Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
On Being an Erotica Writer
Even though it's almost two weeks away, mentally, I'm already in New
Orleans for the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival. The anticipation
is terrible and wonderful at the same time. A lot of writers I know are
heading there for the first time, so I'm fielding a lot of questions
about it. I've been to a lot of writer's conferences, but Saints and
Sinners stands out as the must-attend conference for me because it's the only one I've ever been to where I feel comfortable. There's no awkward pause before I talk about what I write.
I'm not ashamed that I write erotica. It's just that it seems to make other
people feel uncomfortable. It was drummed into my head from an early
age that I was responsible for the emotions of people around me (not a healthy POV, but hard to overcome) so I'm always hyper-sensitive to body language.
When I see a negative shift, the peacemaker in me comes out. That isn't
really fair though. I should trust people to face their own prejudices.
Besides, some people need that jolt of reality. (I've often said that
at writer's conferences, admitting to writing science fiction gets the same horrified look that erotica gets. The difference is that when I say science fiction, those people don't move to another table.)
Despite the horrified glances I get at writer's conferences, I'm frequently pulled aside to listen to hastily whispered confessions or to answer breathless
questions. At the heart of both is the query, "Am I normal?" and "Is
this okay?" I might not be a sex educator, but I want to offer
reassurance. People shouldn't have to fret so much about sex.
The stigma of being an erotica writer isn't what it used to be. Few agents
will touch it, but as the bigger publishing houses move into the niche
they will. Where there's money, there's someone with his/her hand out
for a cut of the action. Time is running out though, because most of us
have done without agents, or been rudely dismissed ("I don't handle that sort of thing," said with a distinct sniff of disdain.), for so long that we've learned to do without. It's up to the agents to prove their worth to us at this point. However, the first one to wake up and smell the $$ is going to have his/her pick of clients.
On her blog, Remittance Girl wrote a wonderful piece about the questions erotica writers are asked that no other genre seems to face. No one seems to ask romance writers just how many Counts and Dukes they've fallen in love with and married. No one asks a mystery writer how many murders they've committed. And yet, asking an erotica writer if she/he has ever committed that sexual act doesn't seem beyond the pale. Maybe it's because we write about the forbidden that people assume we're game for anything.
I guess I'm lucky that I've never been asked the, "Did you actually do that?"
question. Maybe my stories are too firmly footed in the world of the
fantastic to strike people as a true confession. I have, however, been
mailed a few cock pictures under both my male pen name and my female
pen name. (P.S. Note to would-be suitors - neither Jay nor Kathleen is
currently auditioning new lovers. So save those cock pix for your
Manhunt profile.) (P.P.S. your couch is hideous.)
Orleans for the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival. The anticipation
is terrible and wonderful at the same time. A lot of writers I know are
heading there for the first time, so I'm fielding a lot of questions
about it. I've been to a lot of writer's conferences, but Saints and
Sinners stands out as the must-attend conference for me because it's the only one I've ever been to where I feel comfortable. There's no awkward pause before I talk about what I write.
I'm not ashamed that I write erotica. It's just that it seems to make other
people feel uncomfortable. It was drummed into my head from an early
age that I was responsible for the emotions of people around me (not a healthy POV, but hard to overcome) so I'm always hyper-sensitive to body language.
When I see a negative shift, the peacemaker in me comes out. That isn't
really fair though. I should trust people to face their own prejudices.
Besides, some people need that jolt of reality. (I've often said that
at writer's conferences, admitting to writing science fiction gets the same horrified look that erotica gets. The difference is that when I say science fiction, those people don't move to another table.)
Despite the horrified glances I get at writer's conferences, I'm frequently pulled aside to listen to hastily whispered confessions or to answer breathless
questions. At the heart of both is the query, "Am I normal?" and "Is
this okay?" I might not be a sex educator, but I want to offer
reassurance. People shouldn't have to fret so much about sex.
The stigma of being an erotica writer isn't what it used to be. Few agents
will touch it, but as the bigger publishing houses move into the niche
they will. Where there's money, there's someone with his/her hand out
for a cut of the action. Time is running out though, because most of us
have done without agents, or been rudely dismissed ("I don't handle that sort of thing," said with a distinct sniff of disdain.), for so long that we've learned to do without. It's up to the agents to prove their worth to us at this point. However, the first one to wake up and smell the $$ is going to have his/her pick of clients.
On her blog, Remittance Girl wrote a wonderful piece about the questions erotica writers are asked that no other genre seems to face. No one seems to ask romance writers just how many Counts and Dukes they've fallen in love with and married. No one asks a mystery writer how many murders they've committed. And yet, asking an erotica writer if she/he has ever committed that sexual act doesn't seem beyond the pale. Maybe it's because we write about the forbidden that people assume we're game for anything.
I guess I'm lucky that I've never been asked the, "Did you actually do that?"
question. Maybe my stories are too firmly footed in the world of the
fantastic to strike people as a true confession. I have, however, been
mailed a few cock pictures under both my male pen name and my female
pen name. (P.S. Note to would-be suitors - neither Jay nor Kathleen is
currently auditioning new lovers. So save those cock pix for your
Manhunt profile.) (P.P.S. your couch is hideous.)
Sunday, April 22, 2007
What Are We Allowed to Write?
There was a recent discussion on ERWA about words we use to describe skin colors, and if it was demeaning to use food names to describe skin tone. Interesting discussion. It evolved into an outpouring of our doubts as writers about portraying people of different cultures than our own. At the heart of that is a fear of inadvertently supporting stereotypes and offending someone.
While I can completely understand those fears, and have them myself, I worry about self-censorship and the paralysis of political correctness. If you write erotica, you're already offending someone's delicate sensibilities. It's easy to dismiss the protests of those who hate or fear frank discussions of sex, but not so easy to feel the same way about people who might be offended by our portrayal of a different culture. Why? Probably because we want to show respect for other cultures and are mortified when someone accuses us of getting it terribly wrong, but we delight in tweaking the noses of prudes.
This comes down to a question of what we're allowed to write. Back in the 1970's and early 1980's (and less so now, but I'm sure there are whole college courses dedicated to this), debates raged about the right of whites to portray people of color. At the heart of that was the idea that black, brown, and other voices were being silenced by white writers, and that white writers were unable to accurately portray other cultures. Those are separate arguments. On one hand, those arguments gave rise to cultural studies and made the publishing world more accessible to non-white writers, thus making voices heard that otherwise wouldn't have been. That needed to happen. On the other hand, it's an unfair and sweeping assessment of intent, ability, imagination, and skill of white writers. And while those debates did result in other voices being heard, it also made characters of color all but disappear from the mainstream literature of the day.
There's a vast difference between what I call "chomba-chomba" cultural writing (taken from the big production number at the end of Moulin Rouge in which the cast sings nonsense words and wears exotic but probably non-authentic costumes meant to evoke India) and informed writing. Chomba-chomba is when someone slaps an exotic facade over their story and presents it as being about another culture. Like all facades though, it lacks depth, and isn't constructed with much care. The Mikado, Madame Butterfly, and almost every Western filmed by Hollywood that portrayed indigenous cultures are chomba-chomba stories. Any writer who does that deserves the wrath of the culture they insult through ignorance.
But what about the ones who get it right? Male writers write female characters. Female writers write men. Alice Walker writes white characters. Greg Herren (and almost every other queer writer I know) writes straight characters. Should they be barred from crossing those lines simply because they aren't what they write? The example writers always hold up is that no one believes that Agatha Christie ever murdered anyone, and yet all she wrote was murder mysteries. So why should straight men be barred from writing lesbian fiction? But the mere suggestion of that can set off a flurry of angry diatribes.
Last year, I was at a party where I was getting along really well with this guy I'd just met. He was intrigued that I wrote erotica, and asked a lot of questions. The conversation was flowing along nicely, with a lot of laughter and good quips, when I mentioned a gay erotic story I'd written that got the best reviews I've ever had. He was incredibly offended. How dare I, a woman, write gay erotica! The rant went on until I said something to the effect of, "I wasn't asking for your permission," and walked away.
