A couple of days ago I got back from the New Jersey “Put Your Heart into a Book” conference and I have two things to say. First a huge thank you to the New Jersey Romance Writers for organizing such a great, well-run conference and for bringing in such wonderfully inspired writers like Karen Robards and Sherrilyn Kenyon – they truly do inspire you to keep on writing. Second I pitched and scored. Well, I should reference that by saying I’ve at least past first base. I have a number of publishers interested in reading the partial for my new dark, paranormal I’ve called The Ungodlies: The Damned Fairy.
Now I’m fairly new at pitching and I confess that I didn’t have my pitch written or nailed down. So immediately I went to a workshop called “How to pitch” where I almost died on the spot. One line or three – that’s it. That’s all the time before an editor will tune out. I went back upstairs to my room, stared at a blank wall for a good ten minutes and then bang it came to me, so I wrote it down on my index cards before I forgot it. I also made sure to bring my index cards with me because it’s very nerve wracking to pitch to an editor.
Here’s my pitch for The Ungodlies: The Damned Fairy: Vile creatures called the Decies once set free will suck the life-force out of every being on Earth and in Tir Nan Og. But not if Einion, the damned fairy, gets his way. It’s a shame too because all he really wanted to do was die for good. Exiled, cursed and damned to Earth by his Tuatha Dé Danann Queen, Einion knows the real meaning of bitch. Women like the Decies can’t be reasoned with. Try telling that to a half-Tuatha, half-Druid woman when she’s on her knees begging for it. The Ungodlies is a dark, paranormal at 93,000 words.
Since I also had time I decided to pitch my new book I’m working on. Hell Bent: The Angel of Fire: Fallen angels are being recruited to join Lucifer’s Apostles army. Will Nathaniel, the Angel of Fire, become unlucky thirteen? After all The Almighty just ripped his wings off to teach him a lesson in humanity. Still though can Nathaniel keep his virginity in tact when the tempting hands of passion cause his wings to grow back? Either way he’s damned. Hell Bent is a dark, paranormal about 60,000 words.
Since I’ve come home I’ve been reviewing my work like mad, and re-reading everything out loud – amazing all the things you catch when you hear yourself speak. I’m very excited about the opportunity to share my work with publishers and my fingers are crossed that one will like my voice. Again, a huge thank you to the NJ romance writers.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
World Building and Why It’s Important for all Genres(plus a writing exercise for the keen)
Phase I: Everyone builds worlds
It doesn’t matter if you write contemporary, historical, chick-lit, suspense, mystery, or paranormal, world building is key to your book. It sets the date, time, place, and scene usually within the first few chapters. Why? Because you want to draw the reader into the world you are creating.
Example: A Love So Fierce, by Joanna McGauran, published by Dell Books (historical)
Opening chapter 1: Picardy, October 1349
Adam Dunbarton, second son of the Baron Bruce Dunbarton of Castle on Tyne in Northumbria, had journeyed down to London to cross the English Channel to claim his betrothed bride, and now, some days past the middle of October, he had landed in the English-held port of Calais.
At another time, the city of Calais, with its pretty girls and the gaiety of its entertainments, was well worth a day’s visit, even for a man on such a mission. But for the second summer and fall, the terrible plague known as the Black Death had raged through its crowded waterfront and cobbled streets…..
Well what did we learn as a reader? The place (Picardy) the date (October 1349) and we know it’s historical by the description of the port, Black Death, cobbled streets. We also know his mission – to get his betrothed bride. You also get the feeling that by the use of the words “English-held port of Calais” that a war either just took place or is still taking place.
Example: Rapture by Renee Field, published by Cerridwen Press, release date September 27, 2007.
Chapter 1 – mid-way
Not once had Seth touched the offered whiskey after his first taste of it a decade ago. Not that the old man minded. Said he didn’t like to drink alone and it was simply bad manners not to offer up a drink to a friend. Seth left it at that.
Later when Jack would waddle bow-legged down to the shore and haul his old bones into his beloved dory, Seth would pour the drink down the sink and wash out the cup. If he still followed the old ways, he’d have offered the drink to one of the gods. Not anymore.
The fact that old Jack was the only one Seth allowed on his property to somewhat befriend him gave the old man something to do. Not that Seth thought he could actually get rid of the old geezer, unless he resorted to his old tricks. No, Seth knew Jack’s days were lonely and for the past ten years that was something he came to understand all too well. That, more than anything, was why he had allowed the old man his customary monthly visit.
Today, knowing Jack had rowed across the bay to make sure he was okay gave him pause. A gust of wind told Seth that wasn’t wise.
Forcing his body to move three more steps, he watched as Jack got up to test the wind.
“She’s gonna be a big one. You remember the last big one we had around here. Felt as if old Poseidon was stirring up the water with one of those fork thingys…”
Seth choked on that image. Fork thingy isn’t what I’d call it. He tried hard not to give in to a chuckle.
“We lost some fifteen boats that year. Wait a sec…wasn’t that about the same time you came here?” The not-so-innocent look wasn’t missed by Seth.
As always, he said nothing. He remembered that night well. His fury had matched the seas, acting like a blanket, comforting him with the knowledge that it too was mad with the decision that had been forced upon him.
Rolling his shoulders to get a knot out, he strained again under the weight of the rope, thinking he should have built a smaller vessel. Two more feet and she should be safe.
Seth knew he was in for a long night. It wasn’t the coming hurricane that would keep him awake. It was the pull of the sea he’d have to fight with every ounce of his willpower. It was times like this he cursed himself.
“You’d think after a decade with us, Seth, you’d learn to communicate a bit more,” said old Jack, standing on shaky legs. “Anyway, just came to see ya. Oh yeah, there’s some rich dude docked at the government wharf asking about you. You know he’s the spittin’ image of you, almost,” said Jack, spitting out a wad of the tobacco he’d stuffed in his mouth.
Seth knew what the almost referred to. A scar like his wasn’t easy to hide, not that he cared or even tried.
What did we learn? Immediately the reader senses this is a paranormal romance. The reference Seth makes to the gods and Poseidon help to alert the reader to their significant. Also, the reader learns that Seth has been banished to the land for a decade and that he’s scared. These are questions that will help to entice the reader to continue reading. The reader also knows for the language that it’s a contemporary novel.
Two very different examples, but each set the time, date and place right off the bat. They came out swinging. They wanted to grip the reader and immediately make them realize what type of world they would be reading.
Strange writing exercise that makes you go “what the*@*@” but works:
I want you to use your horoscope sign. If you’re a Gemini use that and if you’re a Sagittarius use that. Now, it’s up to you to determine how to use your sign. You can ascribe your sign to be a place/person/moon etc. You have ten minutes to write your opening scene, at least two paragraphs and I would like you to add at least one character’s name (you get to make that up) and place them in that scene. From this you will set the tone, so keep that in mind.
It doesn’t matter if you write contemporary, historical, chick-lit, suspense, mystery, or paranormal, world building is key to your book. It sets the date, time, place, and scene usually within the first few chapters. Why? Because you want to draw the reader into the world you are creating.
