Jello World

Once and For All: Peak, Peek, Pique

2012-01-24T16:20:00.000-05:00

Homophones are a grammar pet peeve of mine. There/their/they're. Your/you're. Its/It's. But the one that really gets me is peak, peek, and pique. Why does it bug me so much? Recently speaking, it's because I've seen it not only in the social media interaction, but also the professional writing, of a PUBLISHED AUTHOR. Yes, an indie author - and indie in this case doesn't mean just self-pub, it means small independent (mostly digital) press, which I assume does have some sort of editing process?! Misusing one of these words in casual discourse is one thing. Letting it slip (more than once) in a published work is, in my opinion, unacceptable.

The other reason this particular set of homonyms irritates me is that for every person who goes "Ohhhhh, gotcha, thanks!" when the error is pointed out, there is usually one person who will attempt to justify the mistake by trying to equate the definition of the word they've misused with the intent behind the sentence. But they're still wrong. Let me tell you how and why.

I am far from a grammarian, and although I know plenty about proper word usage (most of the time - Robb Grindstaff has to remind me about farther/further every time!) my eyes have been known to glaze over at some of the more complicated discussions of syntax and such. I don't want YOUR eyes to glaze over here, but in order to finally put the peak/peek/pique thing to rest, we'll have to dig into transitive and intransitive verbs a little bit, in addition to the actual meanings of the words.

Transitive verbs

A transitive verb is one that takes a direct object. She left the door open. Here, left is a transitive verb, because it takes the object the door. The action is being performed directly on the door. The sentence would be incomplete if there weren't an object to go with that verb.

Intransitive verbs

Intransitive verbs do not take a direct object, and are complete without one. Intransitive verbs are (often, I'm not sure if they are always) a state of being. The action is not being performed directly to or on someone/something. She left at intermission. Here, left is an intransitive verb. There is no direct object.

If you aren't sure whether a verb is transitive or intransitive, try to reword the sentence in passive voice, using "by". If you can, it's transitive. If not, it's intransitive. The door was left open by her make sense. You can't rewrite the second sentence in the same way because it's an intransitive verb.

So what does this have to do with peak/peek/pique?

First of all, let's just throw out peek from this equation because we all know the verb to peek means to glance quickly. It is occasionally used instead of peak, but nobody has ever tried to use the different meanings of peek and peak to justify their misuse. It's mostly a spelling error. Though I hold you, dear readers, to a higher standard, so I really hope you're using that one correctly. ;-)

The big two offenders are peak and pique, which people seem to confuse not only in spelling, but meaning.

From Dictionary.com:

verb (used with object)

1. to affect with sharp irritation and resentment, especially by some wound to pride: She was greatly piqued when they refused her invitation.

2. to wound (the pride, vanity, etc.).

3. to excite (interest, curiosity, etc.): Her curiosity was piqued by the gossip.

4. to arouse an emotion or provoke to action: to pique someone to answer a challenge.

5. Archaic . to pride (oneself) (usually followed by on or upon ).

verb (used without object)

6. to arouse pique in someone: an action that piqued when it was meant to soothe.

peak

verb (used without object)

14. to project in a peak.

15. to attain a peak of activity, development, popularity, etc.: The artist peaked in the 1950s.

verb (used with object)

16. Nautical . to raise the after end of (a yard, gaff, etc.) to or toward an angle above the horizontal.

From these definitions, you can see that the proper statement would be That short skirt and low-cut top piqued his interest. and NOT That short skirt and low-cut top peaked his interest.

The sentence clearly means that the provocative clothing aroused the man's interest. Further, you can look at the fact that if you used peak here, it would be a transitive verb, because it has the direct object of his interest. (His interest was piqued by the clothes.) But the only definition given of peak as a transitive verb (used with object) is a nautical reference. You can peak the gaff while sailing, which would mean you raised the after end above the horizontal. The other definitions are intransitive usages of peak.

While dictionary.com doesn't list peak as a transitive verb meaning "To bring to a maximum of development, value, or intensity" or "to cause to come to a peak", there are other sources that do. This is where you get people trying to justify the use of peak in sentences like the one above.

They argue that the sexy clothing could have brought the man's interest to a maximum of intensity, or could have caused his interest to come to a peak, and so that sentence could be correct.

But it's not. It sounds ridiculous, and it looks ridiculous. As a reader, I would never assume a writer intended that meaning of peak, and as a writer, I would never construct a sentence that way. If that's truly the intent of the sentence why wouldn't one simply say The short skirt and low-cut top brought his interest to a peak. There's no grey area about meaning there. Although it's still a ridiculous sentence. If some skimpy clothing brings a character's interest to the highest point, I sure hope that character is a 12-year-old boy who gets big thrills from very little.

To be honest, I don't know why some dictionaries list peak as a transitive verb in anything other than the nautical usage. (Dictionary.com doesn't; Oxford doesn't; Merriam-Webster does, but doesn't specify anything about nautical usage; You Dictionary does; American Heritage does.) Perhaps it's an old usage that has fallen out of style? I'm not sure. But it's used so far and between that I couldn't find a single usage of it as a transitive verb after lots of Googling and discussion with word nerds on Facebook and Twitter.

So there you have it. Now you know the proper definition of pique versus peak, and should you ever forget which you want to use, look at whether you're dealing with a transitive or intransitive verb. With the exception of the nautical usage we covered above, you should NOT be using peak as a transitive verb. That should take care of using peak when what you want to use is pique.

And of course, please don't use peek when you mean to use either of the other two. Just don't.

If I ever see any of you write "It peaked my interest", I will call you on it. I might have a temper tantrum about it first, but then I'll call you on it.

That's one of my grammar pet peeves. What are yours?

A Writer's Guide to Successful Blogging, Part 4

2012-01-14T15:43:00.000-05:00

Remember this series? Thought it was time for another installation. If you missed the previous posts, it's not too late to catch up. So far we've discussed the overall theme or subject of your blog, time management tips from Dean C. Rich, and the important detail of live links.

Today we'll be talking about some important things all writers need on their blogs (besides blog posts, obviously).

Subscription options

Note I said optionS, plural. Occasionally I'll come across a Blogger blog where the only option to subscribe is to follow with Google Friend Connect. That's okay, but it's not enough. I follow that way, but to be honest, I rarely look at my blog list when I sign into Blogger. I sign in to post on my own blogs, then I log out. I like to subscribe to posts via email, and also occasionally using feeds. Every reader is different, so you want to make sure you have plenty of options for each of them.

Google Friend Connect (for Blogger blogs)
RSS, Atom, or other feed services (in Blogger, go to Layout, click add a Gadget in whichever sidebar/area you want it to appear, and then select Subscription Links)
Email - in Blogger, this uses FeedBurner to deliver your posts via email to subscribers (follow the same instructions as above, but select the Follow by Email option)

Email

You should absolutely have some sort of contact info on your blog. You can put in on a separate page/tab, or you can add it right on your homepage (see mine? top left corner). At the very least, this offers readers a chance to send you a "love your blog!" email if they so desire. But think of this: have you ever had trouble commenting on someone else's blog? I have. Blogger especially has a tendency to be picky about comments. One of my readers who couldn't comment on my blog dropped me an email to let me know she appreciated one of my posts.

What if someone stumbles across your blog and wants to talk to you about a guest blogging opportunity? Or what if an agent/editor/someone who you'd just die if you missed the opportunity to hear from wants to get in touch with you? You never know when someone will need to get in touch with you through some method a little less public than a blog comment, so go ahead and put up your email address.

Privacy concerns? Of course, that's natural. You can set up an alternate email address specifically for your blog, then connect it to your regular email so you can check both at the same time. Or if you use Hotmail, like I do, you can set up an email alias - it's not a separate email account, just an alternate address for my existing account. This way I don't have to worry about checking a separate account.

One tip: to avoid as much spambot mail as possible, put your email up as such: YourEmail[AT]provider[DOT]com or some other way that disguises the fact that it's an email address to anything but a human reader. I didn't do this at first, and after the tenth or so email about getting my degree or ordering high quality replicas of whatever, I changed it.

Social Media buttons/widgets

Do you tweet? Have a Facebook fan page? Belong to some other social site you'd like your readers to know about? Check with each site and/or your blog host to see if there is a button or widget you can add to your site that will direct your blog readers to those locations. Twitter, for example, offers a few different options. You can have a simple button, or you can have a widget that displays your most recent tweets.

Remember, it's all about making it easy for your readers to keep up with where you are and what you're saying.

Post sharing options

This seems like a no-brainer, but I've seen plenty of blogs that don't have this. If someone likes your post enough to share it on Facebook, don't make them open a new tab/window, sign in, copy/paste the link into their status and hit send. If they're in a hurry, they might not share at all. With share buttons, it takes a fraction of the time to post a link to FB, Twitter, or any other number of sites.

In Blogger, you can access this by going to your layout, then clicking edit in the box where your blog posts go. Check the box for "show share buttons" and you're all set!

"My Writing" section

If you're published, have a dedicated place on your blog to show off your work. If you have books for sale, you can put the covers and links in your sidebar. You can have a separate page or tab that lists links to anything you have published or available for purchase.

If you're NOT published, don't worry. If you feel so inclined, post a few paragraphs as a sample, or include blurbs for what you're currently writing or querying to agents. You can also not do this. It's up to you.

All of these features will help your readers find and share your content with ease. There is one last thing I want to mention, and that's comment moderation options. Everyone has their own take on this, and reasons for why they do what they do, but here's my two cents:

I don't have comment moderation, I don't use captcha authentication, and I do allow anonymous comments. I want my blog to be a dialogue. Why would I put up any barriers for people who've taken the time to read and then leave a comment? You might get a spam comment now and then, but they're easily deleted (I haven't had one in quite some time. Blogger's new spam filter is pretty good about catching them). I don't moderate comments partially because I don't want the hassle of having to approve them all, but mostly because I kind of hate when other people use it. I hate not knowing if there are additional comments before mine that I'm not seeing because they haven't been approved yet. Those comments might say something interesting that I'd also like to respond to. I also like to keep up with the conversation on a post I take time to comment on, so I'll click the box to subscribe to follow-up comments. If there are four comments in the queue before mine, I'm pretty sure I don't get notifications for those, so I won't know to come back and check the discussion unless someone comments after me.

That's my opinion on the issue. You'll do with the comments what you think makes sense for you. But as for the other things, I hope to see all those features next time I visit your blogs, if they aren't there already.

Are there any other features you think are must-haves for writers who blog?

Yes, I am a Judgmental Bitch

2012-01-02T16:51:00.000-05:00

Whoa, what? Where'd that come from, you ask? Well, New Year, New Me! Okay, not exactly. And I'm not exactly a judgmental bitch... not all the time, at least. This post has been brewing in my head for some time now, and I figured what better way to open the new year than with a bit of spunk? The post title is fair warning to you all: I'm not about to be nice, and you might disagree with me, but I don't care.

Let's talk about erotica, shall we? A year and a half ago I first wrote my little Erotica Writer's Manifesto. It was partially serious, and partially facetious. One line in particular is especially important to me:

I will not write trash.

I feel the need to reiterate this, and expand upon it. I know what some of you may be thinking: How do you define trash? One man's trash is another man's treasure. Or in the case of erotica, one person's squick may be another person's kink. I get that, I do. I like a good spanking scene now and then (as you can probably tell from my new short story), but that might totally turn off other people. That's fine. But for me, there is a line.

I joined a group of erotica writers late last year, excited to be in a group of like-minded people who write the same sort of stories I write. I love Agent Query Connect, and they aren't prudes by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought a forum specifically for erotica writers would be perfect for me. Well, I didn't stay long. I poked around for a couple weeks, interacted a bit, but then I deleted my account. I couldn't get anything more there than I do from AQC and my network of writing friends on Facebook and Twitter. That, and I didn't like some of the conversation taking place there.

I'll bring this back around to the issue of writing "trash" in a second, just bear with me here. Anyone who knows me in real life, or who's interacted with me frequently enough in any online forum, Twitter, etc. knows I'm generally very middle-of-the-road, don't like taking "sides", hesitate to make any sort of value or judgment statement whatsoever (because I don't want to offend anyone, and don't want to have to retract a statement later if I change my mind and decide I'm wrong). I have to feel pretty strongly to draw any sort of line in the sand. But here I am, drawing one.

There's a particular type of erotica that is immensely popular and sells very well. I happen to find it slightly morally repugnant. I won't buy it. And if it's not something I'd buy to read myself, I won't write it, either. The question came up on this other forum about jumping on the bandwagon, so to speak, and publishing these types of stories because they're a hot seller. Some said sure, it's a little squicky but I write them and they make me good money. Some said no, I wouldn't do it. There was plenty of "don't do it if it's not right for you" but also plenty of "set aside your own objections and go for it! It's a hot seller! You can do it!" I made a comment similar to what I just said above: I wouldn't read it, and find the subject matter morally questionable, and therefore you won't catch me writing it to make a few bucks. Someone came back with a gentle nudge to tell me I might not want to offend my fellow writers who are trying to make a living, just because they chose to do it writing stories that aren't necessarily what I would write.

Well, whatever. That pissed me off a bit, I'll admit. It made me laugh a little bit, too. I thought it was interesting that someone chose to single me out for my opinion, but not any of the people encouraging others to swallow their own objections and drink the Kool-Aid. But that's all really beside the point.

The point is this: I won't write trash, and I consider those types of stories to be trash. I've hesitated to name the particular theme in case... well, I guess I'm still worried about offending any of my potential readers (old habits die hard) but here it is: pseudo-incest stories. The ones with step-parent/step-child sex, or step-siblings, etc. Daddy/daughter stuff especially. (I'm sure there are other subsets and themes that I disagree with, but this is the biggest.) You wouldn't believe how well they sell. It makes me shudder.

But the fact that these stories are popular isn't the only thing that astounds me. The seemingly nonchalant attitude of some of the writers about the moral "grey area" they inhabit with such writing was pretty stunning. There are discussions among writers about how well some of these different stories sell, how to "get over it" and write this type of story ("it" being your own mental blocks/objections), how to toe the line of legality, etc. Of course the arguments against me go something like this: You don't assume a murder mystery author is encouraging murder, do you? You don't think an author who writes about serial rapists or baby-killers is endorsing that behavior, do you? No, of course I don't. But this is different. I'm sorry, but it just is.

