sex blogging

Freelance Friday: Structure & Secret Readers

Kate Sloan

Freelance Friday is my recurring feature where I answer your questions about the odd blend of blogging, journalism, and copywriting that is my career. You can read more writing-related content in my Blogging & Writing section!

Q. How do you structure your day so that you stay productive? I feel like if I worked from home, I would sleep until noon, procrastinate on my work constantly, and take terrible care of myself.

A. This is usually one of the first things people ask me about when they find out I work from home. Most people have some experience with aimless, unscheduled days – whether during a bout of unemployment, a gap year, or just a holiday – so they know it can be a mind-numbing and even despairing reality. So, they wonder, how do I, and others in my position, manage to do it every day?

It’s a fair question. When I first eased into the telecommuting lifestyle, I did exactly the type of shit you’re describing here. I slept too late, stayed up too late, skipped meals or overate, left work til the last minute or did too much all at once. I was like a teenager whose parents have gone away for a week in Bermuda. It was, shall we say, not ideal.

What I’ve found helpful isn’t glamorous or sexy: it’s just rituals and routines. I’m a Taurus through and through, so it takes me a while to warm up to changes in my daily habits, but once I do, they tend to stick. While I love the freedom and flexibility of the freelance life, I also recognize that I need to impose some rules on myself if I’m going to get anything done.

My dayjob, blessedly, requires me to get up around 9AM every weekday. I am a sleepy person and I have seasonal depression; if I didn’t have a reason to get up in the morning, I likely wouldn’t until late in the afternoon – so thanks, dayjob! I usually do an hour or two of that work before getting dressed and heading out to a nearby café to work on blog stuff, podcast stuff, journalism stuff, or more dayjob stuff – whatever needs doing that day.

Cafés are a crucial part of my workflow, and I’m certainly not the first freelancer to feel that way. Whether it’s the caffeine, the noise level, or just the impetus to put pants on and join the real world, there is something about cafés that helps me power through work that might’ve felt impossible if I was sitting at home in my pajamas.

Over the past year or so, I’ve become more methodical about taking a proper lunch break, rather than just working through it like a fiend. I’ll buy or make something filling, and settle in with a book/podcast/TV show/YouTube video while I eat. I found I was more prone to burnout back when I would half-work through my lunch, so now I force myself to get out of “work mode” for a while when mid-day hits.

My major not-so-secret secret weapon for productivity is a to-do list. I make one in my Notes app every day, and cross things off as they get done. My partner has access to the list, and his supervision makes this tool even more potent. It’s simple as hell, but keeping a to-do list religiously has boosted my productivity a lot.

Lastly, while it’s important to build structures that help me do my best work, it’s also important to build structures that let me relax at the end of the day. Freelancers and other self-employed types – especially those prone to hypomania! – are notorious for never really “clocking out,” and as necessary as that sometimes seems, it’s not healthy. When I’m done my work for the day, I close all my work-related tabs and apps, shut my laptop, and physically walk away from it. Often I’ll unwind by smoking some weed, reading a book, listening to a funny podcast, and/or writing in my journal. Then I’ll typically eat a late dinner and call my partner around 10–10:30PM. Our end-of-day phone conversations provide a grounding conclusion to my day, keeping me focused on something that isn’t my inbox or my Twitter timeline, which always feels so needed after a full day of work.

Q. Has anyone you weren’t “out” to as a sex writer ever found your blog and confronted you? How did you handle that?

A. While I wasn’t always “out” as a sex writer, I’ve never really been embarrassed when someone read my writing who “wasn’t supposed to.” I always figure that if they’re offended by it, that’s on them, not me.

Of course, that isn’t true in every case. If I was writing cruelly or nonconsensually about someone, it would be reasonable for them to get upset about that. I’ve definitely done this in the past, but I’ve learned from my mistakes. Nowadays, usually the only people I roast on my blog without their express knowledge are people who’ve deeply hurt me – people who genuinely fucked up in some way. Anne Lamott says, “You own everything that happened to you… If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better,” and I believe that, to some extent. Someone who dumps me in a coldhearted way, or ghosts me, or leaks nudes of people I love, knows they’re being a dick when they do that, so I have few qualms about lampooning these people on my site – which they probably don’t even read, anyway.