So where do we get permission to write outside our personal point of view? If you're a writer, don't hold your breath waiting for the engraved invitation. No one is going to say, "You've finally proven your sensitivity and understanding, now you may write a character from our culture." Write what you want to, write what you feel. Go for it. Sure, someone might be offended, but you truly can't please everyone, so don't even try. Fear has no place in writing. So just write your story. Go on. You have my permission.
While I can completely understand those fears, and have them myself, I worry about self-censorship and the paralysis of political correctness. If you write erotica, you're already offending someone's delicate sensibilities. It's easy to dismiss the protests of those who hate or fear frank discussions of sex, but not so easy to feel the same way about people who might be offended by our portrayal of a different culture. Why? Probably because we want to show respect for other cultures and are mortified when someone accuses us of getting it terribly wrong, but we delight in tweaking the noses of prudes.
This comes down to a question of what we're allowed to write. Back in the 1970's and early 1980's (and less so now, but I'm sure there are whole college courses dedicated to this), debates raged about the right of whites to portray people of color. At the heart of that was the idea that black, brown, and other voices were being silenced by white writers, and that white writers were unable to accurately portray other cultures. Those are separate arguments. On one hand, those arguments gave rise to cultural studies and made the publishing world more accessible to non-white writers, thus making voices heard that otherwise wouldn't have been. That needed to happen. On the other hand, it's an unfair and sweeping assessment of intent, ability, imagination, and skill of white writers. And while those debates did result in other voices being heard, it also made characters of color all but disappear from the mainstream literature of the day.
There's a vast difference between what I call "chomba-chomba" cultural writing (taken from the big production number at the end of Moulin Rouge in which the cast sings nonsense words and wears exotic but probably non-authentic costumes meant to evoke India) and informed writing. Chomba-chomba is when someone slaps an exotic facade over their story and presents it as being about another culture. Like all facades though, it lacks depth, and isn't constructed with much care. The Mikado, Madame Butterfly, and almost every Western filmed by Hollywood that portrayed indigenous cultures are chomba-chomba stories. Any writer who does that deserves the wrath of the culture they insult through ignorance.
But what about the ones who get it right? Male writers write female characters. Female writers write men. Alice Walker writes white characters. Greg Herren (and almost every other queer writer I know) writes straight characters. Should they be barred from crossing those lines simply because they aren't what they write? The example writers always hold up is that no one believes that Agatha Christie ever murdered anyone, and yet all she wrote was murder mysteries. So why should straight men be barred from writing lesbian fiction? But the mere suggestion of that can set off a flurry of angry diatribes.
Last year, I was at a party where I was getting along really well with this guy I'd just met. He was intrigued that I wrote erotica, and asked a lot of questions. The conversation was flowing along nicely, with a lot of laughter and good quips, when I mentioned a gay erotic story I'd written that got the best reviews I've ever had. He was incredibly offended. How dare I, a woman, write gay erotica! The rant went on until I said something to the effect of, "I wasn't asking for your permission," and walked away.
So where do we get permission to write outside our personal point of view? If you're a writer, don't hold your breath waiting for the engraved invitation. No one is going to say, "You've finally proven your sensitivity and understanding, now you may write a character from our culture." Write what you want to, write what you feel. Go for it. Sure, someone might be offended, but you truly can't please everyone, so don't even try. Fear has no place in writing. So just write your story. Go on. You have my permission.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Erotica Revealed
I'm mentioned it a few times, but fellow writer, kinkster, and dear friend DL King is starting a new erotica review site, and I'm very pleased to be one of her reviewers. The site isn't up yet, but we're e-mailing like mad behind the scenes hammering out the details (oh - so many details!) so that there's a consistent house style to the reviews.
Erotica doesn't get much respect. It's hard to get a review that approaches it as literature. There are a few sites out there that do a good job now. We want to add to those options.
Before, I've reviewed as the mood hit me, but we're trying to update monthly, so now I've got to be more consistent. Alas poor me - I have to set aside time to read more erotica. ;)
Erotica doesn't get much respect. It's hard to get a review that approaches it as literature. There are a few sites out there that do a good job now. We want to add to those options.
Before, I've reviewed as the mood hit me, but we're trying to update monthly, so now I've got to be more consistent. Alas poor me - I have to set aside time to read more erotica. ;)
Monday, April 16, 2007
Where To Begin
I finally decided that fate was fate and I might as well start working on my next novel instead of hoping a short story suggested itself. I had two choices - the speculative fiction or the sand-humping beach read. While I have a good idea of the major themes of the speculative fiction story -based on Hobb's theories on the role of the commonwealth and the motivations of the individual within a polis; and on the isolating influences of technology and how that affects communication - so obviously it's going to be a light comedy.
Where was I? Oh yeah. While I know the themes my speculative fiction will touch on, I don't quite have the nitty-gritty details of the story worked out. I've known the plot of the sand-humping beach read for almost a year, so I went with that instead.
No matter how well I know the story I'm telling, I'm still stuck with the problem of where to begin. The opening is one of the hardest parts of a novel. If I take a long running start at a story, I lose the reader. So I have to jump into the middle of action. But what action?
On the writer's lists I belong to, about twice a year we discuss great opening lines of novels. "The world is full of happy widows" from Love in the Time of Cholera is my favorite opening line. ("It's lovely to think so, isn't it?" from the Sun Also Rises is my favorite closing line.) A good opening line is important , but it can't survive on it's own. You can't count on "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," to carry an entire novel.
People can debate this - but I think the elements of a great first chapter are:
A example of the major conflict that will drive the story.
Actions and dialog that reveal the main character's defining traits.
A touch of mystery.
The opening chapter I envisioned didn't fit that criteria, which is partially why I avoided working on this novel. (the rest of the reason was pure obstinacy) I was mulling scenes, tumbling them around in my mind as I tried to figure out the exact sequence they belonged in, and somewhere in that mess I saw pieces that fit together in new ways to create a much stronger chapter one. It has all the elements I'm looking for. It begins in the middle of action, but not just any action. The conflict in the scene reveals Sam's major character flaw (in case the reader hasn't read Chaos Magic and doesn't already know Sam inside and out.), and sets up further conflict throughout the story. There's a little bit of mystery - what is that secret Sam almost let slip? And, of course, it leads up to a really hot sex scene. A beginning doesn't get much better than that.
Where was I? Oh yeah. While I know the themes my speculative fiction will touch on, I don't quite have the nitty-gritty details of the story worked out. I've known the plot of the sand-humping beach read for almost a year, so I went with that instead.
No matter how well I know the story I'm telling, I'm still stuck with the problem of where to begin. The opening is one of the hardest parts of a novel. If I take a long running start at a story, I lose the reader. So I have to jump into the middle of action. But what action?
On the writer's lists I belong to, about twice a year we discuss great opening lines of novels. "The world is full of happy widows" from Love in the Time of Cholera is my favorite opening line. ("It's lovely to think so, isn't it?" from the Sun Also Rises is my favorite closing line.) A good opening line is important , but it can't survive on it's own. You can't count on "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," to carry an entire novel.
People can debate this - but I think the elements of a great first chapter are:
A example of the major conflict that will drive the story.
Actions and dialog that reveal the main character's defining traits.
A touch of mystery.
The opening chapter I envisioned didn't fit that criteria, which is partially why I avoided working on this novel. (the rest of the reason was pure obstinacy) I was mulling scenes, tumbling them around in my mind as I tried to figure out the exact sequence they belonged in, and somewhere in that mess I saw pieces that fit together in new ways to create a much stronger chapter one. It has all the elements I'm looking for. It begins in the middle of action, but not just any action. The conflict in the scene reveals Sam's major character flaw (in case the reader hasn't read Chaos Magic and doesn't already know Sam inside and out.), and sets up further conflict throughout the story. There's a little bit of mystery - what is that secret Sam almost let slip? And, of course, it leads up to a really hot sex scene. A beginning doesn't get much better than that.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Idle Hands
I have a definite creativity cycle. About spring I stop writing and don't truly get back into a creative flow until August. It used to drive me crazy - okay, it still does - but at least I don't panic now when months go by and I've written nothing. By the end of July, I do get a little testy though.