That's what I would qualify as trash. Subject matter that is morally reprehensible. And authors who pander to that market regardless. And without even bothering to write a good story. Because let me tell you, I followed the Amazon links and read some free samples, and in 99.9% of the cases, I found the writing quality to be sorely lacking.

The writing quality may even be what pisses me off the most. I have a message for these types of authors (and let me make it painfully clear, I am NOT referring to any and every member of that online forum I joined and then left, because they do not all fall into this category. I'm directing this toward any writer, anywhere, who writes these types of trashy storylines, especially if they also write trashily. No, trashily is probably not a word, but it fits here anyway.) Here's what I have to say:

You're giving erotica a bad name. You're the reason that people keep telling me I should use a pseudonym if I want to publish erotica. You're flooding the market with these books that I not only find disgusting, but that are also poorly written. Erotica can be so much more than just trashy sex. I'm tired of your predictable characterizations and plots. It makes me sick that many of these pseudo-incest stories feature a father figure who "teaches" the young woman about her sexuality. Or a mother figure who is a frigid bitch, leaving it up to the daughter to give the step-father the sexual attention he craves. I mean, seriously? WTF? Can't you at least think of something a little more imaginative? And hey, maybe a little less misogynistic?

Jump on the trashy bandwagon if you want, but you won't find me there. Not now. Not ever. You'll see all of my erotica published as J. Lea Lopez because I like what I write, and even if I touch on subjects or situations that some people may be uncomfortable with, I'll do it responsibly, and with some class. And talent. If I'm not willing to put my name on it, I'm not going to write it at all.

In Which I Swoon Against My Will

2011-12-24T20:53:00.000-05:00

All of my ridiculous Christmas song posts so far have been about older songs. Today I'm looking at a more contemporary song. To be honest, this is a seriously guilty pleasure. I adore this song. I don't want to like it, but I do! In fact, this song makes me all melty inside. You know, like some old school Boyz II Men ballads or something, except it's.... come a little closer so I can whisper. I don't want everyone to hear. It's... *NSYNC.

Oh yes, dear readers. The boyish Justin Timberlake, the dreadlocked Chris Kirkpatrick, clean-cut Lance Bass, manly Joey Fatone, and silky-voiced JC Chasez. And yes, I knew all their names without having to look it up. My guilty pleasure Christmas song is Under My Tree, from their 1998 Christmas album, Home For Christmas. Before I analyze the lyrics, let's just listen:

Ah, the late nineties' boy band sound! The bad fashion! The frosted hair! What's not to love?

At first listen, it's a sweet, if cheesy, song that would make any pre-teen girl scream with glee. But let's look a little closer at the lyrics to see the unexpected sexiness - as well as the outright goofiness - that make me love this song so much.

It's that time of year
Christmas is here
Everybody's back together again
Spreading the joy,
Spreading good cheer
Toasting to another year's end
So thankful for,
All of our friends
When the party is over,
The night's just begun (oh hello... does this mean what I think it means?)
I promise the best part
Is yet to come
Slow dance together,
Two become one (yes, this is exactly what I thought it meant! *NSYNC, you naughty boys)
That's what we've waited all day for

No one else but me and you
Nothing I would rather do
Then hold you all through the night
Under my tree (aww, here comes the first swoon!)Bring along the mistletoe
Keep the music nice and low
I'll show you how good it could be. (oh my, did it just get a little warm in here?)I wish that Santa could be here to see (who knew the big guy liked to watch? That's kinky)
It's beautiful
Under my tree

The fire's aglow
We've got Nat King Cole
Singing us a song from his heart
Sleigh bells and snow
Makes us feel close
To the stars
When carols are sung and
The fire has died
The embers still burns with the love in our eyes (CHEESE ALERT! And yet... I bet you just swooned, didn't you?)We cherish the moment
We savor the night
That's what we've waited all day for

No one else but me and you
Nothing I would rather do
Then hold you all through the night
Under my tree
Bring along the mistletoe
Keep the music nice and low
I'll show you how good it could be.
I wish that Santa could be here to see
It's beautiful
Under my tree

No one but me
No one but you
See rendez-vous (under my tree)
No one but me
No one but you

When the party is over,
The night's just begun
I promise the best part
Is yet to come
We slow dance together,
Two become one
That's what we've waited all day for (Yep, can't you just feel that anticipation, like you have indeed been waiting all day?)

No one else but me and you
Nothing I would rather do
Then hold you all through the night
Under my tree (under my tree) (cue another swoon!)

Bring along the mistletoe
Keep the music nice and low
I'll show you how good it could be. (Oh yeah, show me how good it could be... Uh, I mean... yeah...)
I wish that Santa could be here to see
I wish that Santa could be here to see (Well... does Santa really have to watch?)

No one else but me and you
Nothing I would rather do
Then make all your dreams come true
Under my tree
Such a cozy rendez-vous
Just relax enjoy the view
I'll show you how could it could be.
I wish that Santa could be here to see
It's beautiful, beautiful, beautiful under my tree (Aww... and the final swoon!)
It's that time of year
Christmas is here
It's that time of year
Christmas is here
Full of love and good cheer.

So that's my ridiculous song guilty pleasure. What's yours?

I hope you've had fun looking at some silly Christmas songs with me over the past couple weeks. Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Skating - Is That What Kids Call it These Days?

2011-12-17T18:01:00.000-05:00

As my last installation in the ridiculous Christmas lyrics series showed, sometimes the meaning of a song can change when taken out of the social context in which it was originally penned. Certain words take on new connotations over time, which can make for some comical interpretation. There's this one song at work that everyone just hates. It's annoying. But it makes me laugh because of what was obviously not intentional innuendo. It's called I Wanna Go Skating with Willie. Yes, you read that right. I assume the writer used the name Willie because it played off the other lyrics of "will he" and "willy-nilly", but considering the modern slang usage of willy, it just makes it sound comically obscene.

Unfortunately there is no YouTube video for this song, and I couldn't find anywhere to direct you to listen to it for free, except for places like Spotify, where you need be logged into an account to listen. So here's a Spotify link for it (Patti Page – I Want To Go Skating With Willie) , or you can search for it on Lastfm or any of those other places. Here are the lyrics:

I wanna go skating with Willie
Cause Willie is such a good skate
I wanna go skating with Willie
But will Willie ask for a date?

(Willie's a good skate, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?)

That Willie's got me willy-nilly
My poor heart is ready to break
I would like to go skating with Willie, but will he?
Cause Willie is such a good skate

(Did you snort a little at willy-nilly? I know I did.)

We'd go gliding, sliding
Over the slippery ice

(Gliding and sliding, eh? I guess Willie understands the importance of lube.)

We'd go sliding, gliding
Gee, but that Willie is nice

(She really likes her Willie.... *wink*)

We'd go gliding, sliding
Gosh, but that Willie is great
I would like to go skating with Willie, but will he?
Cause Willie is such a good skate.

(Willie must really know how to use his, uh, well, you know.)

We'd go gliding, sliding
Over the slippery ice
We'd go sliding, gliding
Gee, but that Willie is nice
We'd go gliding, sliding
Gosh, but that WIllie is great
I would like to go skating with Willie, but will he?
Cause Willie is such a good skate
Cause Willie is such a good skate.

Please, if you're on Spotify, click the link above and have a listen, or find this song elsewhere on the internet. If you think the lyrics are hilariously awful, just wait til you hear it with the music.

Next time, I'll be talking about a modern Christmas song that I'm ashamed to say makes me swoon a little.

Write Me a Song

2011-12-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

Since I've been talking a little bit about Christmas songs, I thought I'd take a slight detour and talk about how songs relate to writing in general. This post originally appeared on 11/10/11 at From The Write Angle as Crossing the Bridge: Song Structure and Plot. I'll be back in a few days with more silly Christmas songs!

I was marveling the other day about how some of my favorite singer-songwriters can really tell a whole story in a four-minute song. I love a good ballad, especially. The music, lyrics, the singer's voice, everything works together to take you on a roller coaster ride of emotion. I tend to write character-driven stories, and it's that same gut-wrenching ride that I strive to impart to my reader. This got me thinking. What can fiction writers learn from songwriters? The answer, I believe, lies in structure.

Thinking back to your elementary and middle school English classes, you may remember charting the plot of a book using something like this:

Look familiar? Was I the only one who felt constricted by this particular diagram? Exposition and rising action were no problem. For the most part, falling action was a no-brainer, and denouement was easy peasy. But I often faltered around the climax. (Please, no psychoanalysis of that statement is necessary.) In many books, the climax felt more like a series of events—a plateau, if you will. And that straight line of rising action is really more of a procession of peaks and valleys. When you break it down, it looks a bit like a song. (For these purposes, "song" refers mainly to current popular music. Song structure varies greatly, not only within but across genres as well.)

The exposition is your basic intro, and the rising action starts with the first verse, followed by the chorus. The verse tells the story, and the chorus gives you the overall theme of the song. (Don't ask me why, but I'd never realized this basic premise of storytelling vs. theme until I read it in those concrete terms, and then I thought of just about every song I'd ever heard and—whaddya know? It's true!) Many songs also have a bridge, which I have come to realize is my favorite part.

Let's take a listen to one of my recent favorites, Take it All, by Adele.

The verse does indeed tell you the story, and the chorus gives you the theme. When the chorus comes in for the first time, there's a burst of new emotion, like a mini-climax, before we come back down a notch for another verse. The bridge starts around 2:08—this is where you hear things change, and instead of coming back down to the emotional/dynamic level of the verse again, we start another build of emotion. It's not a one-note type of climax, it's a gradual build toward and satisfying release from the point of highest emotional impact. The repetition of the chorus closes the song and drives home the general theme again. Was it as good for you as it was for me? A great song has you yearning for that bridge, for those few bars where it all comes together and makes the hair on your arms stand up.

So let's go one more time. Gravity, by Sara Bareilles, is another song that gives you the same ebb and flow of tension in the alternation of verse and chorus, then knocks your socks off with a great bridge (which starts at 2:25). I dare you to try not to get swept up in the tension. I've listened to this song hundreds of times, and I still take a deep breath at the peak of the bridge, when she sings the word "down," and hold it until she releases. Exquisite.

So what can we take away from this (besides learning of my penchant for soulful female singer-songwriters)?

Instead of a three-act structure, or the linear rise and fall in those old plot charts that seem to turn on a dime at the apex, think of your story as a song, or a series of songs. Tell your story in the verses, intertwined with conflicts that help us understand the overarching themes of your novel (the chorus). Build toward that spine-tingling climax. I want you to take me over the bridge. Give me a few moments to savor the dizzying heights before you wrap me up in another cozy chorus and send me on my way.

You can use this structure on both a micro and macro level to weave a story rich with tension and emotion that reaches nearly addictive highs. If you can do that, you'll have me coming back for more of your product again, and again, and again...

What other aspects of songwriting can you apply to fiction? What songs intoxicate YOU with their emotion and powerful storytelling?

The Date Rape Song: It's All About Context

2011-12-11T18:31:00.000-05:00

Let me start with a disclaimer: you should read this post with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I don't believe this is actually the meaning of this song, and neither should you.

Baby It's Cold Outside is one of my favorite Christmasy songs. I love the back and forth structure, and it's just a cute little song. However, when you've been hearing it over and over again for two months (and it's still not even Christmas yet), you start to read a little more into the lyrics than perhaps you should.

The song was written by Frank Loesser in the 30s (not the 40s as the video states). We're talking 75 years ago. It's all about context here. Lyrics that made perfect sense back then feel a little different today. Take a listen:

Cute, right? Well, let's see...

It's clear when the song starts that she's saying she should go, and he's saying please stay. Here are the lyrics, with my comments in bold.

I really can't stay
But baby, it's cold outside
I've got to go 'way
But baby, it's cold outside
This evening has been
Been hoping that you'd drop in
So very nice
I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice

He really doesn't want her to go, does he?

My mother will start to worry
Beautiful, what's your hurry?
And father will be pacing the floor
Listen to the fireplace roar
So really I'd better scurry
Beautiful, please don't hurry
Well, maybe just a half a drink more
Put some records on while I pour

She said NO, buddy, okay? Don't press your luck! And chica, don't let a man sweet-talk you with all that beautiful stuff into doing something you don't want to.

The neighbors might think
But, baby it's bad out there    Yeah, we get it. The weather's bad. She's still trying to leave.
Say, what's in this drink?    ROOFIE!
No cabs to be had out there
I wish I knew how
Your eyes are like starlight now
To break the spell WTF did you put in my drink... I feel funny...
I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell No running away now...

I ought to say no, no, no sir    So say it! Don't let him bully you.
Mind if I move in closer?    What part of 'I really should go' would make you think that?
At least I'm gonna say that I tried
What's the sense of hurting my pride?    WHAT? Is this like the old-time equivalent of "If you loved me, you'd do it"?
I really can't stay
Oh baby, don't hold out Don't hold out, PUT OUT!
Ah, but it's cold outside    No, don't succumb to his pressure!
Baby, it's cold outside

I simply must go
But baby, it's cold outside
The answer is no    You tell him!
But baby, it's cold outside
The welcome has been
How lucky that you dropped in (Cue maniacal laughter and evil hand-rub)
So nice and warm
Look out the window at that storm

My sister will be suspicious
Gosh, your lips look delicious
My brother will be there at the door
Waves upon a tropical shore
My maiden aunt's mind is vicious    In other words: People will be looking for me, you creep!
Gosh your lips are delicious He just kissed her... even after her all her protests
Well maybe just a cigarette more    Where's your backbone??
Never such a blizzard before

I got to get home
But baby, you'd freeze out there
Say, lend me your comb
It's up to your knees out there
You've really been grand    Has he, really? Sounds more like he's been a jerk.
I'm thrilled when you touch my hand
Why don't you see
How can you do this thing to me?    By 'this thing' I assume he means be such a tease.
There's bound to be talk tomorrow
Think of my lifelong sorrow
At least there will be plenty implied
If you caught pneumonia and died WHAT?! This could be either another attempt to guilt her into staying, or a thinly veiled threat, as in, if you leave, you might "catch pneumonia and die"
I really can't stay
Get over that hold out    He's gonna get what he wants
(Together:) Ah, but it's cold outside

So, you see how a girl could misinterpret this little ditty as being an account of date rape, right?