The caveat is that I’m never unnecessarily cruel and I never identify people who don’t want to be identified. I wouldn’t write mean shit about a Tinder hookup’s dick size for no reason; I wouldn’t publicize an ex’s name, or describe their appearance in overly specific detail; I wouldn’t spill other people’s secrets or their deepest shames. It’s just not nice. I’m not saying I was always perfect on this front, but these are the standards I hold myself to now.

That said – yes, there have been times when I’ve discovered someone was reading my blog who I wish wouldn’t. For example: a dude who had, months earlier, lied and told me he was poly when he was actually monogamous, thereby making me unknowingly complicit in him cheating on his girlfriend. Or an ex who’d broken up with me in an especially explosive and scary way. Or a guy I’d stopped talking to after he crossed numerous boundaries. While I don’t necessarily begrudge these people reading my site, it is weird when they tell me they read it, especially if they do so as part of a half-assed apology or an unwarranted desire to “reconnect.” It feels like a boundary violation. If you are reading this post knowing full well that I probably wouldn’t want you to be here… perhaps think a little about why you’re doing that, what you’re getting out of it, and how it might make me feel if I knew.

I’ve been much better about getting partners’ consent to write about them and running relevant details by them before publishing, ever since a boyfriend told me, during a breakup, that I’d made him feel used for material. Those consent practices are important, but it’s also important for me to be able to write about shitty behavior when people are shitty to me. It grinds my gears when a partner or a hookup does something reprehensible and then says, “Don’t write about that on your blog” – because the implication is that they want to appear good and sweet to my readers, without actually being good and sweet to me. Fuck that. If they wanted me to write warmly about them, they indeed should have behaved better.

If you have questions for this series, you can leave them in a comment below, or email them to me!

When Your Partner Comes Out As Your Partner

Kate Sloan

It all started when a friend kept referring to my boyfriend’s other partner as his “primary partner.”

Granted, this friend isn’t super schooled in the technicalities of non-hierarchical polyamory. He didn’t fully grasp, I think, that it’s possible to be equally romantically devoted to more than one person at once – or that it would be hurtful for me to hear myself implicitly referred to as the secondary partner. The less-important one. The sidepiece.

See, this type of language just fanned the flames of fears I already harbored. Despite my boyfriend always treating me as a priority, and making it clear that I wasn’t less-than in any way, I still felt like the “side” girlfriend moreso than the “main” one. As we discussed this in a tearful phone call, it became clear that there were three factors contributing to this impression: I felt inconsequential next to my partner’s other relationship’s longer history and future plans; they live together, while he and I live 500 miles apart; and they each publicly acknowledge their partnership, on social media and elsewhere, while he and I do not – because I am a sex writer.

“Well, the last one’s the easiest one to fix,” my boyfriend said, “so let’s fix it.”

I was floored, though I shouldn’t have been. He had been telling me for a few months that he eventually wanted to be “out” as my partner – which meant, in turn, being “out” as kinky. He’d already come out to friends, family, and colleagues as bisexual and polyamorous over the years – so why not this, too?

As we talked, it suddenly occurred to me – like the lid being ripped off a paint can and spilling bright pigment every which way – that I’ve never really had a partner publicly acknowledge being my partner for the whole time I’ve been a sex writer, except for those who also already worked in the sex industry. A couple of short-term boyfriends didn’t mind being associated with me on Twitter and such, but usually they had nothing in particular to lose, and sometimes they even had something to gain: they were porn or camming hopefuls, and I felt that they wanted to use my following to help launch those ambitions.