From September to January I worked on a novel and didn't write any short stories. In February I wrote a short story that I promised an editor months ago, but other than that I only have the Hot Cops anthology that's due out in May. So I'm looking at this gaping whole in my output and getting a bit nervous. Should I go against my normal pattern and try to write? I'd like to work on some short stories before I plunge back into the huge time suck of a novel, but I have two novels - okay, three - in my head and not a single short story. I tempted to hold off on writing until I can come up with a decent short, but if I'm in the mode where I can write, and I have a novel ready to go, why not write it?
You can see that this is one of those internal debates where I already know the answer, but I don't like it, so I waste time quibbling over non-issues to avoid what's going to happen anyway.
While I play mind games with myself, I'm not sitting around doing nothing. Dear friend, writer, kinkster and fellow porn movie aficionado DL King is creating a website for reviews of literary erotica, so I've been reading and writing reviews that will be exclusive to her site ( you won't see them on this blog, but I will post links when the site is up). I've been networking like mad with writers and editors for all my projects that are coming up. Mindful of how much I owe to the wonderful community of writers at the Erotica Readers and Writer's Association, I've been working on line by line critiques of stories on the Story Time list - which probably strikes fear in the heart of new writers as they see the volume of notes I send them, but I always say that being edited by Marcy Scheiner was the best writing class I ever took, and I try to pass on that personal level of in-depth help to writers with promise. (I'll never forget looking at the edited version of my first sold story, the pages absolutely dripping with red ink, and thinking, "And she liked this? My god. What does she do to a story she hates?" I allowed myself ten Diva melt-down minutes and then decided to learn from it. Looking back, I should have paid her . She changed the way I tell stories - and all for the better.)
These are not simply excuses to avoid working on another novel, but they do help. *sigh* I guess I'm fated. It's going to be another novel. Hmmm. Do I write the next in the series of my sand-humping beach reads, or do I tackle the only-slightly-more-serious near-future speculative fiction (that's science fiction to all you non-geeks)? Wow - figuring this out could take me weeks - but only if I ration out my excuses carefully.
From September to January I worked on a novel and didn't write any short stories. In February I wrote a short story that I promised an editor months ago, but other than that I only have the Hot Cops anthology that's due out in May. So I'm looking at this gaping whole in my output and getting a bit nervous. Should I go against my normal pattern and try to write? I'd like to work on some short stories before I plunge back into the huge time suck of a novel, but I have two novels - okay, three - in my head and not a single short story. I tempted to hold off on writing until I can come up with a decent short, but if I'm in the mode where I can write, and I have a novel ready to go, why not write it?
You can see that this is one of those internal debates where I already know the answer, but I don't like it, so I waste time quibbling over non-issues to avoid what's going to happen anyway.
While I play mind games with myself, I'm not sitting around doing nothing. Dear friend, writer, kinkster and fellow porn movie aficionado DL King is creating a website for reviews of literary erotica, so I've been reading and writing reviews that will be exclusive to her site ( you won't see them on this blog, but I will post links when the site is up). I've been networking like mad with writers and editors for all my projects that are coming up. Mindful of how much I owe to the wonderful community of writers at the Erotica Readers and Writer's Association, I've been working on line by line critiques of stories on the Story Time list - which probably strikes fear in the heart of new writers as they see the volume of notes I send them, but I always say that being edited by Marcy Scheiner was the best writing class I ever took, and I try to pass on that personal level of in-depth help to writers with promise. (I'll never forget looking at the edited version of my first sold story, the pages absolutely dripping with red ink, and thinking, "And she liked this? My god. What does she do to a story she hates?" I allowed myself ten Diva melt-down minutes and then decided to learn from it. Looking back, I should have paid her . She changed the way I tell stories - and all for the better.)
These are not simply excuses to avoid working on another novel, but they do help. *sigh* I guess I'm fated. It's going to be another novel. Hmmm. Do I write the next in the series of my sand-humping beach reads, or do I tackle the only-slightly-more-serious near-future speculative fiction (that's science fiction to all you non-geeks)? Wow - figuring this out could take me weeks - but only if I ration out my excuses carefully.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Review of Nobody Passes
Normally, I plow through books in a matter of hours. I absorb story and language quickly. I've always been that way. When Mom felt the need to impress her fellow PhD candidates, she'd hand me a novel, flip to a random page, put her finger on the stopwatch and shout Go! When I finished the chapter, she'd have someone calculate the number of words, divide it by the time, and then wait for them to be amazed by my words per minute rate. Of course, they felt any trained monkey could scan and flip pages, so then I'd have to tapdance through the grand finale as they questioned me about what I'd read. This led to a short stint as the psychology department's favorite lab rat - the Girl Wonder, a first grader who read at college level. That was back in the days where it was still permissible for the head of the department to pat me on the head and lament to my mother, "Pity she's a girl. Such a waste of intellegence." BTW - the school was Oklahoma State University. The year was 1971. I wish I remembered his name, because I'd print it here. Why protect that misogynistic ass? Even back then, I could have told him that I wasn't really a girl, but at that moment it felt like a matter of principal to pass as one, so I didn't correct him. (Mom, on the other hand, ripped him a new one. Despite their religious conservatism, Mom and Dad have always been ardent feminists.)
In contrast to my usual speed reading style, I've been reading Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity, edited by Mattilda, Seal Press, slowly, absorbing each essay, and setting aside time to think about the ideas. This is my highest praise for any book - it makes me think.
Some essays stand out more than others, not because they are better, but because they have deeper personal resonance for me. And Then You Cut Your Hair made me nod a few times, and grin. This essay hit right on the issues of hair-length conformity and gender roles. My hair is long, but I hate the message it seems to send out. The message people should get from my hair is that I can't be bothered to get it cut. Simple as that. It does not define me. My hair is NOT political, damn it, just neglected. Once upon a time, I resorted to cropping it very short to fit better with how I identify, but then I got pissed off that other people got to determine my validity with such a stupid external measure, and then time slipped past, and the next thing I knew, it was past my shoulders again. It's reassuring to know that other people experienced this weird hair/identity/conformity issue, and how the length can make a person visible in one community but invisible in another. The rest of the essay is about race. Being white, I will never have a good point of reference for racial issues from the POV of a person of a different race, but it's interesting reading.
Surface Tensions by Jen Cross is another essay that stays with me. As I mentioned after her reading at Skylight Books, my jaw dropped when she spoke of wanting to cut away the feminine parts of her body. She had different reasons than I did - I was never sexually abused - but I was comforted by the horrible thought being spoken aloud. I'd written about it in a novel I just finished, but was a bit uneasy about how a publisher would react to such a frank admission of body loathing and the desire to self-mutilate - no, not mutilate, reform and rebirth, correct and mold in my own image. There's power in terrible words. If Jen isn't afraid to use them, I shouldn't be either.
Not Quite Queer by Benjamin Shepard asks, "Is it possible to be straight and queer? " Persephone by Helen Boyd asks if it's possible to have an identity that isn't in relation to anohter person's identity, and if it's possible to be queer and still have an heteronormative imprint (she calls it a tattoo) on your life. Both of these address the end of an era that may have never been, that mythological time when queer culture was welcoming and encompassing of everyone who felt like Other. The boundaries feel set now, like fortress walls rather than open arms. As usual, I'm on the outside, wondering if I'll ever feel I belong anywhere, and sort of resigning myself to the idea that I won't. I have a feeling that Benjamin and Helen would empathize.
There are so many excellent essays in this anthology. Dean Spade's Undermining Gender Regulation is an eye-opening reminder of the way the government punishes people for being Other. Passing Last Summer and The End of Genderqueer were worth a second reading. Lack of Close Friends of Confidants by Jennifer Blowdryer was well received at the reading I went to.