Oh, and if you're really dimwitted enough to think this song is actually about date rape, please take a look at this.

In the next installment, I'll take a look at another very old song that makes me giggle with its unintended sexual innuendo.

Totaled Up and Bagged: Ridiculous Christmas Lyrics

2011-12-06T17:19:00.000-05:00

We've been playing Christmas music at my day job since... wait for it... November 1st. So I've had a lot of time to listen to and analyze a lot of lyrics. Instead of giggling to myself at work over some of the stupidity and/or unintended sexual innuendo in these Christmas songs, I thought I'd bring the joy to you, my dear readers. However, before I could even write my first post, a friend and fellow writer posted a brilliant note to Facebook picking apart the lyrics to a Dan Fogelberg song that I've always found annoying. His comments made me laugh, so I asked if I could post it here for you all, and he obliged (thanks, Ty!)

Give a nice Jello World welcome to Ty Unglebower, a freelance writer and actor who is just Too XYZ to conform to a typical nine-to-five kind of existence. And he loves power ballads. Can you say awesome? Check out his blog for more of his thoughts, and follow him on Twitter (@TyUnglebower).

----------------------------------------------

Allow me here and now to lambaste, ridicule, mock, and overall hate that most holy of Christmas tunes…Dan Fogleberg’s “Same Old Lang Syne.” (Great homonym, huh?)

For the uninitiated, this ditty has nothing to do with Christmas, save for the events taking place on a snowy December 24. Beyond this, it has no holiday connections whatsoever. The lyrics are garbage, and the tune is so wispy and whiny that you can do nothing with it. You cannot slow dance to it, or make out to it or anything. Listen for it this holiday season on ANY wall to wall Christmas station. You are bound to hear it sooner or later.

And now, join me, as I follow Dan, assisted by his actual lyrics, on his chance encounter with a former lover, whilst at the supermarket. Here we go…

Met my old lover in the grocery store,
The snow was falling Christmas Eve.
I stole behind her in the frozen foods,
and I touched her on the sleeve.

For starters, who the hell opts to go to the grocery store on Christmas Eve? Even if I ever had to, (which I seriously doubt), few things would make the already hated chore of grocery shopping worse than running into an ex-lover. I may not be able to avoid it, but I sure as hell would not call attention to myself.

Either way, who “steals” behind somebody? What kind of creepy bullshit is that?

Also, the term “frozen foods” is extraordinarily unsuited for just about any song, a ballad in particular. (Which, in theory, this is.) I am not saying it would never be appropriate, but any song that would meld these words successfully into its story arc should not posses the pretense that this song does. Moving on…

She didn't recognize the face at first,
but then her eyes flew open wide.
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse,
And we laughed until we cried.

I’ve laughed until I have “cried”, that is to say, had tears in my eyes, three, possibly four times in my whole life, including childhood. Point being, it doesn’t happen often, and while I grant that different things tickle different people, what sort of sheltered existence do these two people have to be living to find transcendental hilarity about a spilled purse?

We took her groceries to the checkout stand,
The food was totaled up and bagged.
We stood there lost in our embarrassment,
As the conversation dragged.

If this were any other song, “frozen foods” would be the worst lyric in the piece. But Fogleberg tops himself with what has to be the only such reference in ANY song ever, by singing the phrase, “totaled up and bagged”.

Lost in embarrassment as the conversation dragged…that’s generally, when I say, “nice to see you, goodbye.” Or in this case, I suppose I would add, “Merry Christmas.” Either way, I’d leave. Why push an already awkward moment? But do they leave it at that? No…

We went to have ourselves a drink or two,
But couldn't find an open bar.
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store,
And we drank it in her car.

Couldn’t find an open bar on Christmas Eve. You don’t say.

But no problem…you can drink a 6 pack IN HER CAR! Where is the missing verse describing the two of them being hauled off and booked for public consumption?

If I were actually dating this girl, that would feel a bit tacky to me. Even worse when it’s an ex…

Then the first of what seems like 90 recitals of the chorus…

We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to now.
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness,
But neither one knew how.

If spending time with your ex in her car at the parking lot of a liquor store in the snow on Christmas Eve away from your family while throwing back a few doesn’t get you past the emptiness, nothing will.

And by the way, how fucking ridiculous would it be to lift up a beer can, or any drink for that matter, and utter the words... "To innocence!"

She said she'd married her an architect,
Who kept her warm and safe and dry,
She would have liked to say she loved the man,
But she didn't like to lie.

So you’re keeping her away from her family as well?

And sweetheart, get a backbone and leave if you don’t care for hubby…there are other places to stay dry. Perhaps it’s shit like this that forces her to drink…

I said the years had been a friend to her,
and that her eyes were still as blue.
But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I
saw, doubt or gratitude.

It’s doubt, if she’s got any taste. But then again, she’s sharing a 6 pack in a parking lot with Dan Fogleberg, so all bets are probably off.

Also, what a hatchet job Fogleberg did with the rhythm on this verse! Even if you know the song, you’ll choke on this verse. And why keep it? The message of this verse was so profound he couldn’t part with it?

She said she saw me in the record stores,
and that I must be doing well.
I said the audience was heavenly,
but the traveling was hell.

I quote verse two of this same song…”she didn’t recognize the face at first”.

But if she knew your face from the record store, why didn’t she recognize you at first?

A slightly altered chorus follows…

We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to now.
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness,
But neither one knew how.

We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to time.
Reliving in our eloquence,
Another 'auld lang syne'.....

Please, PLEASE tell me that any reference to “eloquence” as it pertains to these two jokers is very much tongue in cheek. If I had to choose 1,000 words to describe this song, “eloquent” would not even make the list…

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired,
And running out of things to say.
She gave a kiss to me as I got out,
and I watched her drive away.

Just for a moment I was back at school,
and felt that old familiar pain.
And as I turned to make my way back home,
the snow turned into..........rain.

The finale.

To begin with, “beer” cannot be empty. A can can be empty of beer. Or a beer can can be empty. But beer itself is not empty. I’d forgive it as poetic license, if Fogleberg hadn’t pushed the boundaries of the English language about 14 times in this song already by this point. Or if there were any proof he was a poet.

Also, hard to believe you ran out of things to say, when there is no indication at all that either one of you said a damn thing of substance in the first place.

So she kissed you and you get out. Hey, babe, how about at least a ride back to the grocery store where he left his car?! Not that it matters; he appears to be walking home, not back to the grocery store anyway.

And Danny boy, nice way to treat the woman you loved so much; let her down three beers at least, and drive away as the snow turns into rain. Nothing dangerous there.

Not to mention the fact that he left the grocery store without getting whatever the hell he went in there for in the first place. Less surprising is the complete lack of any entourage on the part of Fogleberg at what was supposedly the height of his popularity. (When nobody, I suppose, could get “Leader of the Band” out of their heads.) Says something that even then, he was alone and void of human contact, except for a chance meeting with an ex.

Ironically, he describes his life as being nearly as vapid, aimless and pathetic as the song itself turns out to be.

I love Christmas Spirit…

Observations on Book Marketing: Cheri Lasota

2011-11-16T00:00:00.000-05:00

I'm thrilled today to have author Cheri Lasota guest posting at Jello World. I met Cheri some time ago through Authonomy, and she recently released her first novel, Artemis Rising, which I wholeheartedly recommend you all read.

Observationson book marketing from a converted enthusiast.

Iused to be shy. Don’t quite know what happened…

I’vebeen writing since I was a wee tyke, mainly because I was anintroverted outcast that nobody wanted to play with. I lived my lifein stories and it is there that I still remain. But along the way, asI grew in the craft and learned more about online and offlinemarketing, I began to feel comfortable in my own skin and was able tointeract with people without becoming exhausted. This was atwo-decade long process, but I’m here to tell you that it certainlyneedn’t take that long for you (even if you are the classicintroverted writer).

EverythingI’ve learned, I’ve learned the hard way, but perhaps these fiveinsights below will help your journey toward publication success runmore smoothly than my own did.

Think of your book as a product.

WhenI finally figured this out (and yes, the moment was complete withchoirs of angels singing and lightbulbs flashing obnoxiously over myhead), here’s what happened:

I learned how to cut fifty pages of extraneous crap from my manuscript. No, no! Not my darlings. Yes, oh yes. Snip, snip, snip… By the end, I was wielding my bloody red pen with terrifying glee.
Marketing became a joy, not a masochistic form of exhaustive torture.
Agent rejection letters became a reason to send out three more. Seriously, I was thrilled to receive these. It just meant I no longer had to wait for a reply from that agent.
Critiques from writing groups, publishers, and friends became exercises in growing my craft. I took the good advice, ignored the bad, and stuck to my guns when it came to keeping my vision for this story intact. I didn’t take the opinions of others personally.
I started to have the overwhelming desire to learn every aspect of writing: marketing, business development, and craft as well as ebook and website design.

Nowdoesn’t that all sound wonderful? It is! And you can do it too. Butit isn’t an easy mental process. Our novels start out as ourbabies, our ‘lil dawlins. How to kick them to the curb and makethem earn their keep? Make the decision to see your book as merely aproduct that will soon be for sale. And keep making that decisionuntil you believe it, through and through. Every choice is a decisionyou make over and over. Until you choose something else, of course.But hey, you’re next novel…let that be your baby and let this onego. Never thought I’d say this but…BeYour Novel’s Pimp!

Take stock of what you love to do.

Whenit comes to all the things that make up a writing career, what do youlove most?

writing
editing
social networking
book design
handselling
socializing (commiserating?) with other writers

Ifit’s none of the above, you’re seriously in the wrong career. =)If all you chose in this list was writing, I hope you have a lot ofcash on hand. Here’s the thing, you can do one of twothings—especially as an indie author: learn to do it yourself orpay someone else to do it. Neither option is inherently wrong. Butassessing your strengths and weaknesses will help you create a gameplan for putting together a quality product (there’s that dirtyword again!).

You’vegot to know what you’re good at and also what you love to do.Usually those are synonymous but not always. Once you know, you canfocus on putting those strengths and talents to work for you as yougo about selling your book.

Pay attention to what you aren’t good at.

Asfor me, I love everything but that writing bit at the beginning ofthe list in Section 2. Funny I should say that, right? I know thatfor me, the writing part is the most difficult and tedious. I’m aneditor by trade after all. So here’s how I get around that tinyinsignificant issue… I only write during National Novel WritingMonth. Yup. It’s true. (I’m working on my second novel rightnow.) NaNoWriMo keeps me motivated, inspired, and away from my evileditor pen. I know this about myself and took a positive step towardworking around it.

Ironically,I’m also not the best blogger. I tend to write very detailed,informative posts which take me a week to put together. Because ofthat, I procrastinate and don’t write them very often. I am verywell aware of this. So I choose to focus more of my time on socialnetworking and other marketing plans. If a blog topic just won’tleave me alone, I’ll carve out some time to get it written, butthat might be once every two months or so. I’m fine with that.

Figureout what’s taking too much of your time and energy or what youaren’t currently skilled at. Can you spend less time on that task?Can you pay someone else to do it? Spend the most time on theelements of your career that bring you satisfaction, motivation, joy,and sales, and you’ll find that book marketing isn’t as hard asit first seemed.

Decide what you have the time and desire tolearn.

Iknew how to write, edit, and market by the time my book was about tobe published (though I still continue to educate myself on all threewhenever I have time). What I didn’t know and had a deep desire tolearn was ebook design. At first, I was afraid to attempt it. Butthen, I found Lynda.com.

Neverheard of it? Oh man, when I discovered it, I went hog-wild. It’s aneducational website of online video tutorials for any software youcan think of. I learned basic HTML, iMovie, InDesign CS5.5, PhotoshopElements, Photoshop CS5, and Illustrator CS5. And I hope to learnHTML5, Advanced Photoshop, and Flash sometime soon. You get unlimitedaccess for $25 a month (and you can cancel at any time).

Isound like a saleswoman, but we no longer have an excuse for notlearning these things if we want to. And I can’t tell you how muchthis knowledge has aided me in producing my ebook from scratch (withadvanced HTML coding to design graphical titles and interactivefeatures), creating and manipulating sales materials and graphics,and upgrading my website with new and improved design elements.

It’sempowering to learn a new skill. Don’t assume you can’t learn newcomputer skills. Take the time. Cultivate patience. Don’t give into frustration. Ask questions. Google for the answers!

Assess, assess, assess.

I’mstill stuck on this step myself. What exactly am I harping on? Well,all the book marketing time you use up isn’t going to amount tomuch unless you know which of your marketing avenues are paying offand which aren’t. As published authors, we need to analyze the timewe spend on

communicating on our social networks
advertising on book lover sites like Goodreads.com
working the traditional marketing angle (like beating the pavement at conferences and writers faires)
cultivating ebook vs. paperback sales

Why?To ensure that you’re not wasting time on activities, which aren’tmaking you any money. It’s like paying thousands of dollars for anad that’s directed toward an audience that isn’t even part ofyour target market. Stick with what’s working. In fact, double upon what’s working and spend much less time on what isn’t.

Hereare some questions to get you thinking:

Study your Amazon.com sales figures. Are your ebook sales far outclassing your paperback sales? Is the cost of shipping the paperback outweighing your actual sales?
How many hours a day are you spending on Facebook and Twitter? Are you actually communicating with your target market on those sites or just your other writer friends?
Do you know how to effectively use these sites for marketing or are you too lazy to read expert articles and learn from your friends on how to do it better?
Are you paying attention to sales numbers each time you roll out a new marketing campaign?

