Shallow drafts & inspiration

"This is what you do for a living uh? shallow..."
"what?"
"I said SHALLOW"
"right, and I have answered WHAT IS SHALLOW?"
"You think you are a writer, but your stories seem a collage of horny fan girls thoughts...pathetic."
I couldn' reply much to his comment. He was right.
Since I had been able to hold a pen properly I didn't want to do anything else than writing, and it went so on for years.
When i turned nineteen, I entered university (just because my mother wasn't giving up the "family business" story). In the day I had to study and at night I was working on my novel, I was writing that one tale I wanted to link my name to.
I graduated and finished my book at the same time, after that I moved away from my family house before my mother could finish suffocating me and I begun introducing my books to some editors.
Thanks to some acquaintances from school I found an evening  job in a pub and a day job as a newspaper boy and with the money I could pay the rent of the one room I had moved to.
After a few weeks I got an e-mail:
Dear Mr. Bitter,
we have read your manuscript and we really are interested in your style. Your tale has something different from the ones we have received until now, and we are interested in discussing with you about a possible cooperation.
please, get in contact with our assistant to fix an appointment.
Sincerely,
M. Saini
I couldn't believe it! I immediately called for an appointment and the day after I was sitting in the waiting room of Mr. Saini.
The heavy wooden door went open and a gray-haired man came out.
"Mr. Bitter, I suppose...I am Mr. Saini, please, come in..." he said showing me the room with his large hand.
The office was sober, on the wall a big nude photograph portraying a muscular model in a classical pose.
Mr. Saini sat on his chair and I took place in front of him.
"Do you want something to drink? I'll let it bring for you..." he asked
"No, thanks..." I answered. I didn't know why but i didn't like the man, I had the impression he was being polite to find an easy way to fuck me around.
"I want to go immediately to the point with you,  Mr. Bitter or can I call you Boris?" I saw it coming
"We normally don't publish anything without a contribution of the author. We really are interested in your story, but until you don't proof yourself able to make us earn money, we are not ready to invest on you. Your style is fine, but you still have to refine your skills...probably you still did not see enough of the world to appeal the reader and break out in originality."
I was listening very carefully trying to read among the lines.
"Of course, there are compromises. You could sign a contract in which we will own your work and that way you will allow us to make some little modifications to your story...you know Boris, we know the market, we are in this business since years! The big audience doesn't like to read about reality, they prefer to read about action, sex and incredible events; your characters are too normal. They are ugly and sad like we all are. We don't want to read about something we are obliged to experience every day...you understand?"
"I understand perfectly..." I replied without loosing my temper "you want me and my book to become one of your bitches."
"Boris, don't take it personally. Personally I really like your work, and I like you too, but I am not the only one deciding..."
"No problem" I said standing up "I think my time here is out. thanks for inviting me Mr. Saini".
I turned away but he stopped me at the door "Think about it" he said, his face much too near to my face "I'd really like to work with you"
The scent of his expensive perfume filled my nostrils, making me dizzy.
I opened the door and I ran out without looking back.
When I got back home I threw myself on the bed and I began crying like a kid. I felt so humiliated, I thought that kind of stuff was real only in cheap fiction but he had really tried to buy me, maybe if I would have offered him my ass he wouldn't even have mentioned changing my novel.
I ran to the toilet and I vomited, my hands pushed in my stomach, my eyes full of tears. Then I washed my face, I returned on my bed and I opened my laptop.
A new document, virgin white, was waiting for me to be filled in.
A few second of concentrations then the words began to flow out of my fingers like cum and I wrote the most obscene story I had ever heard about. I filled it with shallow details, cheap actions and a lot of sex, after that I have opened my blog and I have pasted the tale in a new post.
"Now that..." I said to myself "This is porn!" I had to laugh about it.
I actually liked it and while revising it I almost got an erection. It was not shining in originality, but it was pleasant to read.
After publishing the short on the net, I have been contacted from a few erotic magazines and I now write some stories for them, from time to time. I am an employee in the rest of my time (not in the family business!), and I still work in that pub in the evening.
I still have one little dream: seeing my novel published. But dreams sometimes are made to be left in the drawer and give your life a sense, day after day.
"Hey Bo, I hope you don't hate me now, you know that I am the kind of guy who sais what he thinks...I can't help.."
Joy was looking at me with a worried shadow on his face.
"Never mind..." I told him "...I know you are right"
He was lying on the couch, one of his legs hanging out of it, he kept his hands under his head.
"Now you think I am an old perv, don't you?"
"Bah, I don't think it, I know it!" he replied smirking.
"You little jerk!" I told him sitting myself on the ground next to him.
"Say, Joy...why are you always so cold to me? I am here melting for you and you cannot relax..."
"I don't know...I am just shy, maybe...come on! You piss me off with this kind of questions".
I turned and I kissed him. He let himself be kissed but didn't respond to my action.
"Anything you feel like doing?" he nodded and he sat on the sofa pulling me up to sit next to him.
While he was kissing me I had this idea that writing is like cooking, you can prepare fabulous dishes and maybe some people will like them, but there will always be a certain amount of people who don't.  Of course, if I would write like I cook, it would seriously be better for me to stop, but I am sure I can be a good writer, and I am not going to stop writing for anything or anybody.
Writing doesn't mean publishing, and since I am destined to die young I have probably lost my chance to do it already. It's not how many books you have published the parameter making of yourself a novelist or not, but the stories you have to tell, the emotions you have to convey.
I still have some stories left in my minstrel's pouch and some more could come.
languid hours with my shy lover surely help my creativity anyway, so if you can excuse me...I have to go getting inspired!