WRITING TIPS/ROGUES’ GALLERY

If My Hubby Finds a Dingleberry in My Drawers, Should I Write About it?

On straddling the butt-crack of an idea

I’m in a bad, fookin’ mood today. Can you tell?

“Why Sherry? Are you in a badder mood than usual?”

Well, yes I am, thank you for asking, and here’s why. First off, I have a raging headache. Also, as I was paying bills, which is anxiety-inducing enough, I received an email from our friends telling me what I made last month.

Pitiful. And sad, when I consider the amount of work I’ve put in to make my mark here. Not just a “mark,” but an indelible impression that will inspire others to pursue their dreams, no matter their age, or the barriers that are put before them.

Yes, my recent earnings amount to more than some make, but a hell of a lot less than far too many. If that makes any sense. Enough for about two visits to the grocery store.

Let’s eat!

But, this is not about me and I don’t want to be one of the whiny a-holes that my buddy Sterling Page referred to in a recent article, and rightly so. Rather, I want to share a nugget of info that may help us all do a bit better, here.

And this is it: Hop on the Scat Wagon. Allow me to explain, my friends.

As I’m a bit of a masochist, after viewing my payout, I started skimming some stories from writers who I reckon are doing a lot better than I am in the moolah department.

And, please don’t give me any grief about “we write for the love of it.” Yes. I am aware of this as I’ve been a writer my whole life. If I didn’t love the craft, I’d probably be a carnie or something equally outdoorsy.

I’m writing here of my own free will. I get it.

But, if I may borrow a line from Woody Allen’s Blue Valentine, starring the amazing Cate Blanchett, who declares, while sharing her tax-dodging husband’s (Alec Baldwin) favorite mantra:

“As Hal said, it’s not the money. It’s the money.”

Fuckin’ A, Hal. Sometimes, it is.

So, that said, I’ve been trying to discern what, and where I’m lacking in my trajectory toward becoming a writer of note. Perhaps I should write about sex, more, the really dirty kind, or crypto, or PTSD, or any number of things that I normally don’t touch upon.

As I was pondering my flailings on this platform, I believe I may have unearthed a “tip” that can help writers like myself who are struggling to stay afloat in a turgid sea, get more. More views. More reads. More money from this insanely huge pie.

Hey, if the improbable winner of the MWC, who hasn’t written a damn thing since I’ll have you know, can do it, why not us? (Oh, hell. Don’t get me started on that.)

Today, as I was sifting through several stories to catch up on my reading, including those from the know-it-alls, I was struck by their common denominator: Mediocrity. In fact, there are writers who gleefully tell the rest of us to “just show up.”

Just show up and screw trying to write something of worth. Because apparently, readers don’t have time for the good stuff. Nor, do they want it.

Instead, inexplicably, plenty of readers do have time for shit. Literally.

And, never have I been so certain of this then after stumbling across a story from a writer who shared the following rancid tale of woe. Here’s how it went:

The writer and her hubby were about to get down and dirty — okay, fuck — when something happened that put the kibosh on the heat, not to mention, his peter — okay, his cock.

Before I tell you what that was, I’ll say that the writer held nothing back in the recounting of this sad episode. In fact, I felt as if I was right there in the sack with them. Gyrating. Bouncing. Heaving. Oozing. Shitting.

Nah. Not shitting. Not me. But shit was involved. In fact, it was the main character. The protagonist, if you will.

So, when I reference the Scat Wagon. I’m talking scatological. As in, related to feces and other bodily excretions. But wait, I’m not done with my narrative. Stay with me, please.

As hubby was exploring his wife’s nether regions, his unsuspecting digits scrabbled up her anal area and encountered something decidedly not sexy.

A “turd nugget,” is how the writer described it.

I just threw up in my mouth a little but, as I consider this a public service, I’ll plow on.

As I said, after hubby’s discovery, which included sniffing his digits just to make sure it was indeed a turd and not a Hershey’s Kiss, any thought of sex evaporated like an ice cube after “last call.”

Why in the hell would anyone want to share any of this?

Yet, that wasn’t quite enough sharing, apparently as the writer admitted that she’d been gassy throughout the day and was looking forward to getting laid as a robust roll in the hay helped to shake things up, colon-wise.

Oy.

At this juncture, you get the idea. The point I want to make is that this story, about a turd being found in a woman’s panties, by her significant other, during sexually-specific activity, received over 1.1 claps, which isn’t an astronomical amount, but surprising given the “content” therein.

There were also several gushing comments from readers who should know better, but, we know how that is. Here’s a sampling:

Easily the best piece I’ve read this week. It grossed me out and made me laugh at the same time. ❤️

Read that again. “Easily the best piece I’ve read this week.” With a heart emoji, yet.

And the cherry on top of this pile of stink was the accompanying image. Such a turn-off, in fact, that I’m embarrassed for the author. Enough said about that.

So what have we learned from this, boys and girls? That it’s possible some of us have been working too hard at the whole thinking thing, when it would be a hell of a lot easier to hop on the Scat Wagon and write about disgusting shit that people say grosses them out, but really, turns them on.

I’m going to do a quick back peddle here and admit that I’ve written about things like “sneaky constipation” because the term alone is wildly funny to me. Yet I didn’t elaborate as everyone knows what it is to be, ahem, blocked. And perhaps that’s where I’ve been remiss.

Where so many of us have been remiss.

We need to start sharing the type of crapola that makes readers’ nostrils tingle, you know? That stirs their senses and makes them unsure as to whether they want to hurl or mess with themselves.

Sidenote: If reading about turds incites you to masturbation, you have a problem.

Now, you may be wondering how you can imbue your next story with the type of scatological material I’m referencing. It’s easy, folks. Before we get going, know that The Free Dictionary defines scatological as:

The study of, or preoccupation with excrement or obscenity.

Mirriam-Webster refers to it as:

The interest in or treatment of obscene matters especially in literature.

I believe this is a good jumping-off point, don’t you? So again, as a public service, I’m going to provide a few talking points to get us all thinking about how we, too, can write about the most disgusting, embarrassing shit and benefit from it. In a financially-specific sort of way.

Here we go. You’ll see that I took some creative license with the meaning of scatological to open up the playing field. Feel free to mix and match the following:

Farting. Especially during oral sex. Sharting. Especially during anal sex. Queefing (Otherwise known as “vag farts”), during “regular” sex. Golden showers. Pimple and/or boil popping. Especially whilst doing it “doggy style.” Skid marks. Toe Jam. Loogies. Any kind of oozing rash. Any kind of bodily shtink.

That’s enough to get us started, don’t you think? We’re all adults here, so hop on the Scat Wagon and get your due. Or doo-doo. Whatever.

One thing, though. I won’t be writing about a dingleberry in my drawers as I learned how to wipe my ass a long time ago.

If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.

Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to check out the following, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.