But Autumn did not stay dead. No. She was made of steele, after all. Because this serious auteur brought her back for the sequel. Then killed her off again. And made her alive again. And on and on and on and on for fourteen fucking books! You see, Autumn’s lewd crime series was not so lewd anymore. The pornographer cum author had found a home for it at the romantic imprint of a major publishing company.
These were the halcyon days for the author. Every new Autumn Steele book was a bestseller. He could do no wrong with her; everything of hers was gold. He was happy. Until the author tried his hand at a historical novel and couldn’t get it published. And as he was now a FULL-TIME PROFESSIONAL AUTHOR, he had to write something new. An Autumn Steele story. And that novel was more successful than history could ever dream of.
And as Autumn’s popularity grew - she grew. Nurtured by the imagination of her adoring fans, Autumn’s voice grew louder. Became a permanent fixture in the mind of her author. The next book was in her voice. Her style. Her life. And readers loved it. They called it real. Compelling. Honest. The rights for the Autumn Steele Movie Franchise were sold to a large studio for a sizeable amount of money, that Autumn used to take a vacation in the Bahamas.
And the voice of the pornauthographer grew smaller and smaller and smaller. Until he was the one being tortured by Autumn in her bestselling novels. By now, he’s no longer sure if he’s alive or not. If he had always been just a character is somebody else’s story. Slipping away from life into the illusory netherworld of art, until he can no longer think at all. All his thoughts, all his desires, all of him controlled by the whims of Autumn’s pen. The birth of Autumn occurring as a result of the death of the pornographer.