Needless to say, it provokes a pretty creepy-crawly feeling when the people who will happily admit to dating you are mostly people for whom doing so would be a tactical advantage more than an intimate celebration. All these feelings spilled out of me during that conversation with my boyfriend: I’d realized, in one fell swoop, just how much damage had been done to my psyche over the years by partners wanting to hide in the shadows, deny our connection in public, and treat me essentially as the “secret” girlfriend. Of course I always felt like the least important one when my beaux had multiple partners; I was usually the only one conspicuously missing from their Facebook posts, their Instagram selfies, their smitten tweets.

The thing is, I completely understand why someone wouldn’t want to associate themselves with me publicly, even if they love me. Being as loudly pervy as I am is a risk not everyone can afford to take, and I’m immensely privileged to be in a position where my absurd kinks and sexcapades don’t (usually) harm me or limit me. This is my career, this is the life I have chosen, and not everyone who dates me or fucks me has made that same choice, nor should they necessarily have to. My boyfriend owns a company, so in managing his own public image, he’s making decisions not only for himself but potentially also for his business partners and his employees, not to mention the other people in his life who might be affected by this disclosure. We all deserve privacy, and no one should have to give that up just because of who they’re dating.

But I also know now, after much reflection, that I don’t think a serious relationship is sustainable for me if I’m made to feel like my partner is ashamed of who I am and what I do. It may be kinder to them to downplay my own needs and insist they can hide behind a veil of anonymity, but it is, in the long-term, gravely unkind to myself. It digs me deeper into a preexisting negative self-image, and furthers my feeling that my relationships are somehow illegitimate or unimportant to the other people in them, no matter how big and beautiful they may feel to me.

It was difficult to phrase this to my partner in a way that didn’t make it sound like an ultimatum – which it isn’t really; I could keep dating him if he wanted to stay anonymous, albeit not altogether happily – but fortunately he didn’t take it as such. He understood immediately why it would be painful for me to publicly pretend my partner is a Man of Mystery, instead of acknowledging the marvelous man he is in reality. Like me, he grew up on the internet, so he grasped that if something doesn’t exist online, in some ways it doesn’t fully exist at all. It has always been hard for me to see my non-sex-industry friends posting cute selfies with their partners, or tagging their sweethearts in tweets about date nights and romantic adventures, believing I would never be able to do that. I am so grateful that my boyfriend understood that particular pain and decided it wasn’t worth putting me through.

He is careful and thoughtful in everything he does, and this endeavor was no exception. He spoke to his therapist, his business partners, his other girlfriend, his friends, and even some casual business acquaintances, trying to get a read on whether coming out as a kinky sex blogger’s boyfriend and dom would be a disastrous error. Most of them knew he’d wanted this for a while and seemed surprised he hadn’t done it sooner. Few of them expressed any reservations, and the few they brought up were risks he had already considered and decided he could accept.

I kept telling him, whenever we discussed this, “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” – to which he would always say, “I know. I’m not doing it because I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.” Invariably I would start crying so hard as to become unintelligible. Being a loud-and-proud sex writer, I’d sort of just accepted that no one would ever want to be linked to me by anything more solid than a false name or a censored selfie. I’d assumed that no one would ever love me enough to be visibly mine, and that belief was slowly poisoning my self-worth from the inside out. And here was this man, telling me that not only did he love me, but he wanted to shout it from the proverbial rooftops.

Though he got all his ducks in a row a few weeks ago, we agreed we should wait until we were together in person to actually pull the trigger. “I’m going to want to touch you after that,” he told me, which is the same thing he said when we discussed whether we were ready to say “I love you” for the first time. In a way, it feels like the same act, just shifted and magnified: this is him showing me he loves me in a way that feels even more impactful than the words themselves. He’ll dash off a tweet, casually-but-not-casually mentioning that I’m his girlfriend, and it’ll change our relationship and our lives. I can’t think of anything more romantic.

All this to say: my Sir’s name is Matt. He wanted me to let you know.