Example: A Love So Fierce, by Joanna McGauran, published by Dell Books (historical)
Opening chapter 1: Picardy, October 1349
Adam Dunbarton, second son of the Baron Bruce Dunbarton of Castle on Tyne in Northumbria, had journeyed down to London to cross the English Channel to claim his betrothed bride, and now, some days past the middle of October, he had landed in the English-held port of Calais.
At another time, the city of Calais, with its pretty girls and the gaiety of its entertainments, was well worth a day’s visit, even for a man on such a mission. But for the second summer and fall, the terrible plague known as the Black Death had raged through its crowded waterfront and cobbled streets…..
Well what did we learn as a reader? The place (Picardy) the date (October 1349) and we know it’s historical by the description of the port, Black Death, cobbled streets. We also know his mission – to get his betrothed bride. You also get the feeling that by the use of the words “English-held port of Calais” that a war either just took place or is still taking place.
Example: Rapture by Renee Field, published by Cerridwen Press, release date September 27, 2007.
Chapter 1 – mid-way
Not once had Seth touched the offered whiskey after his first taste of it a decade ago. Not that the old man minded. Said he didn’t like to drink alone and it was simply bad manners not to offer up a drink to a friend. Seth left it at that.
Later when Jack would waddle bow-legged down to the shore and haul his old bones into his beloved dory, Seth would pour the drink down the sink and wash out the cup. If he still followed the old ways, he’d have offered the drink to one of the gods. Not anymore.
The fact that old Jack was the only one Seth allowed on his property to somewhat befriend him gave the old man something to do. Not that Seth thought he could actually get rid of the old geezer, unless he resorted to his old tricks. No, Seth knew Jack’s days were lonely and for the past ten years that was something he came to understand all too well. That, more than anything, was why he had allowed the old man his customary monthly visit.
Today, knowing Jack had rowed across the bay to make sure he was okay gave him pause. A gust of wind told Seth that wasn’t wise.
Forcing his body to move three more steps, he watched as Jack got up to test the wind.
“She’s gonna be a big one. You remember the last big one we had around here. Felt as if old Poseidon was stirring up the water with one of those fork thingys…”
Seth choked on that image. Fork thingy isn’t what I’d call it. He tried hard not to give in to a chuckle.
“We lost some fifteen boats that year. Wait a sec…wasn’t that about the same time you came here?” The not-so-innocent look wasn’t missed by Seth.
As always, he said nothing. He remembered that night well. His fury had matched the seas, acting like a blanket, comforting him with the knowledge that it too was mad with the decision that had been forced upon him.
Rolling his shoulders to get a knot out, he strained again under the weight of the rope, thinking he should have built a smaller vessel. Two more feet and she should be safe.
Seth knew he was in for a long night. It wasn’t the coming hurricane that would keep him awake. It was the pull of the sea he’d have to fight with every ounce of his willpower. It was times like this he cursed himself.
“You’d think after a decade with us, Seth, you’d learn to communicate a bit more,” said old Jack, standing on shaky legs. “Anyway, just came to see ya. Oh yeah, there’s some rich dude docked at the government wharf asking about you. You know he’s the spittin’ image of you, almost,” said Jack, spitting out a wad of the tobacco he’d stuffed in his mouth.
Seth knew what the almost referred to. A scar like his wasn’t easy to hide, not that he cared or even tried.
What did we learn? Immediately the reader senses this is a paranormal romance. The reference Seth makes to the gods and Poseidon help to alert the reader to their significant. Also, the reader learns that Seth has been banished to the land for a decade and that he’s scared. These are questions that will help to entice the reader to continue reading. The reader also knows for the language that it’s a contemporary novel.
Two very different examples, but each set the time, date and place right off the bat. They came out swinging. They wanted to grip the reader and immediately make them realize what type of world they would be reading.
Strange writing exercise that makes you go “what the*@*@” but works:
I want you to use your horoscope sign. If you’re a Gemini use that and if you’re a Sagittarius use that. Now, it’s up to you to determine how to use your sign. You can ascribe your sign to be a place/person/moon etc. You have ten minutes to write your opening scene, at least two paragraphs and I would like you to add at least one character’s name (you get to make that up) and place them in that scene. From this you will set the tone, so keep that in mind.
Phase II: Paying Attention to Detail
Okay, you’ve established your world – you’ve set the time, place and now what you’re asking yourself, well, what makes it stand out. It’s the small things. It’s the paying attention to detail that will make your world, again whether it’s contemporary, historical, chick-lit, suspense, mystery or paranormal – small things matter when you build your world.
Example: Animal Farm by George Orwell, published by Penguin Books
Moses, who was Mr. Jones especial pet, was a spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy Mountain, to which all animals went when they died. It was situated somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Moses said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew on the hedges.
What are the small details that Moses, the spy talks about? Sugarcandy Mountain – which is paradise/heaven to the animals is what makes this believable. Orwell takes two sentences to aptly describe this make-believe place. Why? Because the reader needs to visualize it and believe it. If the reader can’t believe the lure of Sugarcandy Mountain, they will either stop reading or get frustrated.
Example: The Dream-Hunter by Sherrilyn Kenyon, published by St. Martin’s Paperback.
There were two items. One appeared to be a komboloi – a string of worry beads similar in style to a small rosary that some Greeks used when stressed, only she’d never seen anything like this before. The age and design of it appeared to predate any form of komboloi she’d ever heard of. It had fifteen iridescent green beads made of some unknown stone that had been carved with tiny intricate family scenes of people wearing clothes unlike any she’d seen before in her research. The carvings were interspersed with five gold beads that were engraved with three lightning bolts piercing a sun.
(later on…)
Her heart pounding, she turned the largest coin over to look at the back. There was the same foreign symbol that marked the komboloi. A sun pierced by three lightning bolts. And with it were the unknown words on top of the Greek: May Apollymi protect us.
What did we learn? We learned that the komboloi is different enough to make us wonder is there more to this artifact. We learned that the symbolism on the komboloi is also used on the large coin our character finds, which starts her heart to accelerate. Why? There is never such thing as a coincidence in a book, it’s there for a purpose – the reader has to keep reading (hence the mystery is set) to figure out the why of things.
When building worlds things have to work. If our above author had used the word komboloi to describe a modern watch, we wouldn’t get it. If Orwell used the phrase Sugarcandy Mountain to mean the slaughter house, the tone would be something else entirely. These are the small points to consider when building your world.
Phase III: Making up words in your world.
Now, if you’re writing contemporary or historical this might be difficult but not impossible. Think back to our first example when the author referenced the Black Death. Your character could decide to call it something that is both made-up but personal. Even paranormal authors who make up words need to explain them. You might understand your word but your reader won’t unless you place it in context.
Example: In Rapture I made up a number of words so the reader knew it was paranormal. I created canine-sea creatures called Tartahounds.
Twice in two days an undersea rupture from the bowels of the Earth had spewed forth a dozen of Hades’ legionnaires and their demonic Tartahounds. Close to four centuries ago, Hades had tried to overtake the undersea kingdom, believing it was his right to overthrow Oceanus’ children. It had taken a massive counterattack with all the Titan leaders from the seven seas working together to finally defeat Hades. However the toll had been enormous.
