argumate:

so Anaïs Nin wrote Delta of Venus, a collection of erotica that includes smatterings of adultery, rape, incest, necrophilia, homosexuality, pretty heavy stuff for the 1940s, but it wasn’t actually published until decades later as it was commissioned for private consumption by The Collector, an American business magnate who was also ordering smut from other writers like Henry Miller.

this is really fucking funny, like these days if Jeff Bezos or Bill Gates wanted to get a little hot under the collar they would just go on AO3 like everybody else, but how much better would it be if they threw cash at Legit Writers and then when they received some Legit Writing they ordered them to take out all the poetry… add more graphic scenes… make it clearer who is sticking what where… no I said no poetic language, cut it out!

but I think it would be even funnier if The Collector turned out to just be a framing device for any artist who wants to let their freak flag fly but is worried they’ll be judged for it (probably doesn’t apply to Nin), or needs a way to overcome the internal sense of cringe (also not applicable): it’s not me that wants to make this filth, I’m merely engaging in work for hire here, I’m the blind instrument of a myopic muse!

basically any time you make something that other people scorn just say oh yeah some crazy American paid me the big bucks for that one, wild isn’t it.