Overall, this is a persuasive text for anti-assimilation. Little here would excite the politically connected gay groups. This is not media friendly, photo-op, soundbite life. These are unique voices. A strongly recommended read.
In contrast to my usual speed reading style, I've been reading Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity, edited by Mattilda, Seal Press, slowly, absorbing each essay, and setting aside time to think about the ideas. This is my highest praise for any book - it makes me think.
Some essays stand out more than others, not because they are better, but because they have deeper personal resonance for me. And Then You Cut Your Hair made me nod a few times, and grin. This essay hit right on the issues of hair-length conformity and gender roles. My hair is long, but I hate the message it seems to send out. The message people should get from my hair is that I can't be bothered to get it cut. Simple as that. It does not define me. My hair is NOT political, damn it, just neglected. Once upon a time, I resorted to cropping it very short to fit better with how I identify, but then I got pissed off that other people got to determine my validity with such a stupid external measure, and then time slipped past, and the next thing I knew, it was past my shoulders again. It's reassuring to know that other people experienced this weird hair/identity/conformity issue, and how the length can make a person visible in one community but invisible in another. The rest of the essay is about race. Being white, I will never have a good point of reference for racial issues from the POV of a person of a different race, but it's interesting reading.
Surface Tensions by Jen Cross is another essay that stays with me. As I mentioned after her reading at Skylight Books, my jaw dropped when she spoke of wanting to cut away the feminine parts of her body. She had different reasons than I did - I was never sexually abused - but I was comforted by the horrible thought being spoken aloud. I'd written about it in a novel I just finished, but was a bit uneasy about how a publisher would react to such a frank admission of body loathing and the desire to self-mutilate - no, not mutilate, reform and rebirth, correct and mold in my own image. There's power in terrible words. If Jen isn't afraid to use them, I shouldn't be either.
Not Quite Queer by Benjamin Shepard asks, "Is it possible to be straight and queer? " Persephone by Helen Boyd asks if it's possible to have an identity that isn't in relation to anohter person's identity, and if it's possible to be queer and still have an heteronormative imprint (she calls it a tattoo) on your life. Both of these address the end of an era that may have never been, that mythological time when queer culture was welcoming and encompassing of everyone who felt like Other. The boundaries feel set now, like fortress walls rather than open arms. As usual, I'm on the outside, wondering if I'll ever feel I belong anywhere, and sort of resigning myself to the idea that I won't. I have a feeling that Benjamin and Helen would empathize.
There are so many excellent essays in this anthology. Dean Spade's Undermining Gender Regulation is an eye-opening reminder of the way the government punishes people for being Other. Passing Last Summer and The End of Genderqueer were worth a second reading. Lack of Close Friends of Confidants by Jennifer Blowdryer was well received at the reading I went to.
Overall, this is a persuasive text for anti-assimilation. Little here would excite the politically connected gay groups. This is not media friendly, photo-op, soundbite life. These are unique voices. A strongly recommended read.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Fantasy
Just got back from Las Vegas. I'm never sure how I feel about that place. (The Strip and the casinos, not the City.) On one hand, it's grotesque in the literary sense in that it evokes divergent emotions, mainly disgust and fascination. On the other hand... nope, grotesque covers it.
We went for the SO's birthday. Other than hitting the new Star Wars slot machine, the thing he most wanted to do was catch a show. As the trip was ALL ABOUT HIM (I had so much fun reminding him of that whenever he asked me what I wanted to do) we decided to head out to a topless review. (It turns out that naked boobies are the perfect gift for the difficult-to-shop-for hetero man. Now I know what to get him next year too.)
The topless review Fantasy is at the Luxor. Unfortunately, it shares theater space with Carrot Top. No matter what you think about his comedy, you have to admit that a ten-foot high close-up of Carrot Top is enough to kill a soft-core porn buzz.
The audience was mixed racially (mostly white), average age about 47, and almost evenly split between men and women - to the obvious consternation of three college boys who were seated between women who could have been mom. The theater is tiered such that there are no bad seats, but the rows are tight, and we had to stand many times as people inched past us to get to their seats further down the row. Because of the layout, there's no drink service during the show, which you might prefer (leaving for the bathroom during the show will make the people on your row hate you).
Every show in Las Vegas gets 5 Star ratings, or is voted the Best of Vegas for some reason or another in the ads, websites, and magazines. Fantasy was no exception. Since you can't trust the ratings, you have to put your faith in the idea that a show wouldn't keep playing if it wasn't decent, but there's a fallacy in that logic. No one else knows either, so everyone gambles and buys a ticket, filling the theaters of both bad and good shows. Some people get lucky and love what they see. The rest of us crap out.
If you go see Fantasy, you will see bare breasts. Most of them even seemed real. If that's enough to keep you happy, then be my guest. However, there are other shows that feature topless dancers that I'd suggest before Fantasy. Having breasts myself, I'm not as enthralled by them as some people. It takes a bit more to keep me entertained. Fantasy didn't have more.
The comedian in the show was a talented dancer, but his routine was so painfully unfunny that I was relieved every time he left the stage.
If I were the director, I'd remind the singer that the microphone amplifies her voice so that she doesn't have to scream to be heard. Maybe that screeching was supposed to convey deep emotion. She did tend to scrunch up her face and look constipated at those moments. Every time she cranked up the volume, the audience flinched.
Almost every show I've seen in Vegas has taken pains to demonstrate that the dancers are real artists who have trained extensively in ballet and jazz. Fantasy didn't. It was number after number of unimaginative strip scenes that didn't come close to showing off the dancing talent on that stage, which was a pity. There was no variety. Every number looked like it was cribbed from a Janet Jackson video. Someone should tell the choreographer that a dancer constantly tossing her hair to a soundtrack of a women faking an orgasm may be sexy once, but after an hour, it gets old. So did the faked lesbian caresses and slaps on the butt, but I'll accept that as fanserve for middle age, middle class males who still think lesbian = two girls playing around while they wait for a man to join them.
If you go to Vegas, I can suggest two other shows that I'd see before Fantasy. If it's still playing, Crazy Girls is very good. The theater is old and kind of creepy, but the dancers are wonderful, and they get a chance to show off their skills in a variety of numbers. The poles that they dance on are out in the audience, so you get to see the dancers very close. Plus - their "lesbian fantasy for guys" dance number was hot. The other show I'd strongly suggest is Fashionistas. I reviewed it last year after I went, and my opinion of it still stands. Kick ass music, hot dancing, endless variety of scenes, and enough kink to keep my on the edge of my seat.
We went for the SO's birthday. Other than hitting the new Star Wars slot machine, the thing he most wanted to do was catch a show. As the trip was ALL ABOUT HIM (I had so much fun reminding him of that whenever he asked me what I wanted to do) we decided to head out to a topless review. (It turns out that naked boobies are the perfect gift for the difficult-to-shop-for hetero man. Now I know what to get him next year too.)
The topless review Fantasy is at the Luxor. Unfortunately, it shares theater space with Carrot Top. No matter what you think about his comedy, you have to admit that a ten-foot high close-up of Carrot Top is enough to kill a soft-core porn buzz.
The audience was mixed racially (mostly white), average age about 47, and almost evenly split between men and women - to the obvious consternation of three college boys who were seated between women who could have been mom. The theater is tiered such that there are no bad seats, but the rows are tight, and we had to stand many times as people inched past us to get to their seats further down the row. Because of the layout, there's no drink service during the show, which you might prefer (leaving for the bathroom during the show will make the people on your row hate you).
Every show in Las Vegas gets 5 Star ratings, or is voted the Best of Vegas for some reason or another in the ads, websites, and magazines. Fantasy was no exception. Since you can't trust the ratings, you have to put your faith in the idea that a show wouldn't keep playing if it wasn't decent, but there's a fallacy in that logic. No one else knows either, so everyone gambles and buys a ticket, filling the theaters of both bad and good shows. Some people get lucky and love what they see. The rest of us crap out.