Focuson the end result so you can fine-tune the time and money you devoteto marketing. The end result of that? More time for writing. Isn’tthat what we all want? Good luck!

~~~

SpireHouseBooks launched Cheri Lasota’s first novel, ArtemisRising,in Sept 2011. The book is a YA historical fantasy based on mythologyand set in the exotic Azores Islands. Currently, Cheri is writing andresearching her second novel, a YA set on the Oregon Coast. Over thecourse of her sixteen-year career, she has edited fiction,nonfiction, screenplays, and short stories for publication. Cherialso has twenty-four years of experience writing poetry and fiction.Learn more about ArtemisRisingat http://www.cherilasota.comor buy it at http://bit.ly/ArtemisRisingNovel.

Sample: Confessions of a Non-Believer

2011-10-09T05:58:00.003-04:00

Confessions of a Non-Believer
Mainstream/Women's Fiction
Chapter 1

Carl is dead. If ever there were a day I wished therewas some god to comfort me, to welcome Carl's soul to paradise, todayis it.

I lie in bed, sure the last few hours have been a crueldream. After all, young, successful attorneys aren’t supposed todie of undiagnosed heart defects. They aren’t supposed to die twomonths before their wedding, three months after buying a house withtheir fiancée. If they’re going to die in the middle of the courtroom, it’s supposed to be sensational: the result of a crazeddefendant or disgruntled victim taking justice into their own hands.Especially Carl, who always had to do the best and be the best, whohad to make a name for himself everywhere he went. He’s probablylooking down on the whole thing now, pissed that he hadn’t beenable to deliver his brilliant closing arguments before fate ripped ahole in his heart and sent him falling to the floor of JudgeAberman’s court room. He probably wouldn’t have thought of me onthe way down—of how he was making a widow of me even before Ibecame a wife—only how he’d never get to make partner now.

Our bed seems much bigger than it used to. The edgesstretch farther and farther away from me, drowning me in expensiveorganic cotton. Taunting me. Telling me with all the softness andcompassion of an automaton that no matter how many times I roll over,I’ll never again feel Carl beside me.

Still, I heave myself over, and over again, searchingfor a warmth that isn’t there. Or, at the very least, a cool emptyspace just over the edge that might tell me our bed hasn’t reallygrown to infinite proportions I can never escape. I find the latter,in the form of a three foot fall onto the hardwood floor. I hardlytry to brace myself, my hip thudding gracelessly against the goldenpine, my elbow cracking against the nightstand on the way down.

Shit.

I swallow the metallic taste that has sprouted from thetip of my tongue, curl my knees up to my chest, stare at the dustbunnies that have collected under the bed. I should get up, I think.Should wipe the stream of unladylike snot sliding across my upperlip. Instead, I let my forehead drop to the floor and continuescanning the shadowy void under the bed as if my fiancé mightmagically appear there.

Every time I try to imagine his face, I see him as Isaw him in the hospital.

When he left the house this morning, he was wearing adark grey three-button suit. Pale blue shirt. Grey and blue stripedtie. But when I pushed through the hospital doors, the only grey wasthe ashen color of his face; he was wearing only a white sheet.

I’ll have to change the sheets on our bed—mybed now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep on plainwhite sheets again.

My cell phone rings from somewhere unseen. I roll overonto my back with every intention of getting up and answering it, butby the time the white ceiling comes into view, the ringing hasstopped. So I stop trying to get up.

Minutes later, it starts again. I don’t know how longit rings, only that it keeps on ringing. And ringing. When it finallydoes stop, for good, it’s replaced by a loud knocking at the door.

“Bree!” The deep voice is somewhere outside mybedroom, but in the house. Apparently I didn’t lock the front door.“Brianne!” My brother-in-law calls to me again. At least hewould’ve been my brother-in-law. Not anymore.

“Luke.” I mean to call out, but my voice fails me,emanating as only a cracked whisper. The bedroom door bursts openanyway, and Luke is suddenly on his knees with me.

“Jesus, Bree, why didn’t you pick up?”

“It’s not real, right?” Arms encircle me. I findmy face pressed against his neck, a day’s worth of stubblescratching at my forehead. Definitely real.

“You should’ve called me first. I would’ve gonewith you to the hospital.”

I hadn’t thought to call. When someone told me myfiancé had collapsed in court, I wasn’t thinking about who Ishould call to meet me at the hospital. I was thinking about thedesigner gown that would be arriving at a local wedding boutique in aweek for a fitting. I was thinking about the nearly 200 guests wewere expecting at the wedding in 8 weeks.

“Gloria,” I said. I was thinking about her, too, onthe way to the hospital. Carl and Luke’s mother. Somehow, she wouldmake this out to be my fault.

Luke squeezes me tighter and for a moment I imagine Imight feel better if he would just squeeze all the breath from mylungs.

“I called. They’re trying to get a flight out.”

I hadn’t called anyone at all. The drive home is ablur. Someone at the firm must have called Luke.

“I have to call Father Granger.” He was supposedto marry us. Now he’ll have to perform another ceremony. I try toscramble to my feet; Luke scrambles with me. His arms are the onlything that keep me steady when my knees turn to jelly.

“Bree, stop it.”

“I have to call.”

“You can do it tomorrow.”

“I have to—”

“You don’t.” His grip is firm. I try to push him away.

“There’s so much I have—”

“Bree, just stop. It can wait.”

“He’s dead!” I scream, saying it out loud for thefirst time. “What am I supposed to do, huh?” I pound my fistsagainst his chest. “He was supposed to marry me, and love me, andbe with me forever, and now he’s dead!”

He’s dead.

Luke sits on the couch all night and watches me makephone calls. Sometimes he protests, tells me it can wait, I shouldsit down. Eat. Something. Anything.

But I can’t, because every time I slow down, I canfeel the world spinning beneath my feet. It’s always been turning,changing, buzzing with the hum of millions of busy lives. But beforenow, my life always hummed right along with the rest, one ballerinain a carefully choreographed dance. Now I’ve lost my place and canonly mimic the movements of the other dancers, frighteningly aware ofhow fast everything is going by, until I can find my way again.

I call my parents back home in Seattle and they promiseto get on the first plane they can catch. Mom tells me to hang inthere, not to stay the night alone, to surround myself with friends.She, like Luke, tries to convince me that all my phone calls—tocancel wedding plans and make funeral arrangements—can wait untilmorning. But I keep dialing. Wedding’s off. Carl’s dead. No otherreason, and why should there be?

Call the caterer. The florist. Maybethe florist can…no, don’t think about that. Keep dialing. Thereception hall. Should’ve started cancelling things yesterday, orthe day before, but my lips couldn’t form the embarrassed excusethen. It’s more difficult now to spit out this tragic news instead.This isn’t what I wanted when we decided… How was I to know?

Call the ceremony site. And the guests. So many guests.I can at least start calling my side of the list tonight. The restwill wait.

Can’t stop to listen to the silence or look at Luke’sexpressionless face. I haven’t seen him cry. He sits there andwatches me pace across the living room, cell phone pressed to my ear.When my fingers run out of numbers to dial, when my lips can nolonger bear to form any words, Luke watches me cry.

I stand in the middle of the living room, sniffling,wiping at the tears as fast as they come. I don’t even have theluxury of denial because I saw him, covered from toes to neck. I felthis skin, not yet cold, but not as warm as mine. I can’t deludemyself that he might come walking through the door. I cry because hewon’t.

And I cry because a selfish part of me is relieved hecan’t.

Sample: Sorry's Not Enough

2011-10-09T05:58:00.001-04:00

Sorry's Not Enough
Commercial Fiction
Chapter 1

Sanguinolentsunset. Nowthere's a word you don't see every day. Charlotte circled it with herred pen and drew a smiley face at the end of the line, just belowwhere she'd called out a different phrase for being trite. Shecontinued making notes in the margin as the rest of the group tookturns giving their feedback. By the time she was done marking up thepoem, the paper was also sanguinolent.

Shelooked up when the group grew quiet. Her turn. She looked down at thepoem again and hoped its author wouldn't be offended. She had to lookat the paper to remember his name. Steven.

“It's a little confused,” she said. There was apause and a shuffle of papers.

“What don't you understand?” he asked.

She snapped her chin up to look at him and was takenaback by the force of his gaze and the color of his eyes. Therewasn't an adjective to describe the shade of green staring back ather.

“I'm not confused. Your poem is.”

Hisgaze dropped to his copy of the poem. She could almost see his brainstruggling to acknowledge that there could be any imperfections. Heprobably thought it was soooo amazing!as proclaimed by Aubrey, the bubbly redhead to his left. She hadgushed to an embarrassing extent, obviously more interested ingetting his number than saying anything meaningful. It had been sadand funny at the same time. With a pang of something she refused tobelieve was jealousy, Charlotte realized that, of the two of them,Aubrey would be the only one taking any numbers.

Whatever. She certainly didn't want Steven's number.Not when he looked at her again with an aloof, almost cocky grin,apparently waiting to hear more of her thoughts about his poem. Well,if he insisted.

“Thestyle isn't consistent. The first stanza is really concise, like youchose each word for a reason.” The red smiley face she'd drawn nextto sanguinolent sunset caughther eye, but she ignored it. She'd let Aubrey pad his ego. “But thelast couple of stanzas have some ornate description that's just awaste of space. And some clichés that need to go.”

“Lots of authors use clichés,” Aubrey said andshot a hopeful glance at Steven. “It can be an effective tool.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Except it's not. Not here. Theydon't help create a tone or anything, and this isn't satire. A clichéwithout purpose is still just a cliché.”

Aubrey frowned, but Steven nodded slowly, like he wasseeing her point.

“Easyon the poor lad, Charlotte,”Alexander McAnulty said. He was aportly gentleman, and one of the oldest workshop participants.Charlotte liked to think of him as her long-lost, really awesomeIrish uncle. The kind who might've let you take a puff of his pipewhen you were barely twelve, with a warning of don'ttell yer mum. She'dgotten to know him during a previous workshop. “Wasn't thereanything you liked about it?”

She softened a bit. She wasn't trying to be mean. “Inever said I didn't like it.”

“No, it's okay. I appreciate the honesty,” Stevensaid.

She would've gone on to mention what she did like aboutit, but Deb, the instructor, called for the small groups to break upand reform one large group.

At the end of the day's session, Charlotte met Deb atthe front of the classroom.

“Ready to go?” Charlotte was looking forward to acream soda float at the campus creamery.

“In a minute. I asked Steven to come along,” Debsaid.

“Why?”

Deb laughed and shook her head. “What'd he do to rubyou the wrong way?”

“Nothing. He's just very sure of himself.” Shewatched him pack up his messenger bag from across the room.

“Since when is that a fault?”

She shrugged. Aubrey bounced over to Steven, grinninglike a fool. Charlotte couldn't deny she was cute. A thick mass ofred curls, fair skin, a smattering of freckles. Her voice was alittle nasally, though. It carried across the room. She was askingSteven to get lunch with her and a few others. He smiled and lookedover Aubrey's head to where Charlotte and Deb stood. Aubrey's gazefollowed. Charlotte couldn't hear Steven's reply, but the pretty poutsaid it all.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and approached thefront of the room, acknowledging them with a nod. As they walkedacross campus, Deb and Steven chatted about his job search whileCharlotte felt like the odd man out. She trudged alongside Steven,trying not to resent his presence. She had been looking forward tochatting one on one with Deb this afternoon. Deb was like a mother toher, and they hadn't gotten to talk as often as usual in the pastmonth or so.

She perked up a bit when she finally had her cream sodafloat in hand. Before she could hand the cashier her check card,Steven stepped in front of her and thrust a twenty at the cashier.

“I'll get it.”

“It's fine, I can get my own.”

“For all three.” He ignored her protest. Thecashier hesitantly reached for the money.

“Isaid I can get it.” She gritted her teeth.

“Iheard you.” He took his change and smiled his thanks to the girlbehind the counter, who promptly blushed. Good lord. Was she the onlyone not all that impressed? She stalked out to the patio withoutanother word.

Shedidn't like being indebted to anyone, even if it was for less thanfive bucks. Especially not some smug guy who thinks his recentlyearned college diploma makes him an authority on life. After amoment, he came out of the building and sat down next to her. Debtrailed a few feet behind, but before she reached the table, her cellphone rang. She stepped further away and took the call.

“Pistachiois so pretentious,” Charotte said of Steven's double-dip wafflecone.

Helaughed and shook his head. “Is that better or worse than beingtrite?”

Sheflushed against her better judgment and hoped any color on her cheekswould be mistaken for the effects of the sun. She gazed out acrossthe green stretch of campus between them and the main academicbuildings. The Common Groundsis what everyone called the open space. In the middle of summer now,there were more sunbathers than study groups clustered on the lawn.She studied each one that was close enough to see clearly, but nomatter how hard she concentrated on tanned bodies and colorfulblankets, she couldn't ignore the weight of his gaze.

“You're staring,” she said, without meeting hiseyes.

“Why cream soda?”

“What?” She looked at him that time, andimmediately regretted it. Didn't he ever blink?

“Root beer float, sure. Coke float, even. Why creamsoda?”

The sun glinted in his eyes. At least she thought itwas the sun. Eyes couldn't naturally possess that much sparkle, couldthey? She looked down into her cup, then silently cursed his abilityto make her uncomfortable.

“It's what I always get.” The melting ice creamformed a frothy foam on top of the soda. She scooped some up with herspoon and brought it to her lips. It began to fizz and melt away themoment it hit her tongue. She loved the mellow caramel flavor ofcream soda as opposed to the almost spicy bite of root beer. Vanillaand caramel. Few things worked so well together. “Why mess withperfection?”

“I agree.” He reached toward her and wiped thecorner of her mouth with his thumb. His eyes bore into hers like hewas looking for something.

At the brush of his fingertips across her cheek, herspine shifted into a sensuous curve and the hair on her scalpprickled. A flutter of eyelashes obscured her vision for a moment.She couldn't keep looking at him if he was going to keep looking ather like that. She averted her eyes, feeling like a part of her wasshowing that she'd much rather keep under wraps.

“Sorry.” His voice tickled the base of her spineeven as his hand dropped back to the table.

“It's okay.” His hands she didn't mind. It was hiseyes she wished he would keep to himself.

Deb finally joined them at the table, oblivious to thetension of a moment ago.

“Sorry about that, guys. Gary is taking the boys tothe lake for a little while and couldn't find Gregory's swim trunks.I swear, if the man bothered to move something, life would be alittle easier.”

“The lake sounds really good right now,” Charlottesaid. Her cheeks burned. From the sun, of course.

“Maybe you can come with us some time next week,”Deb said. “The boys have been asking about you.”

“I miss their little faces.” After seeing them andhelping care for them every day for more than two years, she washaving cuteness withdrawal after moving out of Deb's house earlier inthe summer. She glanced at her watch and sighed.

“What? Oh, you don't have to leave right now, doyou?” Deb asked.

“I have to get ready for work.”

“Where's work?” Steven asked. She pretended not tohear.

“I left my uniform in the dryer last night, so I’mgoing to need to starch it to death.”

“That's too bad. I wanted to ask you guys how youliked working in small groups today.”

“I got some great feedback,” Steven said, grinning.

Deb looked at him, then Charlotte.

“Apparently I’m trite.” He still smiled when hesaid it, but she blushed anyway. God damn, she wished he'd stopmaking her do that.

“Not you, the poem. Although you're getting there.”

