Separating Art From Artist

A stock photo of paints, pencils, etc on a messy desk, cause you know, every artist is a hot mess

There is some bloody good art in the world. Loads of it, in fact. And some of it is made by horrible people.

Maybe “horrible people” is a bit strong, but people make choices that harm others, and artists are no exception to this rule. Sometimes these are horrible-people-level bad choices, and sometimes they’re misspoke-in-an-interview-level bad choices, but the fact remains that artists, like everyone, have the capacity to do harm, but unlike everyone, have a much bigger audience to whom they can do it. Doing harm to people is, of course, bad, but good art is good, and so we face the question: can I still enjoy the art? Or am I being a heartless bastard?

There is often a call, when a celebrity or author or actor or whoever fucks up, to “separate the art from the artist!”. It’s my view, though, that art is always shaped by its artist, that every tiny bit of every one of their works has them baked into it, and that you literally cannot “separate” the two. What this call actually seems to mean is, “Consume the art and stop complaining!”, which is a very different kettle of fish. Yes, sometimes the art is bloody good, but should an artist’s behaviour affect art they made before their shitty actions? Can I still enjoy the art, or am I being a heartless bastard for even wanting to?

When I’m trying to decide whether or not to carry on consuming the work of any particular artist, I like to ask myself three questions:

  1. Is it my place to forgive this person?

First things first: does it matter what I think? This post was inspired by J. K. Rowling’s recent transphobic word-diarrhea, and in that case, yeah, I get a vote; I’m trans. In other cases, though, like those of racism or of sexual assault, I prefer to listen to the people who are actually being harmed, and always err on the side of caution when it comes to supporting the artist in question, even if they apologise or donate a bunch of money somewhere or hire a skywriter to scrawl, “People of colour are okay, actually!” across the sky. If it isn’t my place to offer an artist forgiveness, that’s where my line of thought ends – but if it is, I keep thinking.

2. What real-world difference does my consumption of this art make?

Vivaldi may or may not have been a nonce. One could argue that I’m not really hurting anyone by jamming to Spring, because he and all his victims have been dead for a very long time, but I like to look a little closer: who is seeing me knowingly enjoy the work of a nonce? More broadly, I ask myself: Will my consumption of this art hurt people’s feelings? Make them feel alone in their struggle, or like I don’t care about their pain? Will it make them think that their bad behaviour is maybe a little more okay? Where is my money going, and will it be empowering more shitty people to do more shitty things? Essentially: will I be doing more harm?

3. How badly do I need this art?

Like I said before, this post is about JKR. I was huge into Harry Potter back in the day, devouring the same seven books over and over again, muttering along with the movies’ dialogue, planning my first Harry Potter tattoo – the works. Harry Potter was my solace for a lot of my life, and it helped me to find community when I was otherwise struggling to. The thought of losing Harry Potter hurts – but, really, it’s already lost. I clearly don’t need this particular art enough to ignore its artist’s transphobic bullshit, because I find myself now thoroughly turned off by every Potter reference I see. And it’s obviously not the same art I thought it was when I was younger, if we’re subscribing to the notion that an artist is baked into their work, because art coming from someone with a worldview that allows for transphobia is very different to art coming from somebody else.

I actually can’t imagine a scenario where I would ignore harm done to others for the sake of a good book or banging tune, but I like to ask myself this last question just in case – and also to remind myself that, actually, it’s no big loss if I have to cut the artist in question out of my life.


It hurts when an artist who made something we love behaves badly. It feels like the art has been taken away from us, even though what’s actually happened is just that we’ve learned more about who that artist is as a person. It stings, and it can be tempting to grit your teeth through the pain and keep enjoying the art. I’m not saying you have to follow my lead in asking yourself these questions and ditching artists who do harm, but I am asking you to consider the impact of your art consumption and to, you know, care about other people. Please?

Things I Wish I’d Known Before Starting A Sex Blog

Hi! If you’ve found my blog for the first time via this post, my name is Morgan, and I’ve been sex-blogging since March, 2018. I can only imagine you’re here because either 1. You want to start your own sex blog or 2. You don’t, but you’re still really interested in the process of writing and running a sex blog. Either way, you’ve come to the right place! I’m going to share some things I wish I’d been told before starting up a sex blog, and I hope they’re of some use – or just interest – to y’all.

