Sex Cliches that gotta go, part two.

Today, we are talking about:

 Spontaneous anal penetration.

 

You've read the scene a million times.  A penis owner wants in their partner's butt. By coercing and pressuring the bottom, the penis owner shoves that monster dick in. The receiving partner cries out in pain, but eventually is won over by the battering their rear is taking and orgasms and nearly passes out.

 

Come on. Let's be real. 

 

The rear end needs lots of extra love and preparation. If your characters aren't using lube, time, and barrier methods to get the ass ready to party, you are missing out on an incredible chance to show their vulnerabilities and motivation. Is your top wanting in the butt because it feels so tight around the penis? Or do they want in because they want their partner to feel incredible pleasure? Are these people here for trust or brutality? 

The warm up process for the ass is a worthy scene in and of itself. The goal is to send someone through the roof, and that makes for a brilliant, non-stereotyped sex scene.

Also, what is hotter than a partner whose agenda is one of mutual pleasure?  

Not much!

For Dr. Dad: The story about clowns.

Dr. Dad loves to suggest that I use clowns in my writing. The thing is, I tried

My beautiful late mother

once, back when I thought I would be the next Jayne Ann Krentz (witty, snappy dialogue, nifty corporate espionage plots).

Unfortunately, I was really, really bad at it. I was obsessed with the standard "rich&handsome executive meets regular gal" plot. I had no idea how conflict worked. I was sadly addicted to adverbs. But to prove that I tried, here's the first page of this not-really-funny story that I called, "Funny."

***

“Oh, heavens, it feels good to take off my nose.”

David Exings stopped dead in the doorway of his office.  He still had to be on the plane and dreaming – that was the only explanation of this surreality. There was a pair of huge green and white shoes by his sofa, a bright green puff actually on the sofa, and garishly colored clothing strewn over the floor of his office. The bathroom door was open and the light was on.

“Hello?”

“Uhhh, hi.” The woman’s voice was rich but just as confused as he was. That was nice, he thought. He didn’t like to be alone in his confusion. “Who’s there?” she continued. 

 “David Exings.”

“Oh, dear.” A pause. “Um, Mr. Exings, could you hand me that black leather bag that’s by the sofa? I’ll change and take off my face and be right out of here.”

Your author and Dr. Sister in their misspent youth.

“Ah.” What did that mean? “Certainly. Here it is.” He found the bag (oddly restrained compared to the rest of the office) and handed it around the corner. A woman’s hand reached around the corner of the bathroom door and snatched the bag. Her voice came to him, over the sound of running water. 

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be using your bathroom, Mr. Exings, but you weren’t expected back until tomorrow  - I even double checked your flight.  I was just cleaning myself up after the picnic.  And I know that the manual says it is ok to use the bathroom for events, but most of us don’t use it. I hope you understand. ” She sounded nervous.

Ah. Today was the day of the company picnic and he had missed it.  He was supposed to be there for his niece, but had been trapped due to the bad weather in Chicago and had been delayed two days. Since it was so late and his niece would be in bed anyway, he came by the office first to drop off his paperwork and interrupted an entertainer, obviously.  A clown, he deduced, from the shoes.    

David cleared his throat. “Really, it is not a problem. It is certainly all right for you to use the bathroom. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  A woman popped out of the bathroom, her scrubbed face shining and her long brown hair slicked back wetly.  She wore jeans and a T-shirt with The Phantom on it. “I apologize for my appearance.” She held out her hand. “I’m Natalie Clare. I’m the consultant you hired to be the acting head of security for your computing division.  I was the clown for the company picnic.” 

David smiled internally, grateful his logic was still working.   

“Once everyone found out this was how I earned my way through college, they were ruthless about getting me to do this.”  He gravely shook her hand and looked her up and down. He was charmed by her silver toenails and green toe ring. She even had a delicate chain leading from the toe ring to an anklet.

She flushed under his scrutiny and pushed at her hair. “I’ll be right out of here.” She turned to pack up her costume. David discovered that the green puff was a wig, and the shoes were much more substantial that he had imagined.  

She was pretty, David noticed, startled. As she stuffed a pouch filled with brightly colored, empty balloons into her bag, he finally spoke again. 