“Charlotte doesn't hold back when it comes tocriticism,” Deb said, smiling.

“Oh come on, you say that like I get some pleasurefrom it.”

“I said no such thing. But maybe it says somethingthat that's what you heard.” Deb winked and nudged Steven with herelbow.

Maybe she was right. She shrugged it off and stood up.

“Call me tomorrow,” Deb said. “There's somethingelse I wanted to talk to you about.”

Charlottestiffened. The air grew thick, as though the humidity had doubled.She already knew what the somethingelse was,and she didn't want to discuss it any more.

“I told my Aunt no. I’m not changing my mind.”

“Honey, I just want you to understand--”

“No.” She angled her body more toward Deb, in anattempt to remove Steven from her peripheral vision. “I havenothing to say to him and want nothing to do with him. He has nolegal standing over me anymore. I made sure of that.”

“I know. I get that.” Deb stood and embraced herbriefly. “Sorry I brought it up here. Just call me, okay?”

“Okay.” She smoothed her shorts over her hips, moreas a way to iron out her irritation than to rid herself of wrinkles.“Give the boys hugs and kisses for me.”

“Of course.”

“See ya, Charlotte.” Steven's voice made her pausemid-turn as she was leaving. She looked back over her shoulder. Hissmile worked some of the tension out of her shoulders. She nodded andsmiled back. He'd at least earned that much.

This Isn't About Steve Jobs

2011-10-06T18:55:00.000-04:00

[We interrupt your regularly scheduled Jello World programming of all things writing-related for a moment of personal reflection.]

Unless you've been hiding under a rock for the past 24 hours, you know Steve Jobs (co-founder and CEO of Apple) died yesterday, following a battle with pancreatic cancer. He was only 56. My Facebook and Twitter feeds have been flooded with quotes, pictures, remembrances, tributes, etc. related to this fact. It has been touching. And I have to admit, it's hit a little harder for me than I ever thought possible. I'm not spiraling into depression over it or anything, but still. It hurts. But it really has very little to do with Steve Jobs at all.

I do not own - nor do I really have any particular affinity for - any Apple products. Seriously. Not even an iPod. While Jobs was certainly an innovator in his industry, and is an iconic figure of this generation, he's hardly the most influential, important, or inspirational person to have graced this earth. I don't say that to detract from his accomplishments or diminish the grief felt by so many at his passing. On the contrary, I think it elevates the public outpouring of sympathy and grief. We grieve for the loss of human life - you don't have to have worshiped the man to feel a sting of pain now that he's gone.

Like I said, it's not about Steve Jobs at all. It's about us, and the thread of humanity and life that connects us all as we each try to find our way. It's about recognizing in someone else a hint of something you feel strongly within yourself. What struck me about Jobs' passing is the fact that his last public appearance was in June, and then he stepped down from his position in August. Two months ago. That's no time at all.

This drives home two powerful lessons for me. First, the human spirit is something fierce. He was hard at work - doing a job that would probably give most of us ulcers - until mere weeks before his death. Patrick Swayze, who also died as a result of pancreatic cancer in 2009 at the age of 57, was hard at working filming a TV show within a year of his death. In the face of such obstacles, we - human beings - can still do so much.

My mother-in-law, Elizabeth Dolk

Second, pancreatic cancer is a bitch. It's unfair. It sucks more than any amount of expletives can possibly convey. My mother-in-law passed away from pancreatic cancer a few years ago. It was only a few short months between diagnosis and her final days. She was 62. I've been pausing to wipe away tears the whole time I've been writing this post, because there's still a lot of grief and anger there for me. Pancreatic cancer is a beast of a disease that can steal the light from a person's eyes in such a short amount of time. It can overtake even the strongest of spirits and before you know it, the person is gone. My mother-in-law, Elizabeth. Steve Jobs. Luciano Pavarotti. Patrick Swayze. Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pausch. And so many, many more. Just gone. That's terrifying.

But as much as this isn't about Steve Jobs, it isn't about cancer, either. It's about the dichotomy of being connected to the world while carving out your own space. It's about the ability to feel sorrow (or love, or anything, for that matter) for someone you may have never met, whose life may never have even impacted yours in any significant way, but who you know has touched others, and who is like you if for no other reason than you belong to the same species. It's knowing that none of us is a solitary creature (no matter how much I try to be, sometimes.) Some of us make waves while others make small ripples, but always know your life - my life - affects someone. Sometimes the thread of humanity that connects us all is there, glinting in the sun so that we can't deny its existence, but other times it's barely discernible. But it's always there. I have moments where I feel it so strongly it nearly suffocates me and I push it away, out of sight, afraid of what that connection means - afraid of what potential commitments or obligations (or opportunities to hurt, disappoint, or injure) I fear are hidden in that little thread.

Sometimes I feel crippled by the simple fact that you are human just like me. There, I said it. But what does that even mean? It means I live a cautious life - one full of admiration and love and affection for others, but one where I'm afraid to make those waves, or even tiny ripples, for fear of adversely affecting anyone else, because I sure as hell don't want to be negatively affected by anyone else's actions.

One of the quotes from Steve Jobs that I've seen a lot of since last night is this:

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.

How much more fitting does it get? It's such a duh sentiment, but it's still like a punch in the gut. It was like Steve Jobs was speaking to me from the grave. I did a little digging and found more of his speech from the 2005 Commencement at Stanford:

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

I didn't hear or read his speech when he gave it. It took his death to bring those words to me. It's been an emotional 24 hours inside my head. And even though Steve Jobs said those words, I'll say this again:

This isn't about Steve Jobs. It isn't about cancer. It isn't even about death.

This is about life.

So if you'll pardon me, I have some living to do. I hope you do, too.

Recommendation: Diary of a Small Fish, by Pete Morin

2011-09-28T17:58:00.000-04:00

Today I'd like to introduce you to Pete Morin and his debut novel, Diary of a Small Fish. I know Pete from AQC and Authonomy, where I was privileged to read snippets of DOSF some time ago.

When Paul Forte is indicted by a federal grand jury,everyone suspects prosecutor Bernard (don’t call him “Bernie”) Kilroy has moreon his mind than justice. Then the FBI agent in charge of Paul’s case gives hima clue to the mystery: Kilroy is bent on settling an old family score, and he’snot above breaking the law to do it.

Paul is already dealing with the death of his parents anddivorce from a woman he still loves. Now, with the support of an alluring grandjuror, Paul must expose the vindictive prosecutor’s own corruption before thejury renders a verdict on his Osso Buco.

Diary of a Small Fish was released today in ebook format, and will be forthcoming in paperback. If you click the book cover above, it will take you to the Smashwords purchase page where you can read a sample and buy the book in any format you desire. And you should buy the book!

Full disclosure: I have not read the entire book yet, but I hope, dear readers, you know by know that I don't promote authors or books I don't believe in. If you like crime fiction with suspense and a bit of that lovey-dovey mumbo jumbo (my favorite kind of mumbo jumbo!) then Pete won't disappoint. He has a straightforward, shoot-from-the hip kind of style, with just the right amount of quirk. I wholeheartedly recommend you check out this book, and keep your eyes open for more from Pete in the future. In addition to DOSF, you can find some of his short fiction on Smashwords as well. Tell Pete I sent ya!

I will post a proper review of DOSF in a few weeks' time (after I review a few other books that I just haven't had the time to finish reading yet). If you read DOSF, I hope you'll come back here and let me know what you think, but most importantly - review it on Smashwords, Amazon, Goodreads, your blog, etc. and spread the word.

About the author:

Pete Morin hasbeen a trial attorney, a politician, a bureaucrat, a lobbyist, and a witness(voluntary and subpoenaed) to countless outrages. He combines them all in thisdebut novel.

Pete’s shortfiction has appeared in NEEDLE, AMagazine of Noir, Words With Jam, 100 Stories for Haiti, and Words to Music. He published many of themin a collection titled Uneasy Living,available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When he is notwriting crime fiction or legal mumbo jumbo, Pete plays blues guitar in Bostonbars, enjoys the beach, food and wine with his wife, Elizabeth, and their twoadult children, and on rare occasion, punches a fade wedge to a tight pinsurrounded by sand or water. He lives in a money pit on the seacoast south ofBoston, in an area once known as the Irish Riviera.

Pete isrepresented by Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency.

Boundaries of the Writing Community

2011-09-19T14:46:00.000-04:00

Recently I followed a discussion on AQC, about whether some critical comments were or were not appropriate in regards to a fellow member's writing. I saw no harm in the criticism - we're writers, and not everything we write will be received well by everyone else. That's okay. But the conversation - along with the recent publicity about paying for fake reviews - got me thinking about the obligations, expectations, and boundaries of the writing community. (On a brief side note, you can read my honest review pledge by clicking on the tab at the top of the page.)

There's a sense - I believe now, more than ever - that we're all in this together. We're all navigating the same murky waters, trying to break into an industry that's changing every day. And we do support each other. I love supporting those writers whose work I believe in.

However, I've come across the sentiment in some indie- and self-pub circles that all criticism should essentially be squashed. We need to support each other! If one wins, we all win! If one loses, we all lose! Rah-rah-sis-boom-bah! All that sort of mindless cheerleading.

Should you post a less-than-glowing review on Amazon, where it could potentially affect sales? Some would say no. But I say why not? If it's your honest opinion, not motivated by spite or anything like that, why not? If you bought the latest book by a NYT bestseller and didn't like it, would you refrain from reviewing it on Amazon because it was critical in nature? Just look at how many people bash Twilight, or The DaVinci Code, etc. But take an indie- or self-published author, and suddenly it seems like a different beast altogether. That's when all the cheering and jeering starts again.

We're all in this together! A negative review could hurt their sales. We're a community!

It doesn't sit quite right with me, though. Yes, I am a writer in a community of writers, many of whom I like a lot. I want to see those writers whose writing I adore shoot to the top and have great success. But if someone who frequents the same message boards and forums that I do publishes a book, that doesn't automatically make it off-limits for my criticism, does it? Why should it?

The purpose of a review is to share your opinion of a story and the writing with other people who have read, or may be considering reading, that book. It's true, a particularly good or bad review may sway some customers' decisions on whether or not to buy the book. Should we let that stop us from posting a review that isn't all puppy dogs and rainbows? If it's the latest Dean Koontz, I bet most of you would say no, it shouldn't matter, we're all entitled to our opinions. If it's a self-published author, though, trying to eke out a living...? Tell me what you think. Here's what I think (apologies in advance if it's a bit blunt).

Once you publish a book - I don't care how you do it - reviews are fair game. I'm talking genuine, honest reviews, based on the content of the book and the quality of the writing, and nothing else. I don't care if you publish with a major house, an independent press, or if you self-publish. You're in the business now, and people will have opinions. I don't care if we belong to the same online communities, if we chat on Twitter, whatever. If I think you've delivered a sub-par product, I should feel free to say so in my review, just the same as I would if I were talking about Nicholas Sparks. As callous as it sounds, I'm not terribly concerned with your sales (or Nicholas Sparks' sales, or any author's sales).

There's a real danger in the false back-patting that I've seen in indie- and self-pub circles. I'm not here to blow smoke up anyone's ass about their talent. If I don't mean it, I won't say it. I won't be pressured into giving something a better review than I think it deserves simply because the author and I are both signed-in-blood-card-carrying members of the writing community. Likewise, I can't be pressured into withholding a review that may carry some pointed criticism, despite the very real fact that reviews can affect sales.

As aspiring writers, how often do we complain about what we see as mediocre quality novels being published while our own superior (in our eyes) stories go unnoticed and as-yet-unpublished? As readers, how often have we picked up a much-hyped book, only to be disappointed? And that's with the stuff that's already made it through the so-called gatekeepers of traditional publishing. With the digital publishing push, there are oceans of new books to wade through every day. If we keep our criticisms to ourselves - or worse, if we let the idea of "community" guilt us into giving sugar-coated reviews - how will we then, as readers, be able to spot the proverbial diamond in the rough? And how will we, as writers, expect our own stories to stand out in the crowd if everyone has the same rose-colored reviews?

If and when my novels are published, I'll expect both good and bad reviews. Not everyone will like what and how I write. If a customer reads a negative review that resonates with them, so be it. Other customers will be swayed by the positive reviews. If the negatives outweigh the positives, and my sales aren't good, then I need to put out a better product, simple as that.

Would you post a critical review of an author you're familiar with through social networking or writing websites? Have you ever felt pressure to post a positive review no matter what you actually thought? I'd like to hear your take on things.

A Writer’s Guide to Successful Blogging, Part 3

2011-09-06T18:05:00.001-04:00

(You can read part one here and part two here.)

In this installment of the Successful Blogging series, we’re going to talk about one small – yet vital – aspect of blogging.

This is the Internet we’re on, and this is the Information Age. So many things are available at the click of a mouse, and naturally we’re accustomed to having them readily so. We Google things we want to know and can find the answers pretty quickly.

However, if a reader has come to YOUR blog because you purport to have some sort of information they want, you’d better have it right there, ready to go at the click of a mouse.
What the hell am I talking about, you ask?

I’m talking about LIVE LINKS, folks! It amazes me how often this is overlooked. If you have an interview with a new author on your blog, you should have a live link to a marketplace (such as Amazon) where it can be purchased or a site like Goodreads where people can read reviews. A link to the author’s website and/or blog is important, too. If you’re discussing an issue you heard about from some other online sources, it’s a good idea to link to those resources so your readers can read the same thing you did. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to link.

Wrong: No link at all. Don’t make your reader leave your blog and go to Google! You brought up the article/product/website/whatever, so you should provide the link!

Wrong: www.fromthewriteangle.com <---- You can’t click that link! Don’t make the reader open a new tab and copy/paste the address.

Wrong: www.fromthewriteangle.com Yes, you can click that link. But don’t link to a general homepage if what you really want to direct people to is a specific page or entry. You need to insert the permanent hyperlink (permalink) to the specific page. If it's a specific blog post, you can right click on the post title, then select Copy link location. Or just click on the post and copy from your browser. DON'T FORGET to use the permalink when you tweet about your post, too! Don't direct people to your homepage and expect them to know which post you meant.