The legionnaires were deadly with their vapor assaults, but the Tartahounds were even more lethal. With a body the shape of an electric eel and its three canine heads, Tartahounds were blind and relied on their ability to scent their prey. One bite and their poisonous venom could render a Titan warrior unconscious.
And throughout I used the word mardom to refer to his people—the Titans and Sirens of the North Seas.
Example: Throughout Christine Feehan’s Dark anthology she uses the word Carpathian.
In Dark Gold, her character very early on recounts the following. “Without his mate, a Carpathian male lost all wants, needs, emotions after two hundred years. He lived in an abyss, void, and from that moment on he was at risk of turning vampire. The longer he survived, as the centuries passed, the Carpathian distanced himself more and more from his community and all it stood for. Only two things could save him from his empty, desperate fate. He could choose to meet the dawn and end his life, or a miracle might happen and he would find his lifemate.”
We learn immediately that Carpathians are another species. We also learn they have a problem—they need to find a lifemate to feel emotions, or they chance turning into a vampire. Thus the premise of all her Dark books.
Writing exercise II: Grab hold of the nearest item/object. I want you to make up a name for that item and going back to your first writing exercise now create a scene using your item. Don’t forget you will need to explain what it is, the relevance to the story/character it portrays. You have 10 minutes. Then I want you to keep that piece of paper.
Writing exercise III: Adding scent/texture to your scene. The first scent I want you to add to a new scene is sulphur – and keep in mind, depending on the world you’ve created sulphur could be a pretty smell with aphrodisiac, medicinal, hallucinogenic properties or stink to the heavens. Then give that scent texture.
Okay, you’ve established your world – you’ve set the time, place and now what you’re asking yourself, well, what makes it stand out. It’s the small things. It’s the paying attention to detail that will make your world, again whether it’s contemporary, historical, chick-lit, suspense, mystery or paranormal – small things matter when you build your world.
Example: Animal Farm by George Orwell, published by Penguin Books
Moses, who was Mr. Jones especial pet, was a spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy Mountain, to which all animals went when they died. It was situated somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Moses said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew on the hedges.
What are the small details that Moses, the spy talks about? Sugarcandy Mountain – which is paradise/heaven to the animals is what makes this believable. Orwell takes two sentences to aptly describe this make-believe place. Why? Because the reader needs to visualize it and believe it. If the reader can’t believe the lure of Sugarcandy Mountain, they will either stop reading or get frustrated.
Example: The Dream-Hunter by Sherrilyn Kenyon, published by St. Martin’s Paperback.
There were two items. One appeared to be a komboloi – a string of worry beads similar in style to a small rosary that some Greeks used when stressed, only she’d never seen anything like this before. The age and design of it appeared to predate any form of komboloi she’d ever heard of. It had fifteen iridescent green beads made of some unknown stone that had been carved with tiny intricate family scenes of people wearing clothes unlike any she’d seen before in her research. The carvings were interspersed with five gold beads that were engraved with three lightning bolts piercing a sun.
(later on…)
Her heart pounding, she turned the largest coin over to look at the back. There was the same foreign symbol that marked the komboloi. A sun pierced by three lightning bolts. And with it were the unknown words on top of the Greek: May Apollymi protect us.
What did we learn? We learned that the komboloi is different enough to make us wonder is there more to this artifact. We learned that the symbolism on the komboloi is also used on the large coin our character finds, which starts her heart to accelerate. Why? There is never such thing as a coincidence in a book, it’s there for a purpose – the reader has to keep reading (hence the mystery is set) to figure out the why of things.
When building worlds things have to work. If our above author had used the word komboloi to describe a modern watch, we wouldn’t get it. If Orwell used the phrase Sugarcandy Mountain to mean the slaughter house, the tone would be something else entirely. These are the small points to consider when building your world.
Phase III: Making up words in your world.
Now, if you’re writing contemporary or historical this might be difficult but not impossible. Think back to our first example when the author referenced the Black Death. Your character could decide to call it something that is both made-up but personal. Even paranormal authors who make up words need to explain them. You might understand your word but your reader won’t unless you place it in context.
Example: In Rapture I made up a number of words so the reader knew it was paranormal. I created canine-sea creatures called Tartahounds.
Twice in two days an undersea rupture from the bowels of the Earth had spewed forth a dozen of Hades’ legionnaires and their demonic Tartahounds. Close to four centuries ago, Hades had tried to overtake the undersea kingdom, believing it was his right to overthrow Oceanus’ children. It had taken a massive counterattack with all the Titan leaders from the seven seas working together to finally defeat Hades. However the toll had been enormous.
The legionnaires were deadly with their vapor assaults, but the Tartahounds were even more lethal. With a body the shape of an electric eel and its three canine heads, Tartahounds were blind and relied on their ability to scent their prey. One bite and their poisonous venom could render a Titan warrior unconscious.
And throughout I used the word mardom to refer to his people—the Titans and Sirens of the North Seas.
Example: Throughout Christine Feehan’s Dark anthology she uses the word Carpathian.
In Dark Gold, her character very early on recounts the following. “Without his mate, a Carpathian male lost all wants, needs, emotions after two hundred years. He lived in an abyss, void, and from that moment on he was at risk of turning vampire. The longer he survived, as the centuries passed, the Carpathian distanced himself more and more from his community and all it stood for. Only two things could save him from his empty, desperate fate. He could choose to meet the dawn and end his life, or a miracle might happen and he would find his lifemate.”
We learn immediately that Carpathians are another species. We also learn they have a problem—they need to find a lifemate to feel emotions, or they chance turning into a vampire. Thus the premise of all her Dark books.
Writing exercise II: Grab hold of the nearest item/object. I want you to make up a name for that item and going back to your first writing exercise now create a scene using your item. Don’t forget you will need to explain what it is, the relevance to the story/character it portrays. You have 10 minutes. Then I want you to keep that piece of paper.
Writing exercise III: Adding scent/texture to your scene. The first scent I want you to add to a new scene is sulphur – and keep in mind, depending on the world you’ve created sulphur could be a pretty smell with aphrodisiac, medicinal, hallucinogenic properties or stink to the heavens. Then give that scent texture.
Example:The metallic sulphur smell radiated out toward the town, distilling orange pebbled rain the size of golf balls. Everyone ran for cover.
Conclusion:
Everyone world builds to create a novel. And writers need to pay attention to the small details to make the world believable. Using made up words can add a new dimension to your world but always clarify what the word means and the context to the story. Giving texture to your world gives it layers and can conjure up immediate happy memories or dark painful ones depending on what the writer wants to achieve.
I always map out my worlds because I either write paranormal or fantasy, but even if you have a modern setting you need to do research. For me, I keep a list of index cards with made up words, their meaning and relevance to the story or characters I’ve created. That’s my little trick to keep things organized and straight in my head.
Check out: “Fantasy World building Questions” prepared by Patricia C. Wrede, copyright 1996 (www.sfwa.org/writing/worldbuilding2.htm) She provides a comprehensive list of questions one should consider when making up worlds. The World Builder Project page (www.hiddenaway.tripod.com/world) will link you with more research material. Good luck!