“Miss Clare?”

“Yes?” She turned around, a resigned look on her face.

“How did my niece enjoy the party?”

Natalie smiled with remembered pleasure and some relief. “She had a very good time.  She was disappointed that you couldn’t make it, so I sent some extra balloons home with her for you.  I hope you like teddy bears. She said you would like those best.” Natalie started putting the balloons in her pack, and then glanced up. “She’s a charming child, Mr. Exings. You are doing a fine job.”  

“Would you be willing to make something for her from me? I was disappointed as well. I would have far preferred to be here than stuck in O’Hare for two days.”

“Why certainly, Mr. Exings.” She looked at her bag of balloons, considering. “How long until you see her?” 

“I’ll see her at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Ah, then we will need something sturdy. How does a turtle sound?”

“That sounds fine.”

Natalie selected a green balloon and blew it up a short way.  Her swift movements fascinated David as she tied it off, and began twisting.  She pulled a marker out of her bag, and, in a few economical strokes, put a smiling turtle face on the balloon. “Here you go.”

He considered the little happy face seriously. “Thank you, Miss Clare.”

***

At least I tried, Dr. Dad. :)

A highly intimate question.

Ok, men. I'm writing a fellatio scene and I want to do it from a man's point of view. What it is about fellatio that you enjoy? The warmth? The tightness, the visual? And give me your emotions, too. What goes on in your brain and heart during that time? Do you touch her? Praise her? Tell me what would make this scene come alive for a male reader.

I really want to avoid language that involves words like "member" or "manhood", because those make me laugh, and I'm assuming it would make you laugh. Or does the thought of someone thinking of your equipment (another giggler, but I'm trying to be delicate here, if not in the manuscript) as your essence excite you?

And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

Quick, name that quote!

Celebrations!

Now that I have found a measure of health again, it is time to celebrate the release of Dracula Unleashed!

 To celebrate Dracula's final book, I am giving away a dragon necklace - after all, Dracul means dragon. And Valerie loves her dragon embroidered coat.

This is the chance to wear your very own dragon! It is suitable for both men and women, too, just like everyone else in the book.

All you have to do is comment here, at my Twitter, or on my Facebook, and you are entered into a drawing for the shiny.

Exceedingly bad writing.

A couple of dear friends gave the Charming Man the (dubious) gift of six issues of a magazine titled, "Cthulu Sex: Blood, Sex, and Tentacles."

Fascinated beyond belief, I simply had to page through the unimaginable horrors (no names are given here to protect the guilty). And horrors there were, with such titles as:

The Pecker at the Passageway (this poem was actually pretty funny)
Decomposition: An Ode
Nerf Sex Doll
Any Ditch Will Do

And such deathless literary lines such as:
"He trudged through the dessert, his mind focused on his final destination."

or

"It's not easy to fuck a tree."
(ok, I'll admit it. This is actually a hell of an opening line.)

or
"I can almost feel him sniffing at me in the dark some misshapen nose ferally twitching, wrinkling skin beneath glowing red eyes."

or
"He wreaks of alcohol, dulling his halo to a highlight in my eyes."
(I have no idea what the author was trying to say)

.

Booyah!

Yesterday was a power day - I not only made up the four pages from Thursday, I managed to get ahead a page. That's *17* pages in ONE day!

Writing and alcohol

Vino Vixens, 2929 SE Powell Blvd.

Last week, I visited Vino Vixens Wine Bar. A good friend of mine is a bartender there. Between his encouragement, glasses of Monte Velho Portuguese White Wine, and delicious grilled cheese, I was able to get myself back on track.

I really tied one on that afternoon. For me, that means TWO glasses of wine, instead of one. Yeah, I know. Writer's Gone Wild, right here, baby!

I rarely drink. I drink alcohol and write even more rarely (I usually prefer a nice hot chai). On the occasions that I do combine the two, I receive sudden insights into the Lost Generation and their love affair with the lovely booze.

It can silence those endless litanies of your inadequacies.

It can make you feel more relaxed.

It can make you feel like a genius.

However, booze means I can barely read my handwriting. It gives me nasty, sucky headaches. It's expensive. And to top it off, I really love my liver and my brain. So I'll take the gift of grape and yeast, but not revisit it anytime soon.