1. You will run out of ideas.

You may think this sounds impossible if you’ve just started to sink your teeth into the idea of sex blogging. “But Morgan,” you cry, “I have so many ideas! I filled two notebook pages with ’em!”

Yes, my beloved, it feels like you have so many ideas that you will never be stuck for inspiration. But then you’ll look at your list of potential blog titles, muttering, “Boring, played out, already covered that topic in a different post, boring, boring, irrelevant now,” until all you have left is some half-legible scribble that appears to only say Dick veins???

The thing is, when you first start thinking about putting together a sex blog, you’ll be excited, and you’ll probably brainstorm a whole bunch of topics that you could potentially write about. But, as that excitement mellows out a little, you’ll start to realise that some of them just aren’t viable, interesting or fun to write about. And you’ll have gotten used to having dozens of ideas in the pipeline, so once you’ve covered all your initial inspirations… you’ll be kind of stuck. It happens to everyone.

Everyone has a different way of overcoming it, though. Personally, I have been known to go through the alphabet, thinking of sex-related words for each letter and then thinking of whether I want to write about any of those. Other people recommend always carrying a notebook in case inspiration strikes, but I just use my phone – which then syncs everything to the ever-mystical Cloud so that my ideas don’t get lost down the back of an armchair.

The most important thing is to be kind to yourself, and acknowledge that this is a normal part of the sex-blogging learning curve. If you really wanna start a sex blog, you have to be prepared for the days you really don’t wanna write your sex blog.

2. It’s easier to start self-hosted than to change over later on

All the talk about self-hosting versus using WordPress or similar sounds technical and intimidating – as does actually going self-hosted. The only things I’ll say are: self-hosting is easier now than it has ever been, and I’ve never had a problem I couldn’t Google my way out of; self-hosting means your site won’t get removed for being naughty; it’s a pain to move your blog to any new URL once it’s established; nobody actually cares whether you’re self-hosted or not except for algorithms, you and your bank balance. Self-hosting isn’t hugely expensive, but it’s beyond some people’s budgets, and that’s fine! If you choose not to host your own site, nobody is judging you, I promise. (If they are, tell me and I’ll kick ’em in the shins for you.)

Basically: self-hosting has its advantages, and you should keep your options open where you can.

(You can also just buy the domain name you want to make sure nobody else snags it, go WordPress-hosted and save self-hosting for another time.)

3. Writing erotica is… weird. And not sexy

Okay, I’ve known this since before sex blogging, but it kinda feels weirder the wider your audience is. During my fanfiction days, I only had to worry about the responses of a handful of IRL friends and another handful of internet nerds who were just as confused about the mechanics of anal sex as I was. But knowing that nearly 1,000 people now see my weird sexy writing each month makes it all the harder to sit down in sweat- and menses-stained pyjamas and type the word “shaft” with a straight face. Finding words for body parts in erotica will have you cringing out of your skin, but d’you know what else will? When you get so deep into the flow of writing that you write something weirdly dirty or kinky, that’s uncharacteristic of you but that gives you a spiky little tingle in your pants. For me personally, the cringe factor overrides my arousal and I don’t use my own erotica to wank, but maybe you’ll find it less weird than I do upon starting a sex blog! I really hope so, ’cause it’s fucking weird!

4. It’s really rewarding to run a sex blog

For all the complications you might run into (internet weirdos crossing your boundaries, self-hosting stress and more!), starting a sex blog was so worth it for me. Every now and then, someone reaches out through my Contact Form or my Twitter DMs to tell me how much my writing has benefitted them – be it through helping them have better sex, teaching them something new or making them feel less weird and alone for being kinky/autistic/queer/etc. Those messages are what drive me to work on my SEO and site design, to help me reach as many people as possible – and they’re what you should be hoping for if you’re looking at starting a sex blog. Sex is super politicised in our culture, and you have to be aware that sex blogging is a political act – but one that can really, tangibly improve other people’s lives.

So, what are you waiting for? Go choose a cool pseudonym!