Conclusion:
Everyone world builds to create a novel. And writers need to pay attention to the small details to make the world believable. Using made up words can add a new dimension to your world but always clarify what the word means and the context to the story. Giving texture to your world gives it layers and can conjure up immediate happy memories or dark painful ones depending on what the writer wants to achieve.
I always map out my worlds because I either write paranormal or fantasy, but even if you have a modern setting you need to do research. For me, I keep a list of index cards with made up words, their meaning and relevance to the story or characters I’ve created. That’s my little trick to keep things organized and straight in my head.
Check out: “Fantasy World building Questions” prepared by Patricia C. Wrede, copyright 1996 (www.sfwa.org/writing/worldbuilding2.htm) She provides a comprehensive list of questions one should consider when making up worlds. The World Builder Project page (www.hiddenaway.tripod.com/world) will link you with more research material. Good luck!
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
For the Love of September
September! I know many of you (including me) are doing a happy dance that school has once again started. I have mixed emotions. On the one hand I’m thrilled to have some quiet time to get my writing done without having to pull those dreadful all-nighters, but on the other hand I hate the fact that with the onslaught of September fall is around the corner and here in the Maritimes we go quickly from fall to winter and that I really don’t like. But let me tell you what I truly love about September.
I find September to be the most romantic time of the year. Why? Maybe it has to do with those crisp, cool days. Think of lovers walking hand-in-hand, snuggling up close to get warm in the evenings, lighting the fireplace and all those special moments cuddled under a blanket while watching all those great new TV shows that air in September. And, yes I am officially counting down for my show – Heroes!!! Can’t wait!
So what else about September makes it romantic? I think it’s the light. When I wake up in the morning the sunlight is fresh and crisp and filters off the ground with this very powerful feeling that the Earth is moving with the season. Okay, enough of me trying to be poetic.
So what else makes September special? For me I like to get out those cookbooks that collect dust on my bookshelf and flip through them with a vow to try some new recipes for the fall. I especially love that with September comes October and who couldn’t love Halloween.
Oh, and who couldn’t love my new sensual mainstream romance book debuts this September 27. Rapture, a Titan myth comes true debuts with Cerridwen Press very, very soon.
So what makes September special for you? I’d love to hear from you. Let me know what you “really” think about September.
I find September to be the most romantic time of the year. Why? Maybe it has to do with those crisp, cool days. Think of lovers walking hand-in-hand, snuggling up close to get warm in the evenings, lighting the fireplace and all those special moments cuddled under a blanket while watching all those great new TV shows that air in September. And, yes I am officially counting down for my show – Heroes!!! Can’t wait!
So what else about September makes it romantic? I think it’s the light. When I wake up in the morning the sunlight is fresh and crisp and filters off the ground with this very powerful feeling that the Earth is moving with the season. Okay, enough of me trying to be poetic.
So what else makes September special? For me I like to get out those cookbooks that collect dust on my bookshelf and flip through them with a vow to try some new recipes for the fall. I especially love that with September comes October and who couldn’t love Halloween.
Oh, and who couldn’t love my new sensual mainstream romance book debuts this September 27. Rapture, a Titan myth comes true debuts with Cerridwen Press very, very soon.
So what makes September special for you? I’d love to hear from you. Let me know what you “really” think about September.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Sneak Peek at Love Me Tender
“I told you that I like them feisty,” snarled Tyrana. She eyed the four men lying on the plush red velvet pillows that encompassed the pleasure room. “Do they look feisty to you?”
“I told you before, Tyrana, none of them are feisty. We can’t even make them pretend to behave that way. What do you want me to do?” asked Sarah, with an exaggerated sigh of frustration.
Sarah was her most trusted friend. She engaged in all of Tyrana’s wicked sexual romps, but none of it was fun anymore. None of it held any meaning to her. She had rutted with close to a hundred Maida men, only once though. That was her cardinal rule that she held firm to. Not that it mattered anymore.
Her life felt empty, without purpose, and she was weary to death of it all.
Learning that her sister, Rowena, was fertile had left her feeling hollow. It was as if her very own little sister had kicked her in the gut. The white-hot envy that had sprung to the surface scared Tyrana. Why her? It was a thought she couldn’t discard.
Why is it my sister, the favorite one, the self-described workaholic, is the one who ends up fertile? That question circled in Tyrana’s mind like a repeating loop, making her feel slightly ill.
A loud groan from one of the men caused Tyrana to turn her attention back to the four men. All of the men were either stroking their shafts to entice her gaze or rubbing their stones. She rolled her eyes. Bored at the very sight, she turned and sauntered out of the room.
“You’re not going to fuck them?” asked Sarah, clearly amazed Tyrana had, for once, passed up the chance to fornicate.
In truth, so was she. Why bother. Why, by the Saints, should I when it no longer pleasures me. Maybe I’m coming down with that Castima flu. Tyrana tried hard to ascribe her strange feelings to something. Anything was better than realizing the lure of sex had lost its appeal to her.
Her sister would have laughed at that one. Sex no longer brought her the temporary relief she longed for. Striding down the long corridor, she vowed to stop her little self-pity act.
What exactly is the purpose of my life? It was a question she asked herself for the umpteenth time that day. It was a day like any other. The sun shone brightly. The sky was as blue and crystal clear as the still waters that surrounded All Saints Lake, but Tyrana felt unsettled. She yearned to lash out at something…anything, but she couldn’t.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” asked her mother, stepping out into the corridor.
Her mother wore the long, purple traditional Council robe, reminding Tyrana that her mother was Her Majesty, ruler of the Supreme High Fertility Council. It was a slap in the face that she’d never be offered a seat because, yet again, she didn’t measure up.
Brushing past her mother, she mouthed the word, “Out.”
“No, you are not. This is for you,” said her mother, handing her an envelope that had her name embossed in a bold fancy gold script.
When Tyrana made no move to take it, her mother tried another tactic.
“It’s from your sister. Be courteous, take it, read it and write to her,” she demanded, attempting to forcibly open Tyrana’s hand.
“I’m not interested,” she replied, letting the yellow-stained envelope fall like a rose petal to the floor. She resisted the urge to stomp on it. That would be too childish. She walked away as her mother swept down, picked up the envelope and gathered her flowing robe around her in a huff, but not before jabbing her with her usual parting words.
“Why can’t you be good for once, like your sister?” she snapped, opening the Council Chamber door to disappear inside.
There it was again. That good word. Tyrana had long ago taken that word out of her vocabulary. It had never fit her. It was never what the Blessed Mother Saint had in mind for her.
So the word good had been ditched and replaced with wicked, bad and naughty. Those were the words people used to describe her. Those were the words of comfort that kept her warm, cocooned like a fluffy blanket in the dark of the night. After all, on Maida, if you didn’t get the curse and become fertile, you weren’t “good” enough.
The funny thing was, she had always assumed that it would be Rowena, her science loving sister who would end up infertile—not her. But that was the crux of the problem facing all Maida women. The fertility curse chose women randomly.