Wrong: http://www.fromthewriteangle.com/2011/08/digital-publishings-plr-plight.html You’re probably beating your head against the computer screen, saying But that’s the direct link to the page you want people to see, which you just said we should use! Yes, yes it is. But it looks ugly, doesn’t it? Just sitting there in all its full-length glory. It can get especially ugly if you have a really long link, like the ones for a product on Amazon. Keep everything clean-looking. Instead of saying “Here’s a recent post on Private Label Rights” and then slapping the link on the end in parentheses or something, link the relevant word(s) in a sentence.

Right: “I read a post on Private Label Rights that really made me think.” See, doesn’t that look better? And you don’t even need to know the fancy code for that (although I could teach you if you really want.)

In your Blogger editor (and most other blogging platforms), you’ll see an icon that looks like a chain link – that’s your hyperlink button. Just highlight the word or phrase that you want to be a clickable link, click the hyperlink button, and type or paste the URL that you want it to point to. Voila! That’s all there is to it. That one tiny step will help your blog look clean and professional, and will ensure your readers have a hassle-free link-viewing experience.

Happy blogging!

We Have A Winner!

2011-09-02T21:12:00.005-04:00

The voting closed a little more than an hour ago for my Clothing Not Optional contest, and I can now reveal the winners, and the identities of the participants! First, here are the authors:

Michelle Simkins - The Day Laborer
Cherie - Love in the Time of Dystopia
Kellie M - Breathe
Author would like to remain anonymous - Sunshine and Sea Magic

They were all great entries, and really happy these four ladies took a chance at something none of them are that familiar or comfortable with. Bravo! I know everyone is dying to know, so here are the winners.

In first place we have..... Michelle! Congrats! You've won Wetlands, by Charlotte Roche. Seems everyone liked a good roll in the hay ;-)

And the runner up is Cherie! You've won the Agent Provocateur short story collection. Congrats!

If you two ladies could email me your postal addresses, I will mail out your prizes.

Thanks again to everyone who participated, and I hope to see even more entries next time. Oh yes... there will be a next time! :-)

Clothing Not Optional Contest Finalists

2011-08-27T19:00:00.000-04:00

I know you’ve all been biting your nails in anticipation, right? Well the wait is finally over! I only had four entries for the contest, which means all four automatically make it to the final voting round. Whew. I’m kinda glad I was absolved of having to pick! I’ll post their entries below, anonymously. No names will be revealed until you’ve voted for the winner(s). Two authors named their stories, and two didn’t, so I made up names for the other two. Hope they don’t mind! So here they are, in no particular order:

#1 The Day Laborer

Katie dropped onto a hay bale and pulled off her work gloves, tucking them into her back pocket. Then she pulled a water bottle out of her backpack and took a long drink. Everyone else had left the hayfield the second they were done for the day, but Katie lingered to watch the sky paint itself pink and gold.

She ached all over, but it was a good ache; an ache that said she was young and strong, and could walk the dusty fields for hours, tossing hay bales on to a trailer.

"Got any more water?"

Katie jumped as a tall shadow fell over her, and turned slightly to see Jake standing over her. She didn't know why Jake was spending his summer doing manual labor instead of, say, modeling underwear. All she knew was he had pretty blue eyes, a smile that said he knew how to get in trouble, and a seemingly endless supply of well-worn plaid shirts that fit a little too tight in all the right places.

She rummaged in her backpack and handed him a water bottle without a word.
Katie wasn't especially quiet, most of the time, but she found herself unable to form coherent sentences when Jake was around.

He straddled the haybale, facing her with one of his knees touching her thigh, before opening his water bottle. She didn't realize she was staring at the way his throat moved when he drank until she found herself imagining kissing the hollow between his collar bones. She went hot all over with embarrassed lust, and quickly returned her gaze to the rise of land to the west. Deep green firs topped the hill, contrasting with the dull gold wheat field that clothed its side. A slight breeze sprang up and cooled the sweat on her neck, and she drank some more water and breathed deep.

"So what's it like around here in the winter?" he asked.

She cleared her throat. "It's . . . wet," she said. "And chilly."

He took another long swallow of water. She studied the long line of his thighs, the casual strength of his hands.

"You thinking about staying?" she asked casually, proud that her voice didn't shake or catch.

"Kinda depends," he said.

She straightened her legs out in front of her and crossed her ankles.

"On what?"

He put his water bottle on the ground and ran his hands through his hair. It stuck up in straw-colored confusion, looking exactly like the trampled remains of hay at their feet. The effect was endearing rather than comical.

"On what you think about me staying."

She froze. Her stomach plunged like she'd just driven her car too fast down a steep hill. Before she could reply, he reached out his hand.

"You've got a piece of straw in your hair."

Her face went hot, and she was sure she was red as a beet, as he pulled the tiny piece of straw free and tossed it aside.

Still watching her, he reached out again and slid the elastic from her hair, his fingers brushing the middle of her back where the braid ended.

"Do you mind?" he asked, his voice low.

She shook her head. Her breath caught as he slowly loosened the braid, his touch careful and deliberate. Every time his fingertips touched her back she had to suppress a twitch of surprised pleasure. When her hair was unbraided, the breeze lifted it around her face. She'd always loved the sensual touch of wind in her hair, and she closed her eyes.

"I've been wanting to see your hair down since I met you," he said.

Her voice cracked when she said, "Oh?"

"Mm-hm."

His voice was much closer than it had been. She opened her eyes and turned her head, and his face was inches from her own. He smiled briefly before he kissed her.

He held her face with his hands. His palms and fingertips were calloused, but his touch was as gentle as his lips. He tasted like salt, and he smelled like dust and straw and sunlight. That plunging feeling in her stomach came and went in waves, and she forgot about the prickle of straw under her clothes. He kissed her slow, like he had all the time in the world, and languorous heat spread through her until she felt like she had no bones.

One hand trailed from her cheek, down her neck and shoulder, and hooked under the knee that was pressed against his. Without pulling his lips from hers, he lifted her leg and turned her so she faced him. Then he put both hands on her hips and yanked her forward, her thighs over his, their torsos pressed together. She gasped, and his tongue joined his lips in exploring her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull herself even tighter against him, to feel his hard chest pressed against her breasts. One of his hands traveled up her back, under her hair. He grasped a handful of her hair just hard enough to tilt her head, and his lips moved to the sensitive hollow between her jaw and her earlobe.

Her nipples tightened and tingled, as if there was no barrier between their bodies. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tilted her head back as his lips and teeth wandered over her throat. The whole world was one blazing glare of gold behind her eyelids.

She was all the way in his lap now, his erection pressed against her jeans, his breath as uneven as her own. She wrapped her legs around him. His hands tugged at her shirt until it came untucked, and his fingers traveled under the fabric, setting fire to her spine. He unhooked her bra with a deft flick of his fingers, placed his palm and fingers on her ribcage and stroked one nipple with his thumb. She bent and kissed his neck, and he made a surprised, aching sound, pressing her hips closer with his free arm.

He stood up with her still wrapped around him. She opened her eyes to protest as her legs swung free and her feet touched the ground. But before she could complain he sank to the ground and tugged her hand until she joined him. He rolled her onto her back, and his pelvis pressed into hers, moving slow and smooth. Her head fell back, her hair snagging on the shorn grass. As he pulled the neck of her shirt aside so he could kiss her collarbones and shoulder, her hips rose to meet his. They moved in rhythm. She ran her hands over his back, feeling his muscles tense and release through the thin fabric of his shirt.

His lips moved back to her mouth, and their rocking together increased in pace. The light behind Katie's eyes brightened, and she came like mad in the middle of a hay field with hawks flying overhead and grasshoppers buzzing in the heat. Jake stopped kissing her, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her face. She felt the blush spreading over her cheeks. He grinned.

"So, it's okay with you if I stick around?" he asked.

Katie laughed.

#2 Love in the Time of Dystopia

Harsh fluorescent lights blink overhead. I look up. The fixtures rattle to warn us of an incoming subway train. My hands turn clammy; beads of sweat dripping off my fingers even though it is below freezing tonight. I shiver on the bench and wait.

The tiles are stained and grimy underneath my worn-down boots. Down the length of the station, Patrol officers monitor the comings and goings of the Citizens. Soon they’ll stroll down my way and I’d have to make myself scarce. I have no papers to explain my presence in the subway, for how do you put on paper the word love? Society bans such notions of feeling. We’re a well-oiled community, a place of gears working seamlessly with each other. Each Citizen has a purpose, a reason for existing. Mine was to fix broken clocks in my father’s workshop, marry someone of my own status when I reach eighteen, and bear one child to continue the business of mending time. This is what my papers show. This is the fate Society decided for me even before I was born.

Not this. The anxious loitering in the subway halls. Waiting to catch a glimpse of him.

The train shudders to a stop. I tuck my numb hands inside my oversized coat and tug down my woolen cap to cover any stray curls. A mass of identical gray coats and hats emerge from the doors. How will I find him here? A Patrol Officer is staring at me two yards away. I retreat into the shadows. A horn blares, announcing the train’s next stop. My eyes blur and a lone tear escapes despite my will to stifle it. Tomorrow I turn eighteen.

He’s one of the Privileged. I knew this the morning he first came to the shop to have his watch fixed. It was a rare event to have a Privileged Citizen visit the clock shop. They usually send their servants to run their errands. His hair was as golden as the gigantic pendulum swinging in my father’s office. Eyes like the endless blue of the ocean. His watch broke several times in the course of a year.
But tomorrow, my papers will be stamped. My future sealed. I clutch my stomach as my insides churn.

“Hey, you there!” calls the Patrol Officer. I bolt, and footsteps thud on the tile floor behind me. My breath catches in my throat. My cap falls off, releasing a cascade of bright red hair. There, shouts an Officer, and more steps echo around the tunnel.

I run, never looking back. A train screeches past me and the rushing air pushes me backwards. A gloved hand grabs my arm before I could hit the ground.

“In here,” says the man, pulling me into a darkened room. The lock clicks in place. We listen as the sound of the officers calling to each other mingles with the onslaught of new noises: passengers embarking and disembarking. For the moment, I am safe.

“Thank you,” I mumble. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be getting on.”

I squint in the dark. He doesn’t move from the door.

“If you please, sir, I know I’m indebted to you. But I must go. My father will be looking for me.”

He raises an arm and pulls something above my head. A tiny orange light bulb pops to life, illuminating the old washroom which has somehow escaped Society’s renovations. We must be deeper down the tunnel. I look up.

Blue eyes.

“You!” I cry, my mouth hanging open. His lips widen into a smile. I trace his jaw with the tips of my callused fingers. He takes my hand and kisses the center of my palm.

“How did you…?” My voice wavers. If he’s here with me, then he’s not where he’s supposed to be. Fear pumps through my veins, my heart gripped in ice. “You have to go”.

“It’s too late. I’ve already done it. Soon they’ll find out and everyone will be looking for me. But you…you’ll be safe and that’s all I can ask for.” His eyes are dulled. Saddened.

“What did you do? Tell me!” My hands clench around the lapels of his coat. I breathe him in, his familiar clean scent mixed in with the faint smell of aftershave. His fingers get lost in my tangle of curls, sending ripples of electricity through my scalp.

“You are so beautiful,” he says in a low voice. My heart quickens. For the first time ever, we’re no longer separated by the wooden counter in the workshop. He cups my face with his hands. “So lovely.”

His thumb runs over my lips, parting them. I reach out to feel his broad shoulders, my fingers getting bolder with their exploration. He leans forward, slowly, slowly, the ache inside me expanding until our lips kiss. Warm and soft and moist. His tongue gently prodding mine, coaxing it out…tasting me. I press my body closer to his, hungry for a feel of his skin through layers of clothing. He responds by peeling off my coat and letting it drop to the floor. The cold underground air sends goose bumps prickling over my bare arms. My nipples harden and push through the thin smock I’m wearing.
He nibbles my ear, his tongue darting in and out, sending fire to simmer down between my legs. I moan. At the sound, he shrugs off his coat and pulls my hips toward him. I feel his longing grow, hardening against the fabric of his pants.

“I want you,” he whispers, his breath grazing my collarbone. My back arches. He rubs his hands over my nipples until my breasts feel heavy and full. Another moan escapes me and the sound excites him, making him grind harder against me. The ache down below intensifies, and I slowly move my hips up and down to match his rhythm. The sensation sets me on fire, and I feel myself melting, opening for him. He groans.

“I want you too,” I say, straddling him with one leg. He leaves a trail of feathery kisses across my eyes, the bridge of my nose, my cheeks. Our lips meet again, and this time, I let him devour me. His mouth moves down my chest and closes in on my nipple, sucking its tip through the smock. I gasp.

A horn blasts, followed by an announcement of the train’s departure time. The last service train for the day. He shakes his head as if waking himself up, and puts me down gently on my feet.

“No, don’t stop,” I whimper. He smiles and pushes a curly strand off my face.

“I love you.” He picks up his coat and places it around my shoulders. “Inside one of the pockets are the papers you need. You should catch that train.” The five-minute warning bell sounds as if on cue. He unlocks the door. “Go.”

“What’ll happen to you? I can’t leave you.”

“I’ll find you. Now go.”

I step out of the room, but then he pulls me back and kisses me one more time. Hard. Desperate. I brush off a tear, and drunkenly stagger back to the glaring lights of the station in the distance. When I try to sneak a glance at him, there’s no one there. I clutch the papers with trembling fingers.

I show the papers to the train conductor and he waves me in without ado. Once inside, I peek at the words and my knees threaten to buckle. I plop down on a seat. My composure fizzles and I break down, sobbing. For the papers hold my freedom, at the price of my lover’s life.

The doors shut tight.

#3 Breathe (Jello says: When evaluating the sizzle factor, keep in mind that this entry is geared toward the Young Adult audience!)

The auditorium is larger than I thought it would be. This is my first time at the Regional High School Scholastic Competition and I’m surprised by the number of kids here. Our school doesn’t even compete until later in the day. I glance around the space as I follow the other kids from my school’s scholastic team down the steps of the auditorium. The purple banners that reflect the college mascot adorn the walls of the local university we’re using for the competition, but the lights aren’t focused on them. The lights are set on the center stage and that’s when I first see him. I stumble a little on the steps and slide into the third row and take my seat. I cannot take my eyes off of the stage.