Why Sex Writing Matters Right Now

Kate Sloan
Moleskine notebooks, a Seven-Year Pen, and a Feminist Killjoy sticker

Every morning that I wake up and read the news (or Twitter), I ask myself: why am I still doing what I’m doing?

In the face of all that’s going on, sometimes it seems pointless to write about sex toys, kink, lipstick, and dating. Why would anyone want to write, or read, about a comparatively frivolous and small-scale issue like sex, in a world that feels like it’s crumbling around us?

Answer: sex isn’t frivolous or small-scale.

Here’s why sex writing matters, even now, even still.

 

Because people are still having sex. There will always be people having sex. Those people need to know how to have sex safely, ethically, and pleasurably.

Because sex education is being stripped left and right. Kids, teens, and even adults need and deserve accurate, sensitive, non-stigmatizing information about sex.

Because if you understand how sex functions in our culture, you understand a lot about gender dynamics and gender politics. We need a better understanding of those things in order to reduce violence and encourage social harmony.

Because sex work is still devalued in our culture and sex workers are still treated terribly. They deserve better and the world deserves to know that and understand that.

Because rape and sexual harassment are still rampant issues, have been forever, and will continue to be. We can partly combat this epidemic by talking about what consent means, shaming abusers, and showing the world we will not stand for sexually exploitative behavior.

Because sexual entitlement and bitter misogyny still fuel horrible crimes. Good sex writing can help humanize us to each other and demonstrate that sex is not an owed commodity but, instead, an earned collaboration.

Because they’re trying to take our reproductive rights away from us. Again. It hasn’t been okay any of the previous times they did it, and it’s not okay now.

Because abusers still throw kinky people under the bus, making us feel stigmatized, freakish, and alone. We have felt that way for a long time. Enough is enough.

Because when you’re mired in sexual shame – shame about deep, unchangeable parts of you – you have less emotional energy for other things that matter, including political activism, charitable work, and sustaining the relationships that keep you afloat.

Because queer people and trans people are still vulnerable, still scared, and their stories still matter. Telling those stories is one way to convince the world, slowly but surely, that they do indeed matter.

Because pleasure – especially the pleasure of marginalized people – is transgressive. It has been denied from us for far too long, and we deserve far more of it.

Because asexuality is still erased, misunderstood, and sometimes used as “justification” for assault. This cannot be allowed to continue, and better education (including writing on asexuality) can help reduce these effects.

Because one of our most powerful world leaders right now is an admitted sexual abuser and not nearly enough people seem to know or care about this.

Because making art, and consuming art, can be a welcome respite from this cruel world, and can feel motivating when motivation is in short supply.

Because content creators still need and deserve to make money. Capitalism, unfortunately, doesn’t break down just because lots of other things are.

Because the better we understand ourselves – including our sexuality – the better we can harness our skills and talents to fight the powers that be.

Because distraction can be self-care, used sparingly, and maybe your diversion of choice is reading about other people’s sex lives and romances. That is fine. Welcome. I’m glad you’re here.

Because sex is a unifying experience for much of humankind, and we need to feel united and connected now more than ever.

Because pleasure is still a worthwhile pursuit – even if the world is burning, even if systems are breaking down and people are suffering. Sometimes you need a dose of pleasure to replenish your strength so you can get back out there and keep doing the work.

Because sex can be romantic, and kink can be connective, and the world needs less fear, less anger, and more love.

Because good sex writing, like all good literature, encourages empathy – something our current world is sorely lacking. We’ll need empathy, every one of us, for whatever happens next.

 

Why does sex writing matter to you? Even now, even still? And what else are you doing to cope in these trying times?

P.S. Looking for some great sex writing? Try these sites (listed alphabetically): Ace in the Hole, Bex Talks Sex, Coffee & Kink, Dangerous Lilly, Dildo or Dildon’t, the Dirty Normal, Feisty Fox Films, Formidable Femme, Girl on the Net, Hey Epiphora, Mx Nillin, Poly Role Models, Red Hot Suz, the Redhead Bedhead, Sexational, Squeaky Bedsprings, Sugarcunt Writes.