The choice of motherhood wasn’t theirs. It had been taken away from them a long time ago by the men who had almost destroyed their world. It had been their radioactive weapons that had released the poisonous ions into the atmosphere, into the water, into the soil and, worse, into their genetic DNA —the material that made them what they were. Those were the words her sister spoke in passion. All Tyrana had cared about at one time in her life was pleasing her mother, having a child of her own and taking a seat on the Supreme High Fertility Council.
She huffed loudly. Not anymore. That dream had dissipated over five years ago when she finally mustered the courage to take the fertility test. There had always been a part of her that had held out hope over the accumulation of years that eventually she’d be hit with the curse. Turning twenty-eight years of age had been her awakening. Even though many Maida women went through the curse late in life, Tyrana knew on that blessed day that marked her birth that it wasn’t going to happen to her. To finally put an end to that kernel of hope, she’d undertaken the test. The red stain of the liquid inside the test tube had told her what her heart dreaded. She was infertile.
From that moment on, her life had changed. Her dreams had ended. She’d learned to live day to day, not expecting much. The devastation and keen knowledge that she was barren, that her womb would never nourish a baby, was a deep ache within her, which she kept to herself.
She wished she could have confided in her sister, but she hadn’t. Instead, she let the years wash by them, moving them emotionally further away from each other. At one time, she and Rowena had shared every secret together. But all that changed when Tyrana learned she was the infertile one. And then her sister became wrapped up in her own passion to find a cure for the fertility curse. Tyrana laughed. She had never viewed fertility as the dreadful curse. What was worse was being infertile, barren and unable to procreate to further the Maida race.
Knowing that her sister was about to be married and had probably already conceived a child carved a deep wide gulf through Tyrana’s heart. That baby should have been mine. Rowena never wanted a baby. Tyrana couldn’t cope with seeing Rowena at the moment. It was just too much to bear. That was why Tyrana ignored her sister’s letters.
Tyrana shook her head, clearing the useless emotional thoughts that threatened her control. With no destination in mind, she strode out the palace doors and walked across the well-manicured, vibrant green lawn. Looking back at the palace that was her childhood home, she was hit with a realization—she hated everything about it.
It was a sterile environment that had become her own prison—filled with no expectations of what she could do with her life, except live irresponsibly. It was a trap she felt she’d never escape from. Her heart thundered with that realization. Her sister would think she, Tyrana, known as the infertile one, had more freedom than her. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. There is no freedom when choice is taken from you.
Deep in thought, she continued to walk briskly away from the palace. A shout from behind stilled her.
“Get back! Get back! Look out!” shouted a Maida guard just as a man ran at lightning speed past her, almost toppling her to the ground.
Tyrana twirled around to maintain her balance. She saw out of the corner of her eye that the man had turned almost in slow motion to watch her. Then the guard grasped her arm.
“Get back, he’s not safe,” said the guard.
But Tyrana didn’t care what the guard had to say. She was interested in the man who had the nerve to grin mischievously at her and the audacity to boldly wink at her. What is he thinking?
What am I thinking? She studied his physique quickly, her eyes drawn to his mid-waist in the half a minute it took for him to run straight into the Dark Forest. He was at least two heads taller than her. He was broad of shoulder, with straight rust-colored hair that fell to his mid-back, a back that rippled with muscles gleaming from the high noon sun. And his ass. By the Saints, it had her salivating on the spot. Her pussy juices started to flow just with the image of his long shaft she had eyed with longing as he raced past her naked as the day he was born. Thoughts of his coppery, molten-looking skin left her feeling a hunger she couldn’t describe.
“He’s the man who’s been dropping off your sister’s letters. Your mother told us to capture him for more information as to her whereabouts. So far, we’ve had no luck. And there is no way I’m going into the Dark Forest,” said the Maida guardswoman, finally releasing her hold on Tyrana’s arm.
“He’s too fast for us, but what a chase,” she cackled. “Nothing like running in the hot noon sun with that ass in front of you.”
Again the guard chortled, trying to get Tyrana to share in the joke about the man’s ass gleaming in the sun. However, Tyrana was in no mood to play nice, especially if that meant sharing anything at all that had to do with the man who had sparked an intense heat in her throbbing core.
Then what the guardswoman said penetrated Tyrana’s brain. This man, this oh-so yummy want to fuck me ‘til I die man, has been in contact with my sister. By the Saints, Tyrana wanted him and meant to have him.
Brushing off the guardswoman, Tyrana strode forward for once taking her own future into her hands. While the warnings from the guardswoman were loud, Tyrana ignored them.
After all, she had heard them all before. Anyone who entered the Dark Forest never came out. Well, that myth was no longer true. Her sister had ventured into the forest and fallen in love with a man she was about to marry.
Then it will be babies and all that stuff. Tyrana hated that jealous ache that pitted itself deep within her when she thought of the life her sister got to live. It was a life she would never know. It was a part of being a woman she’d never discover.
It’s a burden anyway, she told herself, wishing that the yearning to have a baby of her own flesh would leave her. That desire was like a scab that painfully itched and blistered under her skin.
But here, Tyrana thought, was the perfect distraction—that man! A daring plan formed in her mind. She would track that man who knew where her sister was for her own purposes. She wanted him.
A fever the likes of which she had never experienced before caused her body to flush with desire simply thinking about that fine specimen of a man who had gamely winked at her. She wanted…no, needed to have that cock of his lodged deep within her wet pussy. Maybe if I fuck long and hard enough, I’ll forget about everything else.
That’s it! This man will be my cure. Just the thought of that feisty all-too-male coppery body at her beck and call, on his knees in front of her, caused her to grin in sweet anticipation. Tyrana vowed to all the Saints that she would get what she wanted this time, no matter what.
“I told you before, Tyrana, none of them are feisty. We can’t even make them pretend to behave that way. What do you want me to do?” asked Sarah, with an exaggerated sigh of frustration.
Sarah was her most trusted friend. She engaged in all of Tyrana’s wicked sexual romps, but none of it was fun anymore. None of it held any meaning to her. She had rutted with close to a hundred Maida men, only once though. That was her cardinal rule that she held firm to. Not that it mattered anymore.
Her life felt empty, without purpose, and she was weary to death of it all.
Learning that her sister, Rowena, was fertile had left her feeling hollow. It was as if her very own little sister had kicked her in the gut. The white-hot envy that had sprung to the surface scared Tyrana. Why her? It was a thought she couldn’t discard.
Why is it my sister, the favorite one, the self-described workaholic, is the one who ends up fertile? That question circled in Tyrana’s mind like a repeating loop, making her feel slightly ill.
A loud groan from one of the men caused Tyrana to turn her attention back to the four men. All of the men were either stroking their shafts to entice her gaze or rubbing their stones. She rolled her eyes. Bored at the very sight, she turned and sauntered out of the room.
“You’re not going to fuck them?” asked Sarah, clearly amazed Tyrana had, for once, passed up the chance to fornicate.
In truth, so was she. Why bother. Why, by the Saints, should I when it no longer pleasures me. Maybe I’m coming down with that Castima flu. Tyrana tried hard to ascribe her strange feelings to something. Anything was better than realizing the lure of sex had lost its appeal to her.
Her sister would have laughed at that one. Sex no longer brought her the temporary relief she longed for. Striding down the long corridor, she vowed to stop her little self-pity act.
