Picture this, you're exhausted, you're gay, you've graduated from arguably one of the most difficult colleges on the East Coast, but it's a small liberal arts college that nobody has heard of. You're in debt, you're drained, and you've just about given up on the world, but you've got a double major in Literature and Writing. So what do you do? You write erotic, kinky, romantic fiction and pray to the stars that you'll make it in life. Take that Renaissance Literature professor who told me there was no point in writing because everything good has already been written. Suck. On. That.