“Sex Blogger” Is Not My Entire Personality (+ How to Date/Court a Sex Blogger)

Kate Sloan

Here is a paradox for you:

When I do any kind of online dating, or even (gasp!) in-person dating, “I have a sex blog” is one of the first pieces of information I always reveal about myself. It acts simultaneously as a conversation starter and a filter, scaring away the people who are intimidated by open sex-positivity while pulling in those who are intrigued by it.

But it also starts the interaction on a wacky, imbalanced note – because everyone has different notions about how they “should” talk to a sex blogger, and it’s rare that that notion is just “treat her like a regular person.”

 

I recently made the not-entirely-thought-out decision to link my Tinder account to my Instagram page. Naturally, a sea of dudes immediately followed me. The number of messages in my Tinder inbox, and the intensity of their creepiness, shot up.

This shouldn’t be surprising. And some people would say, “What did you expect? Why do you put that information in your profile if you don’t like the reactions it gets you?”

This feels like borderline victim-blaming, but I’m not even 100% comfortable making that claim. Because, yes, I am a sex blogger and should therefore theoretically be okay with receiving sexual attention. It’s what I’ve “signed up for,” especially when I’m interacting on already-sexual platforms like Tinder.

But, ugh. I don’t mind if people get sexual with me sometimes – it just has to be consensual, and for fuck’s sake, polite.

 

I think it surprises some people to discover that although I am a sex blogger, I am not actually a nymphomaniac. (There’s nothing wrong with having a super high libido or with pursuing lots of sexual experiences and/or partners. That’s just not really who I am or what I do.)

I have always had an interest in sexuality as a topic. It’s almost a theoretical or academic fascination for me. I know a lot about it, I think a lot about it, I find it compelling to talk about and learn about – but my life doesn’t actually revolve around the act of sex itself. I, like most people, am way more complex and nuanced than That One Thing you happen to know about me.

When someone learns about my sex blogging right off the bat, too often they put me on a weird pedestal where I’m supposed to perform the role of the “sexy lady.” I feel boxed into explicit conversations, high expectations, and being “up for anything.”

And let’s be real: I am definitely not sexy 100% of the time. I am goofy and strange, shy and awkward. I have interests and hobbies (so many!) that have nothing to do with sex. And if I’m going to date someone – or even just fuck them – I want them to know that. I want them to see the totality of me, acknowledge me, accept me, approve of me.

 

I’ve been dating a lot lately (ugh!/yay!) and have encountered two dudes who illustrated polar opposite ends of the “how (not) to treat a sex blogger” spectrum:

One guy fixated on my sex-related work. He asked me endless questions about my personal sexual tastes, which is pretty inappropriate for someone you’ve just met. He took my work as an invitation to fast-track our relationship toward sexytimes, even as I was pretty clearly pumping the brakes.

I tried to introduce other aspects of my personality, and other hobbies of mine, like I would do with anyone I was getting to know. I mentioned my journalistic work, my music, my improv background. I also asked him about his work and hobbies, scrounging for anything to talk about other than sex. But he kind of ignored me and kept hounding me about my sex life, fantasies and desires, as if there was literally nothing else of value in my whole brain.

The second guy, thank goodness, treated me like an actual human. We talked about my work, and he clearly found it interesting, but he didn’t press me for details and we didn’t get too personal. He’d periodically make a comment like, “We can talk about something else if you want; you probably get tired of talking about this stuff,” giving me an opportunity to change the subject if I wanted to. But because he was being so respectful, I actually loved our sex chats. He understood my fascinations with things like sexual ethics and the origins of kinks, and we talked for literal hours about sexuality in a way that was neither boring nor creepy. We also talked about other interests and pursuits, mine and his.