If you go see Fantasy, you will see bare breasts. Most of them even seemed real. If that's enough to keep you happy, then be my guest. However, there are other shows that feature topless dancers that I'd suggest before Fantasy. Having breasts myself, I'm not as enthralled by them as some people. It takes a bit more to keep me entertained. Fantasy didn't have more.
The comedian in the show was a talented dancer, but his routine was so painfully unfunny that I was relieved every time he left the stage.
If I were the director, I'd remind the singer that the microphone amplifies her voice so that she doesn't have to scream to be heard. Maybe that screeching was supposed to convey deep emotion. She did tend to scrunch up her face and look constipated at those moments. Every time she cranked up the volume, the audience flinched.
Almost every show I've seen in Vegas has taken pains to demonstrate that the dancers are real artists who have trained extensively in ballet and jazz. Fantasy didn't. It was number after number of unimaginative strip scenes that didn't come close to showing off the dancing talent on that stage, which was a pity. There was no variety. Every number looked like it was cribbed from a Janet Jackson video. Someone should tell the choreographer that a dancer constantly tossing her hair to a soundtrack of a women faking an orgasm may be sexy once, but after an hour, it gets old. So did the faked lesbian caresses and slaps on the butt, but I'll accept that as fanserve for middle age, middle class males who still think lesbian = two girls playing around while they wait for a man to join them.
If you go to Vegas, I can suggest two other shows that I'd see before Fantasy. If it's still playing, Crazy Girls is very good. The theater is old and kind of creepy, but the dancers are wonderful, and they get a chance to show off their skills in a variety of numbers. The poles that they dance on are out in the audience, so you get to see the dancers very close. Plus - their "lesbian fantasy for guys" dance number was hot. The other show I'd strongly suggest is Fashionistas. I reviewed it last year after I went, and my opinion of it still stands. Kick ass music, hot dancing, endless variety of scenes, and enough kink to keep my on the edge of my seat.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Porn Shopping
The porn I own isn't doing it for me anymore. The amateur stuff on the web is great (real women - Yay!) but I wanted to refresh my pro collection, so last night I went shopping. The SO went with - maybe because it cracks him up to watch me shop for porn without shame, maybe in support, or maybe just because he's a guy and he has that whole testosterone protective thing going on and worries about me wandering through our seedy little sex shops and their dark parking lots on my own late at night. He didn't need to worry - the stores were packed with a lot of lone guys who avoid my gaze and a number of couples too. I enjoyed watching a couple discuss the merits of Trailer Trash II versus Bootylicious with such humor that I know they had a good relationship going on. I love seeing that.
The SO and I never discussed it, but watching porn is understood to be private time in our hovel. Porn is the ultimate expression of personal taste. He has the advantage of liking more mainstream stuff, so he has plenty to choose from, and it's cheap and readily available. My tastes are more...specialized... and when I do finally find a movie, it's usually incredibly expensive. If only we could share, but the ones he likes quickly bore me and my movies squick him out. We do talk honestly about fantasies and sexual matters, so it's not as if we're using porn to avoid the topic, but we also respect space inside our relationship. Still, I like the idea of watching together, and wonder what movies other couples share. Personal taste being what it is, what works for them probably won't work for us, but maybe we should give it a try. Trailer Trash II, or Bootylicious? Hmmm. Maybe I'll stick to my titles after all.
The SO and I never discussed it, but watching porn is understood to be private time in our hovel. Porn is the ultimate expression of personal taste. He has the advantage of liking more mainstream stuff, so he has plenty to choose from, and it's cheap and readily available. My tastes are more...specialized... and when I do finally find a movie, it's usually incredibly expensive. If only we could share, but the ones he likes quickly bore me and my movies squick him out. We do talk honestly about fantasies and sexual matters, so it's not as if we're using porn to avoid the topic, but we also respect space inside our relationship. Still, I like the idea of watching together, and wonder what movies other couples share. Personal taste being what it is, what works for them probably won't work for us, but maybe we should give it a try. Trailer Trash II, or Bootylicious? Hmmm. Maybe I'll stick to my titles after all.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Futbol Season is Here!
Yes, real football, not American football. You know, the game where they actually use their feet?
I watched the US team play Guatemala tonight. It wasn't much of a game, honestly. It was nice seeing that Ruiz (Guatemala) - who used to play for the Galaxy - still has an acting career ahead of him when he retires from soccer. Of perhaps he'll try out for the Guatemalan men's diving team. (Oh I know - meow - but I've been watching him play for years, and he goes down more times in ninety minutes than a cheap hooker). Still, as flat as the game was, it was like seeing the first crocus peeking through the snow - a sign that something wonderful is around the corner. In case you've been living in a cave the past six months - Beckham will be playing for LA this year. Oh joy! Oh rapture!
Oh crap, I hope I'm still able to get seats close to the pitch. I do love watching the subs warm up - up close and personal.
I watched the US team play Guatemala tonight. It wasn't much of a game, honestly. It was nice seeing that Ruiz (Guatemala) - who used to play for the Galaxy - still has an acting career ahead of him when he retires from soccer. Of perhaps he'll try out for the Guatemalan men's diving team. (Oh I know - meow - but I've been watching him play for years, and he goes down more times in ninety minutes than a cheap hooker). Still, as flat as the game was, it was like seeing the first crocus peeking through the snow - a sign that something wonderful is around the corner. In case you've been living in a cave the past six months - Beckham will be playing for LA this year. Oh joy! Oh rapture!
Oh crap, I hope I'm still able to get seats close to the pitch. I do love watching the subs warm up - up close and personal.
Working Through My In Box
I'm slowly working through all my projects. Finally finished my short story based (loosely) on Snow White and Rose Red for the fairy tale anthology by Torquere Press. Two bored guys snowed in their cabin, when a bear shows up at the door. Of course, my bear isn't Ursine. Wrestling and all sorts of combinations ensue.
That leaves me with my last project for Amie Evans in preparation of Saints and Sinners - which I plan on devoting myself to for the rest of the week.
I was going to write a review of Love, Bourbon Street. While the anthology is good, and has some great stories - Poppy Z. Brite's Cocksucker Suit was a favorite - I tried several times to write my review and simply couldn't. I don't know why, but I can't force it, so I won't.
When I have a bit more time, I'll finish reading Nobody Passes and review it. I've been mentioning it here because what I've read so far has given me a lot to think about, and that is probably the highest praise I can give any book.
I have several long-term projects in the works. I've teamed up with Laura Baumbach to put the erotica writer's conference together for 2008. And although it's now envision as more than writers and has moved into an erotic conference, I'm excited by the energy and forward motion Laura brings to this. The other project is headed by DL King, a friend and fellow smut writer. She's building a website to post reviews of literary erotica. It's so hard to get erotica reviewed, and even harder to find someone who will review e-published erotica, so she's going to build a site for it. The other reviewers she has on board are established names in erotica and I'm looking forward to reading what they have to say.
That leaves me with my last project for Amie Evans in preparation of Saints and Sinners - which I plan on devoting myself to for the rest of the week.
I was going to write a review of Love, Bourbon Street. While the anthology is good, and has some great stories - Poppy Z. Brite's Cocksucker Suit was a favorite - I tried several times to write my review and simply couldn't. I don't know why, but I can't force it, so I won't.
When I have a bit more time, I'll finish reading Nobody Passes and review it. I've been mentioning it here because what I've read so far has given me a lot to think about, and that is probably the highest praise I can give any book.
I have several long-term projects in the works. I've teamed up with Laura Baumbach to put the erotica writer's conference together for 2008. And although it's now envision as more than writers and has moved into an erotic conference, I'm excited by the energy and forward motion Laura brings to this. The other project is headed by DL King, a friend and fellow smut writer. She's building a website to post reviews of literary erotica. It's so hard to get erotica reviewed, and even harder to find someone who will review e-published erotica, so she's going to build a site for it. The other reviewers she has on board are established names in erotica and I'm looking forward to reading what they have to say.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Family
There are some issues that I think about for years before I settle on a philosophy, and even that can change over time. Same sex marriage is one of those issues. I believe that everyone should have access to the same rights as everyone else. That is a cornerstone of the US Constitution, even though equality exists only in theory in this country and definitely not in practice. It isn't easy to set aside the knee-jerk reaction to the outpouring of venomous hate from religious folk in this country. If they are adamantly against something, my gut level reaction is to be all for it. The only problem is that absent their influence, I'm not so sure that the right to marriage is what people should be fighting for. It's too narrow of an idea.
