Some writers make their living through telling excellent stories. They develop awesome characters, create unbelievable worlds, weave plots that stick you to your seat better than four rolls of duct tape, and have unforgettable dialogue.
Then there are the authors who write smut.
You know what I'm talking about. So-called "love scenes" that would make an adult film star blush. More blood spilled in the first chapter than is collected for a year's worth of donations by The American Red Cross. Language more colorful than Joseph's technicolor coat.
These people appeal to mankind's basest instincts. They bombard your senses with more and more shocking material to either impress their perverted peers or their twisted audience. However, this not only shows a lack of skill and class, but is also foolhardy because you can only shock someone so much before they stop reading out of disgust or boredom. Just like light that is too bright with make you blind, writing that burns with f-bombs and graphic descriptions of female bodies will eventually sear the retinas of your reader. I'm not saying that all sex and violence must be avoided in literature, but just like a bonfire must be surrounded by stones to prevent the entire forest from going up in smoke, boundaries must be set. Most of your readers will thank you for it, and, quite frankly, you can do without those who won't.