The pandemic and subsequent lockdown that’s going on right now means that I’ve lost a lot of work opportunities (because every other fucker at my agency is snagging jobs before I can). If you want to help me out, please do consider buying me a coffee or commissioning transcripts or captions from me!

Should We, Like, Even Have Pride 2020?

Content note: This post discusses the coronavirus pandemic as well as the cancellation of Pride 2020 and other events, and, more importantly, racism and the protests currently unfolding in the US following the death of yet another Black man at the hands of a police officer. Obviously, that’s kinda heavy, so please take care of yourselves first – you can’t pour from an empty (or debilitatingly traumatised) cup.


I’ve been lucky enough to go to a number of brilliant pride events. Even when they’ve been overwhelming, and a little lacking in the accessibility department, and thoroughly rained upon, I’ve been warmed through by a sense of community and safety that I rarely find outside of kink spaces and small pockets of the internet. Like a lot of people, I was really looking forward to Pride 2020.

Except, well, it’s 2020.

There’s a pandemic going on, just in case you had somehow not heard (and I’m so fucking jealous of you if you hadn’t). That, obviously, means that physical pride events are going to be difficult to organise in a safe and responsible way. I’ve been grieving the loss of a lot of opportunities and things I was excited about and any sense of normality, so pride events being cancelled is something I’m kinda already emotionally prepared for. Besides, it’s not physical events that I’m the most invested in (again, overwhelming and inaccessible) – it’s pride month.

Pride month is usually a lot of fun. It’s the month before my birthday, and everything in the shops is dipped in rainbows and other pride flags. The memes are usually impeccable. There are fruitful discussions about the LGBT+ rights movement, and less fruitful “discussions” with trolls (I can’t help it! They’re so easy to wind up!). Most pride months, there’s a hum in the air, like every LGBT+ person is vibrating with excitement at the prospect of painting flags onto their faces and getting wasted. Generally, the vibe is a positive, uplifting one.

I don’t know how or if we could achieve that vibe this year without the coronavirus involved, though, because there’s another reason that I’m writing this blog post: the protests in the United States.

I’m not equipped to talk about what’s going on. I’m not well-informed enough, in my own opinion, but more importantly than that: I’m white. As far as I’m concerned, that means my job is to boost the voices of Black people and other people of colour, but not to come to any grand conclusions on my own and then spout them from my white-person soapbox. I want to be helpful, but in this case, I’m pretty sure the most helpful thing to do would be to listen to Black people, spread the protest bail funds and other helpful information, and tell other white people to bloody well behave themselves.

A while ago, I wrote a blog post called Chicken Wings: A Clumsy Metaphor About Race. That post paradoxically discouraged white fragility and catered to it, by reminding white people that the people who call them out for racist behaviours are trying to help them be less racist. Even at the time, I didn’t love framing it in a way that fed the white egos reading it, but I was trying to be patient and gentle with y’all because I have enough privilege to take a softly-softly approach to anti-racism discussions.

I do not, however, have enough patience for said approach. I’m sick of watching my fellow white people defending cops, criticising the actions of protesters, sharing shit without double-checking its legitimacy or helpfulness… the list goes on. I’m sick of watching white people just… not… care about other human beings. I cannot begin to imagine how much more sick of it most POC are.

So, even though we could do a virtual Pride 2020 – should we? Should we be celebrating while other people are fighting for their rights and getting teargassed in response? Should we all have rainbow-y icons and hang out in group chats and listen to absolutely banging tunes while drinking on Zoom with some mates?

The answer is, of course, that I can’t answer that. Neither can people of colour, because (surprise surprise), they aren’t a monolith. They don’t have meetings about their official stances on various issues. Instead, they’re all individuals – but some of them are community organisers and activists, and I plan to find a few of those people to listen to as June unfolds. I honestly won’t mind if Pride 2020 sort of falls on its face, gets postponed or is entirely written off, because human rights are more important to me than getting to draw flags on my face. You know, obviously.

I don’t want to include just one masterpost of helpful resources in case I miss out something vital, so I implore you (especially if you’re white) to go and do some research about how best to help both the protesters currently operating in the US and the Black Lives Matter movement more broadly. Donate to things, physically turn up and help protesters where you safely can, and remember: wash your hands, don’t touch your face, get a burner phone and never, ever trust a cop.