What exactly is the purpose of my life? It was a question she asked herself for the umpteenth time that day. It was a day like any other. The sun shone brightly. The sky was as blue and crystal clear as the still waters that surrounded All Saints Lake, but Tyrana felt unsettled. She yearned to lash out at something…anything, but she couldn’t.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” asked her mother, stepping out into the corridor.
Her mother wore the long, purple traditional Council robe, reminding Tyrana that her mother was Her Majesty, ruler of the Supreme High Fertility Council. It was a slap in the face that she’d never be offered a seat because, yet again, she didn’t measure up.
Brushing past her mother, she mouthed the word, “Out.”
“No, you are not. This is for you,” said her mother, handing her an envelope that had her name embossed in a bold fancy gold script.
When Tyrana made no move to take it, her mother tried another tactic.
“It’s from your sister. Be courteous, take it, read it and write to her,” she demanded, attempting to forcibly open Tyrana’s hand.
“I’m not interested,” she replied, letting the yellow-stained envelope fall like a rose petal to the floor. She resisted the urge to stomp on it. That would be too childish. She walked away as her mother swept down, picked up the envelope and gathered her flowing robe around her in a huff, but not before jabbing her with her usual parting words.
“Why can’t you be good for once, like your sister?” she snapped, opening the Council Chamber door to disappear inside.
There it was again. That good word. Tyrana had long ago taken that word out of her vocabulary. It had never fit her. It was never what the Blessed Mother Saint had in mind for her.
So the word good had been ditched and replaced with wicked, bad and naughty. Those were the words people used to describe her. Those were the words of comfort that kept her warm, cocooned like a fluffy blanket in the dark of the night. After all, on Maida, if you didn’t get the curse and become fertile, you weren’t “good” enough.
The funny thing was, she had always assumed that it would be Rowena, her science loving sister who would end up infertile—not her. But that was the crux of the problem facing all Maida women. The fertility curse chose women randomly.
The choice of motherhood wasn’t theirs. It had been taken away from them a long time ago by the men who had almost destroyed their world. It had been their radioactive weapons that had released the poisonous ions into the atmosphere, into the water, into the soil and, worse, into their genetic DNA —the material that made them what they were. Those were the words her sister spoke in passion. All Tyrana had cared about at one time in her life was pleasing her mother, having a child of her own and taking a seat on the Supreme High Fertility Council.
She huffed loudly. Not anymore. That dream had dissipated over five years ago when she finally mustered the courage to take the fertility test. There had always been a part of her that had held out hope over the accumulation of years that eventually she’d be hit with the curse. Turning twenty-eight years of age had been her awakening. Even though many Maida women went through the curse late in life, Tyrana knew on that blessed day that marked her birth that it wasn’t going to happen to her. To finally put an end to that kernel of hope, she’d undertaken the test. The red stain of the liquid inside the test tube had told her what her heart dreaded. She was infertile.
From that moment on, her life had changed. Her dreams had ended. She’d learned to live day to day, not expecting much. The devastation and keen knowledge that she was barren, that her womb would never nourish a baby, was a deep ache within her, which she kept to herself.
She wished she could have confided in her sister, but she hadn’t. Instead, she let the years wash by them, moving them emotionally further away from each other. At one time, she and Rowena had shared every secret together. But all that changed when Tyrana learned she was the infertile one. And then her sister became wrapped up in her own passion to find a cure for the fertility curse. Tyrana laughed. She had never viewed fertility as the dreadful curse. What was worse was being infertile, barren and unable to procreate to further the Maida race.
Knowing that her sister was about to be married and had probably already conceived a child carved a deep wide gulf through Tyrana’s heart. That baby should have been mine. Rowena never wanted a baby. Tyrana couldn’t cope with seeing Rowena at the moment. It was just too much to bear. That was why Tyrana ignored her sister’s letters.
Tyrana shook her head, clearing the useless emotional thoughts that threatened her control. With no destination in mind, she strode out the palace doors and walked across the well-manicured, vibrant green lawn. Looking back at the palace that was her childhood home, she was hit with a realization—she hated everything about it.
It was a sterile environment that had become her own prison—filled with no expectations of what she could do with her life, except live irresponsibly. It was a trap she felt she’d never escape from. Her heart thundered with that realization. Her sister would think she, Tyrana, known as the infertile one, had more freedom than her. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. There is no freedom when choice is taken from you.
Deep in thought, she continued to walk briskly away from the palace. A shout from behind stilled her.
“Get back! Get back! Look out!” shouted a Maida guard just as a man ran at lightning speed past her, almost toppling her to the ground.
Tyrana twirled around to maintain her balance. She saw out of the corner of her eye that the man had turned almost in slow motion to watch her. Then the guard grasped her arm.
“Get back, he’s not safe,” said the guard.
But Tyrana didn’t care what the guard had to say. She was interested in the man who had the nerve to grin mischievously at her and the audacity to boldly wink at her. What is he thinking?
What am I thinking? She studied his physique quickly, her eyes drawn to his mid-waist in the half a minute it took for him to run straight into the Dark Forest. He was at least two heads taller than her. He was broad of shoulder, with straight rust-colored hair that fell to his mid-back, a back that rippled with muscles gleaming from the high noon sun. And his ass. By the Saints, it had her salivating on the spot. Her pussy juices started to flow just with the image of his long shaft she had eyed with longing as he raced past her naked as the day he was born. Thoughts of his coppery, molten-looking skin left her feeling a hunger she couldn’t describe.
“He’s the man who’s been dropping off your sister’s letters. Your mother told us to capture him for more information as to her whereabouts. So far, we’ve had no luck. And there is no way I’m going into the Dark Forest,” said the Maida guardswoman, finally releasing her hold on Tyrana’s arm.
“He’s too fast for us, but what a chase,” she cackled. “Nothing like running in the hot noon sun with that ass in front of you.”
Again the guard chortled, trying to get Tyrana to share in the joke about the man’s ass gleaming in the sun. However, Tyrana was in no mood to play nice, especially if that meant sharing anything at all that had to do with the man who had sparked an intense heat in her throbbing core.
Then what the guardswoman said penetrated Tyrana’s brain. This man, this oh-so yummy want to fuck me ‘til I die man, has been in contact with my sister. By the Saints, Tyrana wanted him and meant to have him.
Brushing off the guardswoman, Tyrana strode forward for once taking her own future into her hands. While the warnings from the guardswoman were loud, Tyrana ignored them.
After all, she had heard them all before. Anyone who entered the Dark Forest never came out. Well, that myth was no longer true. Her sister had ventured into the forest and fallen in love with a man she was about to marry.
Then it will be babies and all that stuff. Tyrana hated that jealous ache that pitted itself deep within her when she thought of the life her sister got to live. It was a life she would never know. It was a part of being a woman she’d never discover.
It’s a burden anyway, she told herself, wishing that the yearning to have a baby of her own flesh would leave her. That desire was like a scab that painfully itched and blistered under her skin.
But here, Tyrana thought, was the perfect distraction—that man! A daring plan formed in her mind. She would track that man who knew where her sister was for her own purposes. She wanted him.
