Do you remember the first dirty book you read?
What about the first time you watched porn?
I do. On both counts.
I found my first dirty book. Yep, found it. I don’t know if it was dirty divine intervention or what, but the book basically fell in to my palms. I opened it, as any avid reader would, and WOAH WAM-BAM-THANK-YOU-MAM.
This book of course never left my side. I was in junior high and it was my first experience with something so… intimate. I was always someone who loved love. Valentines was (and still is) my favorite holiday. I believed in epic, soul-searing romances. Finding this book felt like fate.
I read it until the pages were tattered.
And then I read it some more.
Some years later I discovered porn, but it was never like my first interaction with the book. The book that opened me up to a world of love, romance, and sex.
Why am I rambling about this? Because Grey recently came out and it’s got me thinking.
A lot of readers espouse that Fifty Shades of Grey was their first book in the genre. The “genre” being romance.
There are also a lot of butt heads calling FSoG bad (and worse things) and having the gall to call its readers bad along with it.
It’s got me thinking back to my book. The book I read probably wasn’t very good by whatever standards we judge such things. But it was my book. This book is special to me. It opened me up to romance, my favorite genre. Because without love what is life worth?
I think Fifty Shades of Grey turned out to be millions of people’s book.
As a rule, we should probably practice the rule of Thumper and just keep our mouths’ shut if we don’t have anything nice to say. But if that fails, think back to your book. I’m sure you have a book of your own. A book judged to be not very good but still nonetheless very special.