What are the odds of finding someone who has a sex drive, sexual desires, life goals, sense of humor, religious ideas, outlook on life, taste in food, entertainment preferences, moral philosophy, sense of style, temperament, body shape, ethnicity, personal habits, etc. that are compatible with yours? That's an awful lot to demand from one human being. And what are the odds that everything you are dovetails with what that person wants? It happens, and when it does it's beyond great, but more often than not, someone is going to fall short in one or all of those categories. So most people have friends - close friends - who meet every other need except the sexual partnership, and also have a lover. (relieved of the burden of meeting all those other expectations, lovers can be wonderfully suited to physical and emotional needs instead of everyone settling and living in a state of constant sexual frustration) That structure of friends who meet every other need is what truly works for most people on this planet. But what is that structure? It's family.
I'd say that family needs to be redefined, but according to my dictionary, it is, among other things, "A group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation." Family is the people you turn to when you need help, and it's the people you share your joy with. They are the people you don't walk away from when they piss you off. They are your conscious and your comfort. They are a collective memory, a shared past, and shared future. But unless those people legally own your ass, none of that counts for shit. You can't make them the beneficiaries of your social security benefits, nor can they be your heirs. They can be barred from holding your hand as you die, and they have no right to determine what happens to your body after death. Marriage equality would fix some of that, but marriage equality demands that you assume the nuclear family lifestyle and limits the definition of your family to one person.
What we need is a way to legally define our families without the presumption of blood kinship or ownership. 50 percent of marriages fail, so that " institution" clearly doesn't work for over half the adult population. (you have to count the adult population that never marries - just in case you wondered where the "over half" stat comes from). Why just register domestic partnerships? It's possible to love someone and share their life without sharing living space. (Just ask anyone married to a sailor.) Why not allow people to extend protection and inclusion to a group they want to define?
I know why this idea will never fly. First, some people read this and suspect that I'm trying to slip polygamy in under the legal wire. I'm talking about family here, not sexual partners specifically, but some people lack the imagination or mental ability to see the difference. Second, it makes the definition of family nebulous, and some people have to have strict definitions of everything (so that they can play their petty little games of exclusion). Third, people will scream, "What about the children?" Well, half the kids in this country aren't living in narrowly defined nuclear families, but they are living in families - just ones that don't have recognized legal status.
Let me reiterate that I'm not against same sex marriage. I'm pro-love. It's just that there are bigger questions out there and it would be nice if we could have a civil, rational, national discussion about it. What is family? How can we make the definition inclusive instead of exclusive? And when will Americans look at what's fair, and what's right, and stop wallowing in their lust for hate?
What are the odds of finding someone who has a sex drive, sexual desires, life goals, sense of humor, religious ideas, outlook on life, taste in food, entertainment preferences, moral philosophy, sense of style, temperament, body shape, ethnicity, personal habits, etc. that are compatible with yours? That's an awful lot to demand from one human being. And what are the odds that everything you are dovetails with what that person wants? It happens, and when it does it's beyond great, but more often than not, someone is going to fall short in one or all of those categories. So most people have friends - close friends - who meet every other need except the sexual partnership, and also have a lover. (relieved of the burden of meeting all those other expectations, lovers can be wonderfully suited to physical and emotional needs instead of everyone settling and living in a state of constant sexual frustration) That structure of friends who meet every other need is what truly works for most people on this planet. But what is that structure? It's family.
I'd say that family needs to be redefined, but according to my dictionary, it is, among other things, "A group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation." Family is the people you turn to when you need help, and it's the people you share your joy with. They are the people you don't walk away from when they piss you off. They are your conscious and your comfort. They are a collective memory, a shared past, and shared future. But unless those people legally own your ass, none of that counts for shit. You can't make them the beneficiaries of your social security benefits, nor can they be your heirs. They can be barred from holding your hand as you die, and they have no right to determine what happens to your body after death. Marriage equality would fix some of that, but marriage equality demands that you assume the nuclear family lifestyle and limits the definition of your family to one person.
What we need is a way to legally define our families without the presumption of blood kinship or ownership. 50 percent of marriages fail, so that " institution" clearly doesn't work for over half the adult population. (you have to count the adult population that never marries - just in case you wondered where the "over half" stat comes from). Why just register domestic partnerships? It's possible to love someone and share their life without sharing living space. (Just ask anyone married to a sailor.) Why not allow people to extend protection and inclusion to a group they want to define?
I know why this idea will never fly. First, some people read this and suspect that I'm trying to slip polygamy in under the legal wire. I'm talking about family here, not sexual partners specifically, but some people lack the imagination or mental ability to see the difference. Second, it makes the definition of family nebulous, and some people have to have strict definitions of everything (so that they can play their petty little games of exclusion). Third, people will scream, "What about the children?" Well, half the kids in this country aren't living in narrowly defined nuclear families, but they are living in families - just ones that don't have recognized legal status.
Let me reiterate that I'm not against same sex marriage. I'm pro-love. It's just that there are bigger questions out there and it would be nice if we could have a civil, rational, national discussion about it. What is family? How can we make the definition inclusive instead of exclusive? And when will Americans look at what's fair, and what's right, and stop wallowing in their lust for hate?
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Laziest Entry Ever
Proof that I'm a geek at heart. Oh Spiderman! Don't you know to use tissues, or at least a gym sock?
You're Doing A Heck of a Job, Brownie, er, Alberto
Every time President Bush utters "strong support" of Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, I smile. "Strong Support," is the presidential kiss of death, the pat on the head for the sacrificial goat of politics. I always wonder if the poor, dumb creature understands what's coming next, but then I realize that the poor dumb creature is actually a vicious parasite. Then I hope that like a paralyzed tarantula about to become living food for wasp maggots that the goat is acutely aware of its fate.
I propose a new rule. From now on, the Attorney General should be forced to pass a test on the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights before being approved by congress. Working knowledge of, and respect for, those documents has been sadly lacking in that post lately.
Some suggested questions:
True of False - The Constitution and Bill of Rights always applies to all Americans, except when I find it inconvenient, or when I want to pursue my personal religious agenda.
True of False - I should be able to use porn while actively working to deny it to every other adult in the US.
True or False - Women are too stupid to be trusted to make decisions about their own bodies.
True or False - Torture is perfectly acceptable, unless I get caught by the media.
True or False - While I'm not a medical doctor, I am the best person to make medical decisions, and I can base them on religion, not science, if I want to.
True or False - I am above the law.
True or False - Political necessity trumps the Constitution every time.
I'd also like to see an essay on each of the Constitutional Amendments listed in the Bill of Rights, as well as a complete thesis on the Separation of Church and State - and why although it isn't one of the rights listed in the bill of rights, why Americans still should have a right to it.
Come to think of it - I'd like to make all presidential hopefuls take such a test without their aides whispering expedient answers into their ears. And I want those grades posted where everyone can see them. You'd think we'd have a right to know.
I propose a new rule. From now on, the Attorney General should be forced to pass a test on the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights before being approved by congress. Working knowledge of, and respect for, those documents has been sadly lacking in that post lately.
Some suggested questions:
True of False - The Constitution and Bill of Rights always applies to all Americans, except when I find it inconvenient, or when I want to pursue my personal religious agenda.
True of False - I should be able to use porn while actively working to deny it to every other adult in the US.
True or False - Women are too stupid to be trusted to make decisions about their own bodies.
True or False - Torture is perfectly acceptable, unless I get caught by the media.
True or False - While I'm not a medical doctor, I am the best person to make medical decisions, and I can base them on religion, not science, if I want to.