A fever the likes of which she had never experienced before caused her body to flush with desire simply thinking about that fine specimen of a man who had gamely winked at her. She wanted…no, needed to have that cock of his lodged deep within her wet pussy. Maybe if I fuck long and hard enough, I’ll forget about everything else.
That’s it! This man will be my cure. Just the thought of that feisty all-too-male coppery body at her beck and call, on his knees in front of her, caused her to grin in sweet anticipation. Tyrana vowed to all the Saints that she would get what she wanted this time, no matter what.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Love Me Tender - 2 days and counting
Two days until Love Me Tender debuts with Ellora’s Cave (http://www.ellorascave.com/) and I can’t wait. Of course I did write it but Tyrana (that’s the heroine) was just screaming to tell her story after I wrote about her younger sibling Rowena in Love Me Wild. So, I finally decided to let her come out and play. I was able to contact her very briefly and here’s a bit of our interview.
Tyrana: Thanks so much Renee it’s such a joy to tell my tale. Especially after you decided to tell Rowena’s story first. Really, what were you thinking? Mine is much more interesting.
The women on your planet should consider themselves lucky. They don’t suffer from the fertility curse that afflicts us Maida women, all thanks to the men who thoughtlessly tried to destroy our planet, Alvaron with their weapons of mass destruction. Then again, I thought I heard that terminology being used in your media when I was researching your planet. Must be a coincidence.
First off let me say that had Rowena not taken off (oops, been kidnapped) I probably would have continued on with my dreary life, but when she became fertile things changed for me.
Renee: How did things change for you Tyrana, and how does the fertility curse work for Madia women?
Tyrana: Let me explain that fertility can be a curse and a blessing. If you become fertile you have days before you go insane unless you have sex and it’s the semen from the fertile men that’s the cure. However there’s a deadly catch to this quick fix for women. Once they have sex with a fertile Maida man the man is then passed the dreaded disease and yup, you guessed it, he dies. So far there’s no cure for the dreaded fertility curse. But the flip side of this is that if you don’t become fertile your status as a Maida woman changes. In my case when I realized I wasn’t going to be fertile it meant that I could never belong to the Supreme High Fertility Council which oversees Maida’s way of life. And then well let’s just say I had sex simply for the sex.
Renee: So, how did things change for you?
Tyrana: Honestly, I never thought things would change for me but then one day a man I had never seen before ran past me and it was like there was this instant change. I knew if I was going to change the path of my life this was it. I entered the forbidden Dark Forest and followed him. But he wasn’t easy to track and I’m sure if someone told me what I’d encounter, well I would have thought them crazy.
Renee: Can you tell us a little bit of what you encountered?
Tyrana: I think the best thing is for people to read the story, Renee. They say truth is stranger than fiction and in my case they are correct. Ohh, I’m going to have to go, Rusty’s got that look in his eyes again and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.
Renee: Thank you so much Tyrana for providing us with a small glimpse into your life.
Tyrana: Not a problem. I certainly hope you have more Madia tales to tell in the future, Renee.
Renee: One never knows, Tyrana. Take care.
Tyrana: Thanks so much Renee it’s such a joy to tell my tale. Especially after you decided to tell Rowena’s story first. Really, what were you thinking? Mine is much more interesting.
The women on your planet should consider themselves lucky. They don’t suffer from the fertility curse that afflicts us Maida women, all thanks to the men who thoughtlessly tried to destroy our planet, Alvaron with their weapons of mass destruction. Then again, I thought I heard that terminology being used in your media when I was researching your planet. Must be a coincidence.
First off let me say that had Rowena not taken off (oops, been kidnapped) I probably would have continued on with my dreary life, but when she became fertile things changed for me.
Renee: How did things change for you Tyrana, and how does the fertility curse work for Madia women?
Tyrana: Let me explain that fertility can be a curse and a blessing. If you become fertile you have days before you go insane unless you have sex and it’s the semen from the fertile men that’s the cure. However there’s a deadly catch to this quick fix for women. Once they have sex with a fertile Maida man the man is then passed the dreaded disease and yup, you guessed it, he dies. So far there’s no cure for the dreaded fertility curse. But the flip side of this is that if you don’t become fertile your status as a Maida woman changes. In my case when I realized I wasn’t going to be fertile it meant that I could never belong to the Supreme High Fertility Council which oversees Maida’s way of life. And then well let’s just say I had sex simply for the sex.
Renee: So, how did things change for you?
Tyrana: Honestly, I never thought things would change for me but then one day a man I had never seen before ran past me and it was like there was this instant change. I knew if I was going to change the path of my life this was it. I entered the forbidden Dark Forest and followed him. But he wasn’t easy to track and I’m sure if someone told me what I’d encounter, well I would have thought them crazy.
Renee: Can you tell us a little bit of what you encountered?
Tyrana: I think the best thing is for people to read the story, Renee. They say truth is stranger than fiction and in my case they are correct. Ohh, I’m going to have to go, Rusty’s got that look in his eyes again and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.
Renee: Thank you so much Tyrana for providing us with a small glimpse into your life.
Tyrana: Not a problem. I certainly hope you have more Madia tales to tell in the future, Renee.
Renee: One never knows, Tyrana. Take care.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
It’s Hard Writing Erotica
It’s hard writing erotica romance. Okay, everyone has permission to laugh out loud with that little tidbit. But in all seriousness, writing erotica means using sharp words (some would call crude or dirty words) that are essential to the story. The joy of reading erotica is that it should get you all hot and bothered in a good way. When I started writing erotica I found this great book by Susie Bright called, How to Write a Dirty Story.
Bright’s book made me laugh and take pride in the honesty behind those “dirty” words we all like to say, hear and even read.“You might be able to fake an orgasm, but you will never be able to fake your way through writing a sex scene. Every reader will know you’re a fraud. The biggest hurdle as an erotic writer is to write believably,” writes Bright, adding, “Erotica is harder than usual in this regard, because sex is such a touchy subject, and we have to overcome so much cynicism and consumer-oriented titillation.” Bingo! she’s dead on.
I honestly believe that to be a successful erotic writer, you personally need to thoroughly enjoy sex and the mechanics of how it works for both men and women. As a writer, you need to know when it’s suitable to use the word penis, cock, shaft, vagina, cunt or pussy. Do I get all hot and bothered with the word penis? Probably not, but sometimes even in an erotic story, that might not be the authors intent in the beginning.While vagina and penis conjure up a more medical description of that particular anatomy, write cock and cunt and you’ve probably snagged the reader's attention. More important than those hard “c” words, you need to have all the fundamental elements to a good story.
If you don’t have developed characters, plot, and tension between the hero and heroine, and use timing in your story to develop those luscious sex scenes, it simply won’t work, or it won’t read honestly. And sometimes that means making your sex scene rough, sweet or juicy. The key factor in erotica writing is the intensity of sex, the use of those “naughty” words to further one's imagination and how sex relates to the plot.
Writing a sex scene just for the sex won’t snag your reader. And that’s where we encounter the “hard” part of erotica writing.As an author you always need to ask yourself, “How does this sex scene relate to the story? Is it essential? Does it enable the reader to learn another aspect of a character? Does it leave the reader with an emotional-impact?" And if you can’t read your erotica writing out loud, then don’t write it. Or better yet, teach yourself the power of those naughty words. That was one lesson I took to heart from reading Bright’s book.