This guy was hesitant to make a move – not that it’s always the man’s responsibility to take initiative, because it isn’t – and it turned out he was worried I’d think he was creepy if he assumed I’d be DTF just ’cause I’m a sex blogger. I was DTF, but it wasn’t because I write about sex – it was because I loved spending time with him, felt totally comfortable with him, and found him incredibly attractive. (Amazing how sex bloggers’ attractions work just like other people’s attractions, huh?!)

 

This has all been pretty rambly so far, so here are some actionable items if you want to interact with someone who blogs about sex or works in some other sex-related field. (Keep in mind that these suggestions are based on what I prefer and value; as always, everyone is different so your mileage may vary.)

  • Ask me about non-sex-related stuff too. Remember that sex blogging is my job, not my whole life. Would you ask your dentist friend to look at your teeth on the daily? Would you ask your lawyer friend to explain tort law to you when they’d just worked an 8-hour court day? Probably not. I have other shit going on, which I will gladly tell you about if you ask me what’s up. Listen, pay attention, follow the natural flow of the conversation like you would with any normal human.
  • Give me an “out.” Despite what I just said, I actually do like talking about sex – in the right context, with the right kind of people, some of the time. I work in this field because it fascinates me. If you’re getting the sense that I might be uncomfortable or bored with our current conversation, give me an easy opportunity to shift topics. I will if I want to.
  • Don’t get too personal. Unless we’re close friends, fucking on the regular, or maybe slightly drunk, I probably don’t want to tell you about my kinks and fantasies in too much detail. They might come up in the course of a conversation but please don’t badger me for specifics and examples. If I feel comfortable with you and it feels appropriate for the type of conversation we’re having, I might open up, but I’m not required to.
  • Likewise, don’t dump your TMI sex secrets on me. Or at least, don’t assume it’s okay to do this. There are definitely contexts in which this is okay and feels natural… but please oh please read my non-verbal and verbal cues and stop that shit if I seem uncomfortable. (Or just ask, “Is this okay? Do you want me to stop talking about this?”) I may not feel able to straight-up tell you, “I’m not comfortable talking about this,” either because I don’t know you well enough to know if I can trust you or because I am trying to be sex-positive and avoid shaming you for the desires or experiences you’re expressing to me.
  • When bringing up stuff you’ve read on my blog, my social media, etc., start small and see how it goes. It is gross if you immediately say something like, “That selfie you posted today gave me a boner,” or, “Reading your review of that dildo made me wish I could use it on you.” (You would be surprised how many guys think it is okay to open with lines like this!) If you want to talk about something you saw me post online, bring it up subtly, tactfully, and in such a way that I can easily navigate away from the topic if I’m uncomfortable.
  • Don’t assume I want to fuck you. It is okay to flirt with me, respectfully; it is okay to have a crush on me, and to express those feelings; but please don’t take my sex-blogger-ness as a substitute for the positive signals you would normally look for when flirting with someone. If I’m talking about sex a lot, it may or may not be an indicator of my feelings for you – but if I’m laughing at all your jokes, blushing, giggling, maintaining eye contact, leaning in close, making excuses to touch you, and doing all the other things that smitten-and-flirty people do, then you can take that as a green light, same as you would with any kind of person. ‘Cause guess what? I am a person!

 

Sex bloggers and other inhabitants of sexual fields: how do you navigate the dating world while being true to yourself but also discouraging creeps? Non-sex-world folks: is there anything else you’d like to know about how to approach dating/courting/fucking people like me, in a respectful way?

Coffee & Cock Rings: Café Writing Tips for Sex Bloggers

Kate Sloan

Cafés are my number-one favorite workspace. I brainstorm blog post ideas while walking from place to place, take photos at home, edit and fine-tune wherever I can, but the bulk of my actual writing takes place in the windows of coffee shops, over caffé americanos and blueberry muffins.

It’s not that I can’t work at home – it’s that I don’t. There are too many distractions, too many avenues for procrastination. I find it difficult to muster up motivation to write when I’m surrounded by entertaining electronic devices, talkative family members, and my inviting bed. Cafés offer me a zen-like retreat from this world of interruptions and temptations. When I go to a coffee shop to write, I know I have to actually write, because that is the express purpose of the outing. So I do.

