Over at Michelle’s, some interesting questions have been raised: Is sex better than writing? Is writing better than masturbation? And, seeing as how writing and masturbation serve practically the same purpose, why is one valued over the other?
This is a grand philosophical question. The beginnings of an elaborate taxonomy finally putting variants of sex in line with variants of writing! The ultimate crossover, or existential mash-up! If one must style a list, I would argue that the order of things goes something like this:
1. Sex
2. Writing
3. Masturbation
4. Reading
5. Blogging
What are your thoughts, dear readers?
Chime in at Michelle’s or here, whatever your pleasure.
Married guy asks: what is sex? Otherwise, I agree w/ your order.
Married woman says: Jeff! This is sad! Buy your wife a nice dinner and some hot stilettos and get thee to the boudoir.
I’d go
1) Sex
2) Reading
3) This is where my system breaks down. I can’t determine an order past 2. But reading and sex definitely come before writing, no question!
Never been married guy who has been in a few LTRs concurs with Michelle re: Jeff.
I much prefer to combine my pleasures and find that having sex while also reading the appropriate text and perhaps getting some writing done with the appropriate chocolate applied to skin is the best way to go. Most of the new novel, Shriek, was first transcribed, in a sense, by my wife. Mostly, I suppose, though, worry simply about having time to myself to write.
JeffV (not to be confused with Jeff)
Er, that last bit should have read “worry simply about getting out of the handcuffs and blindfold long enough to find time to write.”
JeffV
I agree with Michelle: sex first, then reading. Writing would have to be next and blogging last. So there you have my list.
JeffV! You’re the king of multitasking!
By the way, I met you on the airport shuttle in–Chicago, was it?–after AWP a couple of years ago. Saw here and at Emerging Writers about Best American Fantasy–very cool.
And by “met you on the airport shuttle,” I hope you don’t mean what my very inveterate mind is thinking. Without going into the specifics, I “met someone” on the airport shuttle myself once.