On the stage there are two schools competing currently with five students on each team. The topic is Greek Mythology which means that they’re on their second to last series of questions. The last set of questions is always Chemistry. It’s usually the round that allows the smarter school to gain the points to win against their opponents.

As I watch the competition in front of me, all I hear is a slight buzzing. Teams are answering questions but my hearing has apparently left me. My vision has focused on the one boy on the stage that does not look like he belongs. All the students on stage are sitting ramrod straight in their chairs, arm poised to ring the answer bell. All of them but him. He’s lounging back in his chair, legs spread out under the table, like he’s at home in his kitchen. His arm rests near the bell but it seems so casual, not tense like everyone else’s. He’s tall and has slightly long shaggy hair. Not the typical style that I’ve seen from past competitions. I can’t help but think that he must be a fill in, someone the school grabbed at the last minute to make sure they had enough team members to compete.

He must have been able to feel me stare at him because he glances at me, winks, and hits the bell. I didn’t even hear the question. His answer is Pelopia, which the mediator says is correct. The question must have been “Who was the daughter of Thyestes”. He certainly knows his mythology. He glances at me again and smiles. I quickly look down, embarrassed. There goes my idea that he was a substitute just for numbers. And he noticed I was staring! I get up to escape from the embarrassment, mumbling something quickly to my teacher about using the bathroom.

Once I’m in the main corridor, I start to breathe normally again. I laugh a little to myself. Sure, he was a surprise. You don’t always see cute guys at the scholastic competitions, but I shouldn’t have been that dumbstruck. He was just a guy. There are tons of them around. There are even cute ones in my high school. I’m not sure now why I reacted the way I did. Like I couldn’t breathe once I saw the way the light bounced off his hair. And his smile. It was so impish. Like he knew I had been staring the whole time without breathing. And he winked at me! My face still feels flushed. Jeez, I’ve got to pull myself together. It’s not that big of a deal.

My hair falls like a curtain as I bend to get a drink from the water fountain. I reflexively push it behind my ear and notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I straighten up quickly and look to my right. Leaning his shoulder against the wall a few feet from the drinking fountain, the boy from the stage is facing me. He smiles. I look behind me, certain that the rest of his team must have shown up and he’s smiling at them. But no one is in the hall but us.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I respond. I’m brilliant and this is the best I can come up with? Get a grip!

“What school do you go to?”

“Kennedy. What about you?” I ask.

“Jefferson.”

“The 35th and the 3rd presidents,” I say automatically and then wince. I am such a geek.

“Personally I like number 26 the best,” he quips.

“Teddy Roosevelt was a man to be admired,” I agree.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks me.

“Emily. Yours? Wait. Is your competition over?”

“My name is Sam, and yes the competition is over for now. We won this round and move ahead in the bracket,” he says as he pushes away from the wall and walks towards me. He is tall, at least a head taller than me. I step away from the water fountain and back up a step as he walks towards me. In a quick second he is standing in front of me and I find my back to the wall, which is convenient since I think I’m going to faint.

“What’s your IQ?” he asks me as he places his hand on the wall to my right. Normally I would never brag but he’s got me so flustered I respond before I can even think. Which is funny since thinking is one of the things I do best. “Wow. You’re a couple of points above me,” he states. He doesn’t seem upset by this information like most guys would. “Maybe we should go out.”

“Go out?” Again with the brilliant conversation skills. My mother would be so proud.

“Only if you’re interested. Maybe we could go to the new art exhibit at the museum this weekend? Or even to a movie.”

I’m speechless at this point. I think my mouth is hanging open in shock because the next thing I know, he’s moved his other hand and brushes it against my jaw. My mouth snaps shut as my eyes rise to his. He isn’t smiling anymore even though his eyes crinkle with humor. His fingers trace a butterfly’s kiss along my jaw and down my neck to my collarbone.

“Smart and pretty,” he murmurs as he leans down to gently press his lips to mine. It’s the softest of kisses. Just a brushing of lips. He continues to trace the same path with his mouth as he did with his fingertips a second before. Once again I have forgotten how to breathe. Obviously being smart doesn’t help very much in these circumstances. I guess a girl has to rely on her instincts, then.

I slowly lift my hands up to his chest and I can feel his heart beating quickly. He’s not as nonchalant as he appears. That makes me smile. He is trailing small kisses along my jaw line and hesitates when he reaches my mouth. I tilt my face towards his so he knows that I’m with him in this desire. His hand holds my face as he kisses me deeply. My arms have a mind of their own and are wrapped around this stranger, encouraging the kiss to go on.

The door to the auditorium opens and a girl sticks her head out. “Emily, it’s our turn. Come on!”
I quickly drop my arms from around Sam’s body. I’d step back but I’m already against the wall. Sam drops his arms and steps back from me. “Good luck,” he says.

I’d respond but I still haven’t figured out how to breathe.

#4 Sunshine and Sea Magic

I press my face to the glass of my prison; the humans don’t know my tears mingle with the salt in my tank, would probably never guess that I can cry. But I can. No matter how many times I hear freak, it always hurts.

Being in a circus, on display like an animal, consumes me. I watch little girls walk around on two legs, their smiles sweet and happy. I witness lovers kissing, their hands woven together. And the clothes; I envy the rainbow-colors of human cloth.

I can never walk. I’ve never been kissed. I don’t have clothes, except for a seashell net, which barely covers my breasts. My prison-tank is too small for me to swim, forcing me to float limply in the tepid water. Every single day is motionless torture.

But I have memories of a better time.

My family had treasured me, telling me often how beautiful I was, how special. How gifted. But I’d gotten caught in a tidal wave and had been swept away. Waking up on the shore had been terrifying. Air had cracked my skin and dried my lungs.

And then the circus found me.

They named me “Demon of the Deep” and ripped my dress, my lovely seaweed-silk dress, so they could wrap me in their scrap of embellished netting. They’d thrown me into my prison, the stagnate saltwater rejuvenating me only enough to keep my heart beating.

It’s been years since then, a horrible half-life. I am no longer a child of the sea, but a woman. Human men, lust brightening their eyes, seem to recognize this.

Only one man is different. He’d been a boy the first time I’d seen him, a small youth in metal cuffs working near my tank. I had screamed and yelled for my family for months after my imprisonment; most people would laugh or mock me, but the boy never did. He would watch with sad eyes. The humans were cruel to imprison me, but even more so to enslave one of their own children. Although I didn’t learn their language for several years, it took only days to learn that the boy was property, a creature not unlike myself. That bonded us, and now my man – for that’s how I think of him, after countless kind gestures on his part – has begun to sleep near my tank, his bruised body just another shadow in this strange land-world.

But tonight is different and he is not just a still shadow. He’s crawled to me, a single finger pressed to his lips. I nod fearfully; the other circus men would hurt him if they found him wandering around at night.

He climbs up my tank, surprising me with his agility, and offers me a hand. I peek above the water, questions in my eyes, but he remains silent. I lift one hand, afraid and excited, and let him grip my fingers.

His skin is soft and warm, like sunlight. I haven’t touched another creature in years, and his hand sends tingles down my arm. My eyes close in ecstasy. Imagining the rest of my body enveloped in soft warmth is easy, and shivers race through my blood.

Slowly, so that the water doesn’t splash, he pulls me from my tank. One strong arm bands around my waist, so close to my breasts that they ache, and then slides lower to cup the length of my tail. I moan and writhe in his arms while his breath caresses the shell of my ear, a sweet sea-breeze that has me arching towards him.

I feel him move, gently climbing down from my tank and then walking, but I don’t care where he goes. Every motion is bliss and heats me further. My pleasure must have been obvious, for he chuckles, his hands gripping and then smoothing out the delicate scales of my tail. His other hand inches up, almost touching the underside of my breast through the net. My nipples pearl and I moan louder.

He whispers in my ear, probably telling me to be quiet, but I’m lost. My skin is afire with sensation and I want more. I curl into him and let my face rest in the hollow of his throat. A human smell, unique and musky, fills my nose. I breathe him in and skim my lips over his pulse. He hisses, but not in an angry way.

I grin.

I want to taste his sunlight, so I flick my tongue over his pulse. His moan raises goose bumps on my skin and I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, pressing my now-tender breasts to his chest. My head falls back when my nipples meet the rough material of his shirt through my net, and his lips press down on my exposed throat, kissing and licking as I pant for air.

My skin starts to dry and panic fills the back of my mind, but I want a real kiss before I die. I want to experience the fiery heat of the sun in this brief freedom he’s gifted me with – a gift I would never have asked for. I lift my head to gaze at him. His brown hair is tousled, curls flopping over his brows. His eyes, which have always been blacker than the deepest ocean depths, sparkle. I lean close to him and he watches me, tripping over something and then blushing. I smile and brush my lips over his, then suck in deadly air to gasp in pleasure.

He groans. I feel him stop moving as I press forward again, merging my mouth to his. When he sweeps his tongue forward, surprising me, I open my mouth and I’m filled with a passion I’d never known existed.

Passion worth dying for.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he breaks the kiss. Some of the sparkle is gone from his eyes. He kneels with me still in his arms and his face gentles into a smile. He places a last kiss to my lips before lowering me into water.

I hadn’t heard the waves, or smelled the salt, but I gasp in joy and then whimper helplessly as my body sucks in the life-giving essence of the sea. My eyes squeeze close as energy builds within me, power I’d long-since lost. Once again I’m lost in sensation, unable to control the moans and gasps falling from my lips

He’d brought me home.

I flutter open my eyelashes, needing to look at him. His face holds tenderness and love. I reach for him and he reaches back, weaving our hands together. I seal my eyes shut again and use the gift I’d been renowned for as a child. Sea-magic seeps from my body into his and he shudders before falling bonelessly into my arms.

I watch his body transform; his pants rip as his legs fuse and a beautiful green fin replaces his feet. When he stirs hesitantly in my arms and looks at me with wonder, I use his fingers to trace down his body, showing him the changes.

His beautiful eyes sparkle again.

And there you have it, my loyal readers! Thanks for sticking with me through all four stories. Now tell me, which tale of fully clothed sexiness did you like best? Vote in the poll, located in the top left sidebar, and compliments welcome in the comments! EDIT: Voting is closed, and the poll has been deleted.

Sexy Realism

2011-08-18T21:47:00.001-04:00

If it seems like ages ago that I posted the first in my Writer’s Guide to Being Sexy series, you’re right, it has been a while! I’m finally back with the second installation, and just in time for my contest.
Speaking of the contest, here’s a bit of important info: I’ve decided to extend the deadline just a bit. When I first came up with the 8/20 midnight deadline, I was thinking it was a nice round 10 days from when I announced it. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that it’s right in the middle of the weekend, and people might like to have the whole weekend to put finishing touches on their submissions. For that reason – and because I’m working this weekend – the new deadline for the Clothing Not Optional contest is Monday, August 22nd at 9:00AM Eastern.
Now, back to the sexy series!
Last time we talked about the language of a sex scene. Today we’re going to talk about realism. Let me preface this by saying the emotional and psychological dynamic of the scene is always more important than the physical action. Still, the physicality of a sex scene can really ruin it if you’re not careful.
If you’ve ever heard a criticism of pornography (moral objections aside), you’ve likely encountered the assessment that porn films perpetuate unrealistic ideals. After all, how many people actually look like that—naturally? In my rather non-statistically-based opinion, that’s a major reason many women don’t enjoy it. Not because they couldn’t possibly be turned on by a video like that (porn is a whole ‘nother post completely! lol), but simply because they can’t identify with the image of perfection presented to them.
Same goes with erotica. Hell, same goes for ALL WRITING, regardless of genre, category, or subject matter. Are you really going to present a woman (that’s my main audience, and probably yours, too) with a fantastical Barbie-esque main character and ask her not only to identify with the character, but to also care whether said character gets laid, AND to be sensually aroused by those scenarios, when the reader might have four kids, wear a size 16, and be a little self-conscious at times? No. That’s just stupid.
While erotica may be a form of escapism and fantasy, it still has to ring true for your reader to be able to really lose herself in the scene. That doesn’t mean you have to go the other way and riddle your characters with every imperfection you’ve ever observed in yourself or your lover(s). It’s like I say with dialogue: It has to be realistic – not real.
So here’s a reality check for you on a few different aspects of sex to use in your writing:
Anatomy

The average American woman is somewhere around a size 14. If everyone in your books/stories is a size zero, you may want to reconsider.
No 12-inch cocks, please. The average length of an erect penis is about five inches (and don’t worry, that link is totally safe for work haha). I’m of the opinion that it’s really not necessary to give measurements – I mean, really? What’s the point?
Just about every part you’ll encounter in a sex scene comes in a variety of shapes, sizes, and types, so mix it up a little!

The Act

A majority of women cannot achieve orgasm through penetration alone. They require clitoral stimulation for that. And a leading man who knows how to take care of his leading lady will certainly win over some female readers.
Foreplay! ‘Nuff said.
Adventurous positions are fine – variety is encouraged! But if your characters are doing the deed in ways that require the removal of a couple ribs and a double-jointed spine, they’d better be professional contortionists.

Health and Hygiene

Condoms
Birth control
Dental dams and other barriers when necessary
STI testing

These are a few things to consider. In this day and age, I think STI prevention and pregnancy prevention are issues that are openly discussed enough to potentially pique your readers’ concern. Decide how/if you want to incorporate these into your story, and do your research.
Dialogue

Keep it minimal
Keep it relevant

Just like any other dialogue, what your characters say during a sex scene should serve a purpose, whether it’s for characterization, build or resolve tension/conflict, etc..

Despite all this talk of realism, the key thing really is not to overthink it. If you’re thinking too long and hard (heh) about it, so will your reader. As writing buddy R.S. Mellette would encourage, if you’re having trouble making it work, always go back to the core – the basic goal (aside from having sex, obviously).
Maybe it’s just me, but when it comes to sex scenes, I’d rather err on the side of a little too realistic than too ridiculously out there.
