SEX IS SO SUBJECTIVE!

When it comes to writing about sex I’ve decided that the definition of erotic is entirely subjective to the reader. What to you and I might be a bit of hanky-panky fun, lightly illuminated and passed over quickly, can to another reader be shocking and extremely rude.

A reporter wanted to interview me about my futuristic romance novellas, so I sent her the cover and a blurb of my first book.  When I didn’t hear from her, I rang.”Oh, it’d be far too rude for me,” she said, “It says it’s erotic.” Ergo: no interview, without her even reading it.

I recently discussed with my editor the classification of a new release which has two paragraphs of sex in the whole 42,500 words. Sensual was the classification we finally agreed upon. However, my editor told me that when the writer stops at the bedroom door it is a “sweet” romance. When the bedroom door is open the classification is ‘erotic’: no in-between, no door ajar, no keyhole peeps just a door wide-open erotic classification. Of course there’s the flame rating, but I’m sure the ‘erotic’ classification must put off a lot of readers, who don’t even notice the flame rating. Perhaps the image of door and how far it is open, could become an alternative graphic for the heat rating of a novel.

On the funny side the daughter of a friend recently purchased one of my futuristic romances.  She told her mother she loved it and thought it was well written – but she now wonders, she told her mother, how she is going to sit and have a cup of tea with me ever again, having read the sex scenes. I didn’t like to ask if her reading experience has improved my image or tarnished it?

On another occasion I reached the last chapter of a novel without the two main characters having the opportunity to get together for some hanky-panky. I had a choice: leave out the sex and have a sweet romance, or put in a steamy climax and reward the reader for sticking with me the whole way. On asking for advice my editor said. “The choice is yours, but sex sells.” So once again I closed my eyes, stretched out my hands and with flying fingers gave my imagination free reign. Luckily I’m a touch typist and can do this when required to.

Now my grandchildren are reading my romances! Bang goes my reputation, out the window.  Fat chance now of being remembered as a sweet old lady. If nothing else I hope it helps them establish a warm, physical, relationship in their mature years. If they are ever stuck they can drag out one of my stories, find the well worn pages, turn to their partner and say “Grandma says………”

In fact I sometimes wonder from the prudery (new word I’ve just found) abroad how the human race continues to increase. Perhaps only the broad minded are breeding.

IF IT ISN'T YOU - IT'S IRRELEVANT WHO WINS.

If it isn't you then it's irrelevant who wins.

At the moment I’m between projects.  I’ve just finished my first attempt at a Young Adult and I’m waiting for my brain to create a few bones to hang my next romance on.  I already have the two main characters and their personal conflicts, I just need some events/signposts to work toward; plus extra drama prior to the  resolution.

In the meantime I‘ve sent off several pieces of poetry to on-line poetry sites and a sestina to an international competition. I have resurrected two short fiction pieces and rewritten them, padding them out, adding senses, cutting away the dross I hadn’t previously recognized. I tightened up the story line and pace; and clarified a conflict. They’ve been shot off to a National Short Story contest. I don’t expect to be placed but the competition entry meant I had to revisit them. It was the spur I needed. I could now sub them elsewhere, knowing they are of a higher standard.

The result of entering any competition can only be a ‘good’ result. What you gain from entering is a fresh look at your work. You will be delighted at some of the prose you’ve created, possibly stunned at the errors you’ve found, but most of all you’ve fleshed out the bones. Just like a skeleton every story’s bones are different, although they follow a basic structure. Your bones are your individual voice and style. Don’t let them hang around. Give them a shake, wrap some flesh around them, change the heads about, alter the path they are walking. Rewrite that prose and send it off to find a new home.

I refuse to pay huge amounts to enter a competition. I look for those that are free or cost very little. I consider my time to be the price of the entry. Don’t get caught in a carousel of expensive competition entries. Pick one that appeals or could apply to a piece you have already written; and tweak your effort to suit the contest.

As I said at the beginning: it’s irrelevant who wins if it isn’t you!

INSUFFICIENT SEX IS A SIN!

Today I received a rejection from a publishing company because my submitted novella “wasn’t erotic enough”. It made me smile.  I truly didn’t mind. I won’t be adding to the already explicit descriptions, or leaving home to indulge in some physical research sessions.  I have a fairly vivid imagination which fills in the gaps in my experience and knowledge.

 I can’t write a story without a plot. Scene after scene of erotic romping that doesn’t aid the plot, move  on the progress of the story line or is simply there for the sake of more sex, is not my style. I’m writing a story, not a series of descriptions of a physical marathon performed in situ, with gymnastic moves.

I did the best I could and I now have to find a home for this less than erotic romance. I could add some more sex scenes but I would then need to add lots of dialogue to keep my interest alert.  Perhaps I could introduce a sub-plot that is only ever discussed during sex? A different approach to consider but, nah, I don’t think so.

It boils down to this: I wrote it, I like it, and I’m happy to have it molder away in my pc’s innards than rewrite it adding lots of sex scenes.  I know it’s been done in the Grey story, but even that story had a compelling layering to it which made you read all three books to find out why the male lead acted like he did.  I don’t want my readers to be thinking as I did by the second book - ‘another sex scene. I’ll skip those pages and get back to the real story.’

Thinking of this reminds me of the comment made by Elmore Leonard in No. 10 of his rules of writing: “Try and leave out the part that readers tend to skip.”