With all apologies to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Eliot, and Dos Passos, I'll avoid their creative elixir and write like a romance writer - unstoppable, alive, and with all my faculties.

The best writing advice I've gotten

I've been fortunate enough to receive some brilliant advice from a wide variety of sources. I hope to explore some of these A-ha! moments in the upcoming days.

The most important words I have are:

DARE TO BE AVERAGE!

I found this in (where else?) Feeling Good by David Burns

.

Most people write (or want to write) are perfectionists. If we don't write perfectly, then we are failures. If we don't sell a million copies, we are failures. 

You might have noticed that this doesn't lead to happy writing.What the heck? What have you got to lose? Perfectionism doesn't work, so why not try something new? You might feel awkward at first, but the liberation will stun you.

To quote:

For any activity, instead of aiming for 100 percent, aim for 80 percent, 60 percent, or 40 percent. then see how much you enjoy the activity and how productive you become. Dare to aim at being average! It takes courage, but you may amaze yourself! (p. 356)

By taking off the pressure to a staggering super genius, you and I can write with our own clear voice. Ideas become fun, instead of sources of anxiety. Mistakes become a game, not the end of the world.

Try it for a day, or even a week. Tell me what happens when you dare to be average! Do you feel less anxious, more productive, or did you have to face the fears that fueled perfectionism? 

Catching up on 'The Classics'

I'm always watching movies and reading books, trying to learn more about writing, structure, and what makes a story dazzling. I've been on a musical kick, seeing how the writers tied the music to the story, used it to advance the plot, or used it to reveal a character's innermost self.

In Silk Stockings, Cyd Charisse's solo dance with her lingerie clearly tells the viewer that here is a woman who is finally embracing her yearning for pleasure. It's one of the most tender and touching metaphors for female sexuality and orgasm that I've seen.

So from this movie, I learned how to engage a reader in more than just the motion of the ocean, but also the emotions of the motion, so to speak.


On the downside, I learned just how necessary character development is. In Pal Joey, Joey starts the movie with being run out of town by the police. Because he'd been pouring drinks for an underage girl in his hotel room. For some reason, this was considered funny back in 1957.

I was yucked out immediately. And I stayed yucked out, because Joey remained a complete dog. Kim Novak played a helpless innocent (another Waif on our hands!), and Rita Hayworth played a woman who actually owned her sexuality. Which means, of course, that she got dumped. Here's the trailer to get you started.

What I learned?
1. I need to pay attention to the mores of your time, and what is considered funny.
2. Sometimes, I just want to watch the movie for the musical numbers, and not the plot. Or the characters.
3. If I'm going to write a jerk or someone in need of redemption, I need to show some kind of reason why anyone would cheer for this louse.

In order to get this foul taste out of my mouth, I had to watch some Mae West movies.  My Little Chickadee to the rescue.

Back in the saddle. Again.

So while I'm engaging in my massive revisions, it's time to revisit my previously posted Twilight series.

****
Ok, back to In Defense of Twilight, even though I hate it: Part Three.

As you may or may not know, I have a degree in Library and Information Science. Save the Dewey Decimal jokes - I've heard them all. We're going into the jungle of literary criticism today.

Library school gives you amazing perspective on popular culture. The criticisms aimed at Twilight for being misleading, wrong-headed, and a bad example to our youth have been fired at writing as far ranging as Harry Potter to E. B. White to the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew to Tom Swift.

Yes, I'm serious.

Literary critics used to claim that reading these kinds of books as akin to feeding your child poison. After all, children are weak minded, you know. Now remember that women are told the same things about their reading choices.

To all the people who tell me that Twilight is going to tell women to fall for a gross, stalkery freak, I have one thing to say.

Women are not stupid.

Could it be possible that females are perfectly capable of discerning the difference between fantasy and reality??

When a young woman makes a poor choice in a mate, the example she's using comes from up close and personal observation of adults around her.

Not fictional characters.

If we honestly thought that women yearned for maltreatment, why don't we believe that every man reading a James Bond novel yearns to be shot, stabbed, tossed out of airplanes, dunked in arctic ice cold water, and have no emotional life to speak of?