True or False - I am above the law.
True or False - Political necessity trumps the Constitution every time.
I'd also like to see an essay on each of the Constitutional Amendments listed in the Bill of Rights, as well as a complete thesis on the Separation of Church and State - and why although it isn't one of the rights listed in the bill of rights, why Americans still should have a right to it.
Come to think of it - I'd like to make all presidential hopefuls take such a test without their aides whispering expedient answers into their ears. And I want those grades posted where everyone can see them. You'd think we'd have a right to know.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
EPICon
Now that I've been back for almost two weeks and have almost recovered, I can talk about EPICon.
EPIC is an organization for electronically published authors. They've been around for 10 years, maybe a little more. While the group has strong roots in romance, as evidenced by the constant talk of RWA (Romance Writer's of America) and RT (Romantic Times) conventions, it is pretty much shunned by those groups. E-publishing is still a small slice of the publishing pie, but it's growing, and a lot of that growth is in Romantic Erotica.
I had a great time in Virgina. I got to meet writers I knew by reputation, such as Emily Veinglory, and meet face to face for the first time writers I knew through the Erotica Readers and Writers Association and GLBT Promo. I hung out quite a lot with Helen Madden. She's in my novel reading beta group. We didn't just exchange chapters for critique; we were editors, cheerleaders, nags, devil's advocates, and sanity checks. I'm thrilled that the novels we worked on at the same time will be e-published within months of each other. (hers is Devil By Day, mine is Chaos Magic). I also discussed an Erotica Writer's conference with Laura Baumbach (A Bit of the Rough, and mastermind behind Man Lover Romance). I was very impressed with the publisher from Mojocastle Press (Helen's publisher), Stephanie Kelsey, and her philosophy towards her writers and business. I wish I'd had more time to talk with my publishers, Torquere Press, but didn't.
My BDSM panel, Safe, Sane, and Consensual went really well. Chris Owen, Jodi Payne, Sabrina Luna, and Eliza Gayle were great. They had so much to add, and were into the spirit of the thing. You can't take yourself too seriously when you're answering questions about the 7 Gates of Hell and explaining why someone would want to be led around on a leash.
Next year's conference is in Portland. While I meant for this to be an every-other year conference, I think I might have to go. I love hanging around with other writers, and the e-published writers are a pretty savvy group when it comes to the business side of publishing, so I learned an awful lot just from listening to the talk around the dinner table. Not to mention how much I picked up about self-promotion. That's information any writer needs, no matter what medium s/he is published in.
EPIC is an organization for electronically published authors. They've been around for 10 years, maybe a little more. While the group has strong roots in romance, as evidenced by the constant talk of RWA (Romance Writer's of America) and RT (Romantic Times) conventions, it is pretty much shunned by those groups. E-publishing is still a small slice of the publishing pie, but it's growing, and a lot of that growth is in Romantic Erotica.
I had a great time in Virgina. I got to meet writers I knew by reputation, such as Emily Veinglory, and meet face to face for the first time writers I knew through the Erotica Readers and Writers Association and GLBT Promo. I hung out quite a lot with Helen Madden. She's in my novel reading beta group. We didn't just exchange chapters for critique; we were editors, cheerleaders, nags, devil's advocates, and sanity checks. I'm thrilled that the novels we worked on at the same time will be e-published within months of each other. (hers is Devil By Day, mine is Chaos Magic). I also discussed an Erotica Writer's conference with Laura Baumbach (A Bit of the Rough, and mastermind behind Man Lover Romance). I was very impressed with the publisher from Mojocastle Press (Helen's publisher), Stephanie Kelsey, and her philosophy towards her writers and business. I wish I'd had more time to talk with my publishers, Torquere Press, but didn't.
My BDSM panel, Safe, Sane, and Consensual went really well. Chris Owen, Jodi Payne, Sabrina Luna, and Eliza Gayle were great. They had so much to add, and were into the spirit of the thing. You can't take yourself too seriously when you're answering questions about the 7 Gates of Hell and explaining why someone would want to be led around on a leash.
Next year's conference is in Portland. While I meant for this to be an every-other year conference, I think I might have to go. I love hanging around with other writers, and the e-published writers are a pretty savvy group when it comes to the business side of publishing, so I learned an awful lot just from listening to the talk around the dinner table. Not to mention how much I picked up about self-promotion. That's information any writer needs, no matter what medium s/he is published in.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Review of M Christian's Filthy: Outrageous Gay Erotica
I read a guide to reviewing books recently. It said a reviewer should be impartial. I can see that point of view; the work should be judged on its own merit. However, it's impossible for me to pick up a book by M. Christian and not have expectations that are based on previous works I've read. So I guess it's only fair to begin this review with full disclosure: I'm a fan.
I'm torn over the idea of erotica as a distinct genre, and M. Christian's work is fuel for this internal debate. In The Hope of Cinnamon, a future society rescues gay victims from Nazi death camps and brings them forward in time to a sanctuary. Gen, one of the Helpers who works to integrate the Rescued into their new home finds out that few of the Rescued successfully survive the transition. He decides to travel back in time to experience the death camps for himself so that he will have a better understanding of why the Rescued fail to thrive in a society that fully accepts them. While this story does touch on sex and sexuality, it is a great example of speculative fiction that prompts further examination of our time and how current and future gay generations need to be aware of the history of gay culture and see it in proper historical perspective instead of viewing it, and judging, through hindsight.
As much as I hate the term coming-of-age tale, Utter West is a near-future story that shows a character coming of age, and more. Pony is the narrator's hero, the one who escaped their suburban hell and went beyond it to something wonderful and mystical - or so the narrator wants to believe. Unaware that he's destroying the beautiful myth that's grown around his disappearance, Pony comes back as an ordinary adult, prompting the narrator to break free and take the journey Pony failed to make into the beyond of the Utter West.
If noir is more your style, enjoy M. Christian's homage to Sunset Boulevard,
Hollywood Boulevard, or sink into the corner pocket of the night world of pool hustlers in The Hard Way. That Sweet Smell is really the scent of corruption, but keep telling yourself it's success, because in this story, that delusion is all the narrator has to cling to.
Moby is purely tall tale, told with the flair of real yarn-spinner. Could anyone stink that much, be that cussedly mean, or be that hung? It's all in the telling - joyously and outrageously over the top.
Or maybe you're in the mood for bittersweet romance and love. Flyboy is the soaring romance we all long for, crashed down to earth by the military's Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. And Love is a writer's story, about how much it means to us when our stories are wanted, and how hard it is to separate the pure love of acceptance from the physical.
And then there's horror. Friday Night at the Calvary Hotel is the hardest story to read in this collection for it's intense mix of sadism, masochism, religious imagery and sex. Stories like that cling to you long after you've put the book down. You decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I like that. Suddenly, Last Thursday is horror of a different stripe - lush and gothic, where you might have to read a line several times before your brain accepts what it's telling you. That slow dawning of realization is delicious and shivery.
In the movie Sunset Boulevard, Joe Gillis says, "Sometimes it's interesting to see just how bad bad writing can be." Yes, but it's gratifying to see just how good good writing can be too. It's unfortunate that erotic writing has a reputation for bad writing, but sit down with this collection and let M. Christian change that prejudice.
I'm torn over the idea of erotica as a distinct genre, and M. Christian's work is fuel for this internal debate. In The Hope of Cinnamon, a future society rescues gay victims from Nazi death camps and brings them forward in time to a sanctuary. Gen, one of the Helpers who works to integrate the Rescued into their new home finds out that few of the Rescued successfully survive the transition. He decides to travel back in time to experience the death camps for himself so that he will have a better understanding of why the Rescued fail to thrive in a society that fully accepts them. While this story does touch on sex and sexuality, it is a great example of speculative fiction that prompts further examination of our time and how current and future gay generations need to be aware of the history of gay culture and see it in proper historical perspective instead of viewing it, and judging, through hindsight.