I’m not alone in this habit. Writers and coffeehouses have been culturally linked since the days of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and even earlier. Most of my writer friends, especially those who freelance from home, turn to cafés as a workspace at least some of the time, citing the distraction-free zone and ample caffeine access as the attractions that keep them coming back.

A study out of the University of Chicago put forth one possible explanation for cafés’ effect on productivity: the noise. Apparently there is a just-right level of ambient noise which encourages creativity without impeding focus. Inspired by this phenomenon, some smart folks started Coffitivity, a web app that helps you re-create that bustling café environment in your own home. It’s lovely – but, as I’ve said, my preference for coffee-shop writing has less to do with the noise and more with the environment itself.

As you can imagine, public places aren’t ideal for writing dildo reviews and sex stories. You never know when someone might peer over your shoulder and be scandalized by what they see. (I once wrote an entire article about Cumbersmut while some 12-year-old boys argued about girls at the next table over. Yikes.) I certainly don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, so I work as discreetly as I can. Here are some tips for other sex bloggers in the same boat…

• Choose your seat wisely. I usually sit at the window because a) the view is nice and b) there’s enough distance between the row of window seats and the other seating areas that probably no one will have a good view of what I’m working on. You can also sit with your back to the window or wall, if your café has some chairs oriented that way. No one’ll have a clear angle on your computer screen unless they’re specifically trying to look at it.

• Do the super-X-rated work at home. Maybe you watch that porn DVD in your bedroom, take detailed notes, and then cart your laptop to a café to write the actual review. Maybe you write your dildo review at the coffee shop but leave the photo editing for later, so the other patrons won’t get an eyeful of silicone cock.

• Turn your screen brightness down. I do this if I need to momentarily have something explicit on my screen – like if I’ve forgotten how many ridges there are on the vibrator I’m reviewing and I need to glance at a reference image to count ’em. It’s very hard to see the contents of a dim laptop screen unless you’re face-to-face with it, so it’s less risky this way.

• Have a list of everything you need to get done, and stick to it. When I’m away from the ongoing to-do list I keep on my desk, I often lose focus and drift off-task. I’m way more productive at cafés if I have a few specific things I need to get done – write post X, email person Y, research article Z, etc. I make a list for the day in my phone’s Notes app or just write on a post-it note that I stick to my laptop. Failing to plan is planning to fail!

• Have a fake answer prepared in case of nosy questions. True, if a barista or café lurker asks you what you’re working on, you could just tell them, “A sex blog.” There’s no shame in that. But I find that this answer always invites further questions that I don’t want to answer. If I’m there to work, I want to work, not explain to some inquisitive stranger why a woman would want to write about sex on the internet. So if anyone asks me what I’m working on, I usually just say, “A school assignment.” If they probe further, I’ll tell them it’s something complex-sounding, like a paper on existentialism or 19th-century literature. That usually shuts the convo down pretty quick, so I can get back to writing about vibrators and ass-fucking.

• Keep a “vanilla window” open. You know, like you used to do when you were 14 and your parents could walk in on you watching porn at any moment. Keep a tab open to Google or a news website or whatever, so that if your aunt, your boss, or a six-year-old child happens to stroll into the café, you can just switch to that tab until you’re safe again.

• Bring headphones. I do this even when the work I’m doing will probably not involve audio, because you never know. Sometimes you’ll be researching a post and the information you need is only available in video format. Sometimes your porn review notes are messy and you need to refresh your memory about what exactly that porn star yelled during her orgasm. Sometimes someone tweets you a link to a song they think you need to hear, and you decide you do indeed need to hear it.

• Be really nice to the café employees. They let you hang out for hours working on your blog, and they also keep you caffeinated, those sweethearts. Treat them well!

Do you ever blog from cafés? What are your best tips?