Bright writes that the goal of an erotica writer is, “To discover the sexual and aural power of speaking erotic prose, to test literature you’re unsure of. If it doesn’t work out loud, it’s not going to be successful for silent readers, either." To become as fluent speaking erotic language as you are writing it—one enhances the other. And after you finish, she writes, you’ll never believe again… “That erotica is meant to be private, that speaking verse and prose is a dull exercise, that reading aloud is only for actors, and that words can’t be sex.”
Bright’s book made me laugh and take pride in the honesty behind those “dirty” words we all like to say, hear and even read.“You might be able to fake an orgasm, but you will never be able to fake your way through writing a sex scene. Every reader will know you’re a fraud. The biggest hurdle as an erotic writer is to write believably,” writes Bright, adding, “Erotica is harder than usual in this regard, because sex is such a touchy subject, and we have to overcome so much cynicism and consumer-oriented titillation.” Bingo! she’s dead on.
I honestly believe that to be a successful erotic writer, you personally need to thoroughly enjoy sex and the mechanics of how it works for both men and women. As a writer, you need to know when it’s suitable to use the word penis, cock, shaft, vagina, cunt or pussy. Do I get all hot and bothered with the word penis? Probably not, but sometimes even in an erotic story, that might not be the authors intent in the beginning.While vagina and penis conjure up a more medical description of that particular anatomy, write cock and cunt and you’ve probably snagged the reader's attention. More important than those hard “c” words, you need to have all the fundamental elements to a good story.
If you don’t have developed characters, plot, and tension between the hero and heroine, and use timing in your story to develop those luscious sex scenes, it simply won’t work, or it won’t read honestly. And sometimes that means making your sex scene rough, sweet or juicy. The key factor in erotica writing is the intensity of sex, the use of those “naughty” words to further one's imagination and how sex relates to the plot.
Writing a sex scene just for the sex won’t snag your reader. And that’s where we encounter the “hard” part of erotica writing.As an author you always need to ask yourself, “How does this sex scene relate to the story? Is it essential? Does it enable the reader to learn another aspect of a character? Does it leave the reader with an emotional-impact?" And if you can’t read your erotica writing out loud, then don’t write it. Or better yet, teach yourself the power of those naughty words. That was one lesson I took to heart from reading Bright’s book.
Bright writes that the goal of an erotica writer is, “To discover the sexual and aural power of speaking erotic prose, to test literature you’re unsure of. If it doesn’t work out loud, it’s not going to be successful for silent readers, either." To become as fluent speaking erotic language as you are writing it—one enhances the other. And after you finish, she writes, you’ll never believe again… “That erotica is meant to be private, that speaking verse and prose is a dull exercise, that reading aloud is only for actors, and that words can’t be sex.”
Monday, August 6, 2007
I Got A Writing Grant!
The OMG thing happened to me the other day. I got a writing grant! I got a writing grant! I got a writing grant! I’m still chanting that happy reality over and over in my head. This fall from the sky money couldn’t have come up a better time – ahh, well it could have, but I’ll live. I’m thrilled and so excited and I can’t stop smiling, which is a good thing because if I’m happy so is my family.
For the past year I’ve been working on my new dark paranormal romance book I’ve called The Ungodlies:The Damned Fairy. It’s been a year writing a hard-ass guy with a chip on his shoulder who just wants to end his life, but can’t because the Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann’s (that’s the fairy queen for those of you not into the Celtic language) cursed him to Earth to live as a human. However every time he dies he gets painfully resurrected. And after a thousand years living on Earth he really just wants to die for good. Okay, that’s the premise of my book and I’m thrilled to announce that I’ve finally completed my final round of second edits – so Christine and Dave heads up (those are my critique partners) it’s coming your way. I’m feeling really excited about this new series I’m working on, so much so that I booked myself to attend the New Jersey’s romance conference in October where I plan to pitch my new series to three big US publishers. So, once again the money will certainly help.
Within days my second erotic novella Love Me Tender debuts with Ellora’s Cave (http://www.ellorascave.com/). This is the sequel to Love Me Wild and features Rowena’s sister Tyrana, that’s the one with the bad-girl attitude which makes for a sizzling hot read. I love my new cover, the most risqué by far for me – cause the guy has buns of steel – me snickering with glee on that one. And, just this morning I received my first edits for the co-authored book I wrote with Christine d’Abo called Sweet and Spicy Spells, which will be an Ellora’s Cave Halloween 2007 release. So things are moving along.
Ohh, I almost forgot that the group I joined called 6 Degrees of Sexy has it’s own official website (http://www.sixdegreesofsexy.com/) which will link you to our latest blogs. This has been a wonderful opportunity for me to join five other, very talented romance writers. We put on our thinking caps and we’ve decided to take a huge jump into the unknown. We’re going to each write a novella length story and tie it into one theme so we can launch our first 6SDoS anthology. Our goal is to have the stories finished by Dec 2007 so we’ll be sure to keep you posted on what they are and just how hot they get.
That’s it for now, folks. Please drop me a line. I love to hear from anyone.
Renee Field
www.reneefield.com
For the past year I’ve been working on my new dark paranormal romance book I’ve called The Ungodlies:The Damned Fairy. It’s been a year writing a hard-ass guy with a chip on his shoulder who just wants to end his life, but can’t because the Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann’s (that’s the fairy queen for those of you not into the Celtic language) cursed him to Earth to live as a human. However every time he dies he gets painfully resurrected. And after a thousand years living on Earth he really just wants to die for good. Okay, that’s the premise of my book and I’m thrilled to announce that I’ve finally completed my final round of second edits – so Christine and Dave heads up (those are my critique partners) it’s coming your way. I’m feeling really excited about this new series I’m working on, so much so that I booked myself to attend the New Jersey’s romance conference in October where I plan to pitch my new series to three big US publishers. So, once again the money will certainly help.
Within days my second erotic novella Love Me Tender debuts with Ellora’s Cave (http://www.ellorascave.com/). This is the sequel to Love Me Wild and features Rowena’s sister Tyrana, that’s the one with the bad-girl attitude which makes for a sizzling hot read. I love my new cover, the most risqué by far for me – cause the guy has buns of steel – me snickering with glee on that one. And, just this morning I received my first edits for the co-authored book I wrote with Christine d’Abo called Sweet and Spicy Spells, which will be an Ellora’s Cave Halloween 2007 release. So things are moving along.
Ohh, I almost forgot that the group I joined called 6 Degrees of Sexy has it’s own official website (http://www.sixdegreesofsexy.com/) which will link you to our latest blogs. This has been a wonderful opportunity for me to join five other, very talented romance writers. We put on our thinking caps and we’ve decided to take a huge jump into the unknown. We’re going to each write a novella length story and tie it into one theme so we can launch our first 6SDoS anthology. Our goal is to have the stories finished by Dec 2007 so we’ll be sure to keep you posted on what they are and just how hot they get.
That’s it for now, folks. Please drop me a line. I love to hear from anyone.
Renee Field
www.reneefield.com
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