Of course that is ridiculous - because we don't think men are stupid.

Why should we think our girls are stupid, impressionable, and helpless? Reading about Waif Bella does not turn a girl into a passive Waif. Reading about James Bond, the man with no sense of self-preservation, does not make a boy into a moron who thinks that getting shot is just business as usual.

Twilight (and romance) is popular because girls and women know it is fantasy. They get to experience what it is like to be passive Bella, or pretend they are dangerous Edward (more on that next time), or even learn how very wet the Pacific Northwest is.

What would the world look like if we believed that women were smart?

Morbid thoughts.

Someday, I will write this dedication:

Thank you to all my ex's for all the excellent ideas.

And it would be in a story about all sorts of terrible mutilations and stabbings and particularly horrific deaths.

Wouldn't that scare the hell out of everyone??

Grooving to the baseline.

In my head, I never work hard enough and I never get enough done. I'm sick of it.

For the next two weeks, I am taking aim at my anxiety about 'working enough'. I'm going to overwhelm it with (get this) actual data on my work habits. I'm getting a baseline of behavior.

All I'm doing is keeping a simple log on

1. What I am doing: Am I in meetings? Updating my blog? Doing promotional work? First draft composition? Brainstorming?
   
2. How long I'm doing it: pretty self explanatory there. And
   
3. How I feel about the work. Basically, did I think I did ok work, good stuff, or Yowza! level material.
   

I've been doing it for three days so far, and I am already amazed by my real progress versus my imagined progress. My early prediction for this experiment is that I will find out just how much I downplay how productive I really am.

I'll keep you posted!

Back on Track. And pissed off.

Ok, back to In Defense of Twilight, even though I hate it: Part Three.

As you may or may not know, I have a degree in Library and Information Science. Save the Dewey Decimal jokes - I've heard them all. We're going into the jungle of literary criticism today.

Library school gives you amazing perspective on popular culture. The criticisms aimed at Twilight for being misleading, wrong-headed, and a bad example to our youth have been fired at writing as far ranging as Harry Potter to E. B. White to the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew to Tom Swift.

Yes, I'm serious.

Literary critics used to claim that reading these kinds of books as akin to feeding your child poison. After all, children are weak minded, you know.

To all the people who tell me that Twilight is going to tell women to fall for a gross, stalkery freak, I have one thing to say.

Women are not stupid.

Could it be possible that females are perfectly capable of discerning the difference between fantasy and reality??

When a young woman makes a poor choice in a mate, the example she's using comes from up close and personal observation of adults around her.

Not fictional characters.

If we honestly thought that women yearned for maltreatment, why don't we believe that every man reading a James Bond novel yearns to be shot, stabbed, tossed out of airplanes, dunked in arctic ice cold water, and have no emotional life to speak of?

Of course that is ridiculous - because we don't think men are stupid.

Why should we think our girls are stupid, impressionable, and helpless? Reading about Waif Bella does not turn a girl into a passive Waif. Reading about James Bond, the man with no sense of self-preservation, does not make a boy into a moron who thinks that getting shot is just business as usual.

Twilight (and romance) is popular because girls and women know it is fantasy. They get to experience what it is like to be passive Bella, or pretend they are dangerous Edward (more on that next time), or even learn how very wet the Pacific Northwest is.

What would the world look like if we believed that women were smart?

Doing what can't be done!

I write tight. I don't want to bore anyone, ya know. But there's fast paced and then there's, "What's going on here, again?"

So I have to add to my manuscripts, opposed to most of my friends, who write long and then cut.

My goal is to let go of my fear of boring people and write as floridly and passionately as I can. Or at least put in a few Zombie Frogs.

Crumb.

Brain refuses to work during the heat.

More updates as events warrant. :)

Writing Tight vs. Writing Long

Some people write a long first draft and then cut their manuscript down to size.

Some people write a short first draft and then add. And add. And add. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

I write tight.

It's almost like words are expensive! *shakes head at self*

My poor critique partners keep asking me what planet I'm on, what are they wearing, what's the weather, are these poor characters nekkid or what?!

I have a phobia about description.

Because I fear I might turn into THIS.