With that in mind I might have to remove all the sex scenes and turn it into a murder mystery instead.

A STELLAR AFFAIR

Just released, my fourth futuristic romance  about the Corban Family, Talented and genetically altered they live 'under the radar', hiding their skills, blending in, always avoiding notice - until Stella falls in love with a 'normal'. Her romance could put the family's safety at risk. This could be love. Will she jump at the chance or jump away?
Here is the link to Secret Cravings Website: http://bit.ly/17QW31t

FROM DOWN UNDER TO THE BIG APPLE

Just had to spread the word.  Memoirs of Lady Montrose, my erotic novella, was chosen from Total-e-Bound's new releases to be mentioned on the USA Today HEA Blog.

 Here's the link. 

http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2013/08/02/erotic-romance-erotica-new-releases/2610013

 

No cover art on the USA blog but you can't have everything. The Cover art is on 'My Books' page here, along with an excerpt. Last week it received a four star review which is on the Total-e-Bound product page.

LOVE AND MEMORIES

Most literature has love as a thread woven through the story,  This strong emotion comes in many forms and here I have tried to capture the love between an ageing father and his daughter.
I would welcome your comments if this piece moves you to say something.


The phone rings and she hurries to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi darl’, Dad here.”
“Hi Dad, How’s things?”
“Not too good honey.  I’ve got a small problem. Well, a big one, really.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m in town and I seem to have lost my car.”
“Has it been stolen? Or have you mislaid it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you go to town Dad? The supermarket’s just down the road from you.”
“The dog needed food and I thought the car could use a run.”
“Jeeez Dad!”
“I felt like driving.”
“Sorry.  Of course you felt like driving.  Now let me think.  Did you park on the street or in a building?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Close your eyes and think.  What did you see when you stopped the car?”
“I saw traffic lights, on red.”
“Right.  Where are you now?”
“At the Police Station.”
“Can you stay there until I arrive?” Panic has put a crack in her voice.
“I’ll ask.  Don’t go away. …  “ 
In the silence her heart beat pounds in her head. She tries to breathe deeply, to relax. Will he forget he’s talking to her?   At last she hears footsteps and his voice.
“Are you still there Sue?”
“Yes Dad I’m here.”
“I can sit on a chair and have a cup of tea till you arrive.  Sue, my car’s gone and I can’t get home.”
“I know that Dad.  I’ll be about 15 minutes.  Do you have your watch on?”
“No, it’s missing.  I think someone’s stolen it. Why do people keep stealing my stuff?”
“It’ll be somewhere Dad.  I’ll find it once we find your car.”
“Thanks darl’. Don’t be long.  Did I tell you I’ve lost my car?”
Yes Dad.  Please don’t worry.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.
“And I can’t find my damn watch. I think the dog’s gone missing too. “
“I’m minding the dog and I’ll find your watch Dad.  Just stay there.   Promise me.”
“I promise Sue.  Did I ever tell you you’re a good girl?”
“Often Dad and I love you too.  Bye.”

AN EXCERPT FROM MY LATEST W. I.P.: "A STELLAR AFFAIR' , BEING RELEASED IN AUGUST.

Just a tempting taste of action from the fourth in the series about the genetically altered Corban family. Stella's Romance - "A Stellar Affair"

They walked along the river, the sounds of the city’s nightlife bouncing off the hard surfaces of the surrounding tall buildings. To Stella it felt as if the city was talking to her, urging caution and every warning horn from the auto-taxis seemed to be saying ‘beware’, ‘beware’ to her personally, instead of warning other cars that their proximity was dangerously close.
He slid his hand around hers, his grasp soft and warm, a comfort to her jangled nerves. She couldn’t pull her hand away. That would be rude. Not that she wanted to release his grasp. The smell of his after-shave tickled her nose, pleasant and sharp, a clean aroma that reminded her of the gum tree plantation she’d visited with her father last year.
On the other side of the river, standing under a streetlight she noted the figure of a man, watching. His shape and profile seemed familiar. Surely not Grandad? Would he really be there, checking on her safety? She’d stopped walking, her concentration on the figure’s outline had halted her steps. Could it be a security agent from the Nursery? No, Granddad has said none of the family was on the observation schedule for the coming week. The figure moved, walking away and from his gait she was sure it was her grandfather. She signed, more with acceptance of his concern than from frustration at his lack of trust. Perhaps it was Matt he didn’t trust? Not her.
“Let’s sit for a while.” Matt’s pressure on her back guided her to a long seat, nearby. This one had a back, not like the ones they’d walked past, all square with edges that cut the night, the giant’s toy blocks. The seat’s curved back fitted nicely when she leaned back to look at the stars. “There’s a falling star,” Matt said. “Make a wish.”
Closing her eyes tight she wished she could love this man unfettered by her genes and when she opened her eyes his face blotted out the stars above her. His lips closed gently over hers, soft and giving, while the trembling in his embrace spoke silently to her of his passion as he held her against his chest.
Several long moments later she gently pulled back, to take a deep breath. She’d forgotten to breathe! His eyes reflected the lamp behind them and his dark hair fell over his forehead, tickling her face. She stroked the hair out of his eyes, her gaze devoured his features, memorising them, printing them indelibly into her memory, because this could be the last time she saw him.