As much as I hate the term coming-of-age tale, Utter West is a near-future story that shows a character coming of age, and more. Pony is the narrator's hero, the one who escaped their suburban hell and went beyond it to something wonderful and mystical - or so the narrator wants to believe. Unaware that he's destroying the beautiful myth that's grown around his disappearance, Pony comes back as an ordinary adult, prompting the narrator to break free and take the journey Pony failed to make into the beyond of the Utter West.
If noir is more your style, enjoy M. Christian's homage to Sunset Boulevard,
Hollywood Boulevard, or sink into the corner pocket of the night world of pool hustlers in The Hard Way. That Sweet Smell is really the scent of corruption, but keep telling yourself it's success, because in this story, that delusion is all the narrator has to cling to.
Moby is purely tall tale, told with the flair of real yarn-spinner. Could anyone stink that much, be that cussedly mean, or be that hung? It's all in the telling - joyously and outrageously over the top.
Or maybe you're in the mood for bittersweet romance and love. Flyboy is the soaring romance we all long for, crashed down to earth by the military's Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. And Love is a writer's story, about how much it means to us when our stories are wanted, and how hard it is to separate the pure love of acceptance from the physical.
And then there's horror. Friday Night at the Calvary Hotel is the hardest story to read in this collection for it's intense mix of sadism, masochism, religious imagery and sex. Stories like that cling to you long after you've put the book down. You decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I like that. Suddenly, Last Thursday is horror of a different stripe - lush and gothic, where you might have to read a line several times before your brain accepts what it's telling you. That slow dawning of realization is delicious and shivery.
In the movie Sunset Boulevard, Joe Gillis says, "Sometimes it's interesting to see just how bad bad writing can be." Yes, but it's gratifying to see just how good good writing can be too. It's unfortunate that erotic writing has a reputation for bad writing, but sit down with this collection and let M. Christian change that prejudice.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Oh Man
I've over-committed my time, something I hate to do because I have
strong feelings about keeping my word once I've given it. I have a
thousand things to do and time is ticking away on deadlines. I hate it
when I do this to myself. As addicted as I am to making lists, I think
if I chart everything out I'm going to get depressed.
So: nose, meet grindstone.
On the upside - I booked my hotel for Saints and Sinners and my flight. One item accomplished.
strong feelings about keeping my word once I've given it. I have a
thousand things to do and time is ticking away on deadlines. I hate it
when I do this to myself. As addicted as I am to making lists, I think
if I chart everything out I'm going to get depressed.
So: nose, meet grindstone.
On the upside - I booked my hotel for Saints and Sinners and my flight. One item accomplished.
Nobody Passes
No, this isn't my review. Just some comments on my thoughts.
As I've been reading this wonderful collection of essays, I've been thinking a lot about passing, and not passing.
In my life, other people have assumed that I'm Catholic, Jewish, Irish,
Persian, Russian, Mexican, Spanish, Italian, French, Greek, and
probably a host of other things that I wasn't aware of. Sometimes I
correct them. Usually I don't. It's not that I consciously try to blend
into my surroundings; it's more of a survival adaptation. Inlieu of disappearing entirely, I melt into the background.
You'd think that eventually, when they learned that I wasn't what they
thought, they'd be angry. Not so. But here's the funny part (funny to
me,because I have a perverse sense of humor). The only times my
authenticity has been challenged has been when I've opened up about who
and what I really am to members of theGBLT community. I wasn't
expecting a welcome gift basket, but the verbal abuse and hostility I
encountered every time floored me. And so I pass as a fag hag and let it go at
that, because I'm more welcome in that role than as myself. Go figure.
As I've been reading this wonderful collection of essays, I've been thinking a lot about passing, and not passing.
In my life, other people have assumed that I'm Catholic, Jewish, Irish,
Persian, Russian, Mexican, Spanish, Italian, French, Greek, and
probably a host of other things that I wasn't aware of. Sometimes I
correct them. Usually I don't. It's not that I consciously try to blend
into my surroundings; it's more of a survival adaptation. Inlieu of disappearing entirely, I melt into the background.
You'd think that eventually, when they learned that I wasn't what they
thought, they'd be angry. Not so. But here's the funny part (funny to
me,because I have a perverse sense of humor). The only times my
authenticity has been challenged has been when I've opened up about who
and what I really am to members of theGBLT community. I wasn't
expecting a welcome gift basket, but the verbal abuse and hostility I
encountered every time floored me. And so I pass as a fag hag and let it go at
that, because I'm more welcome in that role than as myself. Go figure.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Time To Crawl Off My Fainting Couch
I spent last weekend at EPICon and had a fantastic time. Finally got to meet Emily Veinglory - worth the price of admission and then some. I adore smart women. Also hooked up again with Jolie Du Pre - always a real pleasure. (another smart women) And spent tons of time - but not enough - with Helen Madden, who was nice enough to retrieve me from and take me back to the airport. In LA, that's a sign ofcommitment, baby! One of the most spirited conversations I had was with Laura Baumbach. Finally, a co-conspirator for an erotica writer's conference. By sheer force of willpower, Laura can make things happen.
My plane landed back in LA 40 minutes early, shoved here all the way from
Chicago by a strong tailwind. That's great news when you want to get
home more than anything on earth, but not so great when you're allergic
to everything that gets carried on the Santa Ana winds. Thus the long
swoon into my aubergene crushed velvet fainting couch. I needed a Diva moment. I thought I was soldiering on pretty well until Tuesday, when, in the middle of a due diligence meeting, the client's lawyer looked across the table at me and said, "Are you sure you don't want to continue this another day?"
*Hack. Wheeze.* "No, I'm fine, really. It's just allergies." *gasp for breath. dab watering eyes.*
Last night, the winds changed. Once the onshore flow cleared out the air, it only took about two hours to feel slightly human again. Every time I cough though, I feel like my ribs are broken.
But enough whining. I'm off the couch and my Diva moment is over.
The great thing about travelling is the chance to read. I read M.
Christian's new collection of short stories, Filthy, which I'll be
reviewing very soon, on the flight out to Virginia. I watched the
sunrise over the Atlantic two mornings in a row as I read Love, Bourbon
Street (review pending) and on the way back I read most of Nobody
Passes (I would have finished if I would have had the extra 40 minutes). So - reviews coming soon, and I promise no more blabbing about my sinuses or ribs.
My plane landed back in LA 40 minutes early, shoved here all the way from
Chicago by a strong tailwind. That's great news when you want to get
home more than anything on earth, but not so great when you're allergic
to everything that gets carried on the Santa Ana winds. Thus the long
swoon into my aubergene crushed velvet fainting couch. I needed a Diva moment. I thought I was soldiering on pretty well until Tuesday, when, in the middle of a due diligence meeting, the client's lawyer looked across the table at me and said, "Are you sure you don't want to continue this another day?"
*Hack. Wheeze.* "No, I'm fine, really. It's just allergies." *gasp for breath. dab watering eyes.*
Last night, the winds changed. Once the onshore flow cleared out the air, it only took about two hours to feel slightly human again. Every time I cough though, I feel like my ribs are broken.
But enough whining. I'm off the couch and my Diva moment is over.
The great thing about travelling is the chance to read. I read M.
Christian's new collection of short stories, Filthy, which I'll be
reviewing very soon, on the flight out to Virginia. I watched the
sunrise over the Atlantic two mornings in a row as I read Love, Bourbon
Street (review pending) and on the way back I read most of Nobody
Passes (I would have finished if I would have had the extra 40 minutes). So - reviews coming soon, and I promise no more blabbing about my sinuses or ribs.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Just Got Back From EPICon
Buttmonkey, I saw this and thought of you.
Sunrise from the balcony in my hotel room.
At a signing. (I was along for moral support, or is that immoral support?) Seated: Timothy Kelly, CB Potts, Laura Baumbach, Lee Rowan. Standing: yours truly (and you thought you'd never see a picture of me) and unfortunately, I can't remember the name of the woman in green. (If you know, email me)
How could I resist that sign? (Again, Buttmonkey, it brought you to mind. Where are my cheesy grits, boy?)
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