs don't fit or someone can't reach a nipple or a clit, I have to get up and be an artist's bendy model while she works out what's humanly possible and what only happens in hentai. I keep trying to persuade her to buy me a Real Doll for this kind of thing, but apparently, the job doesn't pay enough.

This all started thanks to my excellent friend Dom, who had the first book dedicated to him. And no, he's nothing like Vaughan (well maybe a teensy bit). Anyway, at that point Madelynne was between crappy imagination-killing jobs, so I agreed that if she's going to do it, she might as well do it properly. For a long time I fended off family from both sides who kept asking why the hell she didn't get a proper job, so I felt hugely vindicated when Kerri Sharp picked up A Gentleman's Wager. Now they keep asking why the hell she doesn't write a proper book. Grr.

We have an arrangement on weekends. Saturday she works, Sundays I work. It's frustrating, I guess, being a writer, suffering for your art, working in isolation, but it must beat the 9 to 5 (or in my case, midnight to midnight). Every now and then, she asks if we can swap. She'll go to work, I get the kids, the laptop, daytime TV and the struggle to find a hundred different ways to say 'penis'.

Sweetheart, sugar, you have no idea what you're saying.

'Can you read this? What do you think of it?'

Being Mr Madelynne Ellis sometimes means being a mean, curmudgeonly bastard, but as the first person to comment on her work, I've always been honest. Brutally honest. You need that, as writers, oh yes you do. You might not like it, but just look at what happens to famous authors when no one is brave enough to say 'This is crap. Go write a different book.' That sucking noise is the sound of someone vanishing up their own proverbial.

By the way, you know that question? I get it too.

'So, have you done all the things in her books?'

Yeah! We make hot monkey love every night! I'm just like those hunky love gods that live in her kinky little head! And, 'cos she's a writer, she has to watch and take notes, so I get to take home all these babes and shag them stupid. Although it's not so much of a perk since she got into yaoi...'

No, I haven't been brave enough yet. I'm saving that answer for someone really annoying.

I've just been instructed to put in a discussion point. Errmm... okay, friends, lovers and relatives of writers, artists and other dreamers. How much do you do for the writer in your life? Do you put their books at the front of the pile in service stations, or link websites? Have you ever given their book as a present to someone? Ever posted a review for a friend? How about requesting a copy for a library? Anyone ever done anything really cheeky? Like this... link.

Mr Madelynne Ellis

PS. Visit Madelynne's website http://www.madelynne-ellis.com/