Are there any realistic aspects you like to include in your sex scenes, or that you wish more writers would include?

Clothing NOT Optional

2011-08-10T17:25:00.000-04:00

Is it hot in here... or is that just your sexy prose awaiting my contest?

As promised, I'm holding a contest here on the blog, and there are even prizes. That's right, I said prizeS, plural! I did not find the big book of erotic short stories that I originally planned to give away (but when I do, I'll just have to have another contest!) and it dawned on me that instead of picking one of my two alternate prize books, I should just offer them both as prizes!

First, I'll tell you how to win, and then I'll tell you what you can win.

Write me something short and sexy. Maximum 1200 words. Fill me with heat and desire until I'm squirming in my chair.

BUT....

No one is allowed to get naked in your story. You heard me. No nudity. You don't have to write a full-on dry humping scene or anything-- think outside the box! Kinky or vanilla; solo act, a couple, or a group; see it through to orgasm or leave 'em wanting more; doesn't matter to me, as long as it gets me hot and bothered and your characters keep their clothes on!

Submit your short stories directly to me via email (see it up there, top left corner of the page?) by ~~August 20, at 11:59pm~~ August 22, at 9:00am. Be sure to include Clothing not optional as the subject line, so I don't accidentally look over it or delete it. I will acknowledge receipt of all entries, so if you don't hear back from me within two days of your email (or by the contest deadline) send it again and let me know. From there, I'll narrow it down to a group of finalists (at least five, but I reserve the right to be fickle and include more, if I'm so inclined) and the finalists will be posted here on my blog for public voting. By submitting to this contest, you agree to me posting your story here should you become a finalist.

Why on earth would I torture you with a contest like this? A couple reasons. I was partially inspired when I wrote Chapter Nine of The Skeleton Key as part of the Round Robin Blogvel. Obviously, I would've loved to take things waaaay over to the erotic side, but it wouldn't have fit with the story so far. And I didn't want to alienate anyone following along with the story who wouldn't normally read erotica. So I wanted to get a little sexy without anyone getting naked (although I expect you, my dear readers, to take the heat level up even more than I did!)

My main motivation for hosting this contest with these parameters, though, ties in with the first place prize. Let's look at these problems:

Some people are embarrassed to try writing erotica, or are too embarrassed to admit it when they do. Just because you're a nice girl like me (or guy, for that matter) doesn't mean you can't write erotica.
When writing erotica, some people might be uncomfortable branching out from "polite" sex - you know, married couple, missionary position in bed sort of thing. Or we let gender roles, stereotypes, and other cultural norms about sexuality dictate our writing too much.
Even if you're comfortable writing the graphic, nitty gritty bits of erotica, you might fall into a rut. Maybe it's always the same position, or the same location, or the same sequence of events in the seduction.

With this contest, I want to challenge you on all those points. By keeping your characters clothes on, maybe you'll be a little less embarrassed if this is your first attempt at writing anything erotic. It also forces you to consider the multitude of alternatives when it comes to setting, positions, and even what you consider appropriate and sexy (outside the context of actual intercourse.)

Finally, we get to the prizes!

First place wins a copy of Wetlands, by Charlotte Roche. Here's a brief description of the main character from inside the dust jacket:

Guerrilla warrior against the sanitized version of femininity prescribed by women's magazines, punky and alienated teenager, vulnerable daughter, shock merchant, and pleasure seeker--Helen is all of these things and more, and her frequent attempts to assert her maturity ultimately prove just how fragile, confused, and young she truly is.

Whoever wins this book, I hope they can set aside any embarrassment or disgust at some of Helen's actions and finish the book through to the end, and use it as a way to examine how your own ideas about femininity, sex/sexuality, etc. may bleed into your writing, erotic or not.

The runner-up will receive a copy of Agent Provocateur: Secrets, which is a collection of nine erotic short stories. Agent Provocateur is a London boutique cofounded by Joseph Corre and Serena Rees. According to the book's dustjacket:

As the name suggests, they set out provocatively to change people's attitude that anything to do with sex must be sleazy or smutty and to encourage us to be proud of our bodies and our fantasies. Their vision for their series of erotic fiction is to create a stimulating, enchanting, and arousing experience that reflects our sensual yearnings.

So who's in? I know you all want a chance to win one of these books, right? I'm not requiring anyone to follow this blog, like my Facebook page, tweet or blog about the contest, or jump through any other hoops in order to enter this contest. I kinda hate those contests where you have to do sixty bajillion things to enter haha. That said, I would certainly appreciate it if you spread the word to your friends and networks about the contest!

To recap:

What: Clothing NOT Optional - sexy stories where no one gets naked
Word count: 1200 words maximum
Deadline: ~~August 20, 2011 at 11:59pm~~ UPDATE: Deadline extended to 8/22 at 9am Eastern
How to submit: email me at the address at the top of this page (on the left) with "clothing not optional" in the subject line (go ahead and send as an attachment)
How winners are chosen: Finalists selected by me, then posted online for pubic votes
Prizes: 1st place: Wetlands, by Charlotte Roche; 2nd place: erotic short story collection, Agent Provocateur: Secrets

I will be anxiously awaiting your steamy submissions!

A Contest Conundrum and a Blog Award

2011-08-08T13:28:00.002-04:00

Last week I promised you all a fabulous contest here at Jello World... you may have noticed that I haven't posted said contest. Here's why:

I can't find the prize book! I know it's here, somewhere, shoved in one of the boxes still left from the move. Since I couldn't find the book I wanted to use, I figured I'd use a different erotic short story collection that I recently purchased. I just had to read it first. It's not that long, so I read it over two days. But although most of the stories were good, they weren't all as great as the book I can't find. And I don't want to give an inferior prize!

Then I thought of this other book I have that might work. It's not erotica, but I think anyone considering writing erotica should read it. It is, quite frankly, shockingly gross in some parts. I have to admit, though, that it was a pivotal book for me in terms of my attitude about writing erotica and my thoughts on what is sexy, and so forth. It's a book that challenges you to examine your thoughts and beliefs about women's bodies, standards of beauty and hygiene, and how those types of things may or may not affect the way you write about sex and sexuality.

So where's the conundrum? It's here: Do I give away a short story collection that is good, but not necessarily great, or do I give away a book that is NOT sexy, and that some may find downright distasteful, but that I think could prove valuable to an aspiring writer of erotica?

What do you think? I'll be thinking on it a little more before I post the contest. If I find the other book in the meantime, I'll continue with that as the prize, as originally intended.

Next order of business: I've been graced with the Liebster Blog Award! It was bestowed upon me by my friend Dean at The Write Time. Thanks, Dean!

What is a Liebster Blog Award, you ask? It's an award to spotlight up and coming bloggers who currently have less than 200 followers. The rules of the award are:

Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.
Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
Copy and paste the award on your blog.
Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.
And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!

In the spirit of the award, here are my top five picks for blogs/writers you should all check out! There are a couple here that I'm shocked don't have 200 followers yet!

Join Riley Redgate In the Jungle as the talented teen gives her take on everything writing, with wit and wisdom beyond her years. We share a bizarre affinity for Rebecca Black's "Friday", and that should be reason enough for you to check out her blog!
Author Maxwell Cynn muses on the art and business of writing with tips for writers and reviews for readers. I'm two-thirds of the way through his steamy sci-fi novel Cybrgrrl and it is HOT! He's slowing it down on the social media front at the moment, gearing up for a fall release of a new book, and working on Cybrgrrl 2.0.
Go Crossing the Helix with R.C. Lewis to learn about her adventures in YA and more. Chances are you'll learn something interesting, as her posts often draw from her non-writing life as a math teacher to deaf students. Math geek + word nerd = R.C. Lewis
Peruse The Elephant's Bookshelf, where Matt Sinclair discusses his cherished books and stories, and invites you to share yours as well.
Let Calista Taylor guide you through A Steampunk Reverie. Cali has plans to release her first novel, Viridis, in the near future, and I assure you, you do NOT want to miss it! If you like steampunk (even if you don't know what that is, you'll love this) and steamy romance, this is for you.

Go forth! Visit and follow these blogs! Tell them JLo sent you ;-)

Chapter 9 of The Skeleton Key, a Round Robin Blogvel

2011-08-01T05:00:00.000-04:00

I missed a bit of a milestone recently... My last blog post was the big 100! And what did I post about? Panties. :-\ Whoops. But I have a fantastic post number 101 for you today with chapter nine of the Round Robin Blogvel! AND... stay tuned later this week for a special contest!

Back to the Round Robin Blogvel - what on earth is it, you ask? It's a traveling blog novel started by the funny and talented Michelle Simkins. She started us off with a killer first chapter, and it has been progressing each week with a new chapter from a different blogger! If you're following along, make sure you're caught up! Chapter eight was posted last week by Jennifer Merritt at The Demeter Diaries, and the next post will be next Monday at Laura's Universe. Click the Round Robin Blogvel tab at the top of the page for a full list (with links!) of previous chapters.

Without further ado, I present to you Chapter Nine of The Skeleton Key!

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Fear seizes my heartfor a beat. I look around, searching for whoever could be setting offthe magical metal detector. How am I supposed to know? I don't seeany obvious ghouls or goblins. Then again, if I've learned anythingtoday, it's that monsters don't always look monstrous.

The person in front ofme in line moves to the side after paying, and the cashier looks atme. I look at the still-thrumming hummer, then at the food. I wasdumped into the middle of this inter-species war against my will, andI've seen things I’m still not sure are real. Whether to eat orfollow the hummer's signal really shouldn't be a question worthdebating. And yet it is.

Dammit! Thefood smells so good. I'd kill for just one noodle. Damn thevampires and prophetesses and Nerbils and the rest of the creatures.I smile at the clerk, ducking myhead sheepishly as I step out of line. And damn Ax fordragging me here and leaving me alone! I could use that broad,muscular chest to lean on right now... Imean – damn!

Thehummer buzzes more loudly now, drawing my thoughts back to mypredicament. What do I do? Do I take it out? It looks a little weird,and I don't want to draw attention to myself. But as I walk away fromthe food cart with one hand buried in my purse, fingers wrappedaround the hummer to feel any changes in the vibration, I feel alittle ridiculous. How creepy must I look, walking around with myhand shoved into my mysteriously buzzing bag? Like I’m hiding somefreaky sex toy. It is calleda hummer, after all.

Itry to walk at a normal pace, which is hard to do when you have noclue where you're going. After stopping, turning, and starting againthree times, the hummer's signal intensifies and stays steady. I keepwalking, searching the people and buildings for a sign. But whatsign? Ax and I obviously need some time together for hummerinstruction.

Thethought stops me in my tracks and I laugh out loud, unable to helpmyself. A few people turn to look at me, the crazy laughing girl withone hand permanently stuck inside her vibrating purse. Before mytraitorous body can fully react to the thought of me, Ax, and ahummer, the signal stops. Gone. Sayonara.

Thesmooth metal is hot in my hand, but I don't dare take it out to lookat it. It feels like it's permanently attached to my palm, I've beengripping it so hard.

Bzzt.

Thesignal flickers through again, for only a second. I turn around,looking back the way I came. Where in the hell am I? I was so focusedon following the signal that I didn't pay attention to street signsor landmarks – not that I could've recognized any of them anyway,but still.

Bzzzzt.

Another brief signal. Or maybe I’m imagining it? When I was incollege, I kept my cell phone in my pocket on vibrate so Ashley and Icould text back and forth. Sometimes I got phantom vibrations againstmy hip when I didn't have my phone there.

Bzzt.Bzzzzzzzz.

Nope. Not a phantom sensation. But no way do I want to follow it anymore. I need to find my way back to Ax's condo. Somehow. Hummer bedamned. I walk slowly, unsure of which direction I’m heading, andtry desperately to ignore the staccato buzzing in my palm.

Letit go, genius!But I can't. An irrational fear has my fingers clamped around theancient device, like its random vibrations are pointing me home. Afew hours ago I would've been glad to be rid of Ax forever, but nowhe's the only person – dragon– I want to see. At least if he was here I'd know I'm safe. And hecould tell me how the hell to use this damn thing. I don't supposethey bothered to write instruction manuals back in the 1800s.

Heartbeat.Footsteps. Buzz.Buzz.Heart beats faster. Feet move faster. Buzz.BUZZ! I’ma walking symphony of terror. If I drop to my knees in the street andyell Ax's name, will he magically find me? I'll never see the peoplearound me again (I hope), so what do I care if they think I’m araving lunatic? I feel like a raving lunatic.

Turning into a deserted alleyway – because my feet are followingthe hummer's signals despite my brain's admonitions about everyhorror movie we've ever seen – I smack into a brick wall and letout a sissy-girl shriek. The brick wall puts its arms around me andthe scream dies in my throat.

“Ax!”

“Rebecca,what are you doing?”

“I—me?What?” There are no coherent thoughts in my brain at the moment.Just a mix of joy and subsiding fear.

“Igot back and your sister was hysterical, crying that you'd left herethere hours ago and she didn't know where you were.” He smooths myhair back from my face, but doesn't loosen his grip on me. His voiceis stern, verging on angry, but I can hear the smooth edge of genuineconcern in there. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“Iwas just—I didn't mean—it was this thing!” I pull my hand frommy purse and thrust it toward his face. My fingers are still clampedfirmly – and painfully – around the hummer. “Oh my god!”

Theskin is blistered and red, stuck to the metal in places, and steamingevery so slightly. My stomach turns, partially because I stillhaven't eaten, and partially because it doesn't hurt nearly as muchas it probably should, and that freaks me out.

“Whathappened?” Ax's eyes are wide.

“Idon't know. I swear.”

He pulls me farther into the alley without a word, away from theprying eyes of anyone passing by on the main sidewalk, and draws meinto his chest again. I feel the heat and know what's coming.

I’mbeginning to get used to traveling by fire. The heat is nice, in away. Ax swooshesus back to his condo and manages to separate me and the hummerwithout much pain. A little magical salve, and my hand is almost backto normal after fifteen minutes.

Now we're sitting on giant pillows on the living room floor, withsteaming mugs of tea, trying to figure out what happened. Ashley isasleep in the guest room – Ax had sedated her before he leftbecause she was so hysterical.

“Youshouldn't have been able to do that,” he says, boring into me withthose red-gold eyes.

“Dowhat?” I hadn't done anything. Not on purpose, anyway. I'dexplained everything that happened, but it still didn't make anysense to me. And he's sure taking his sweet time explaining what hethought happened.

“Ithink, in your fear, you manipulated the hummer's magic to find mysignal.” A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. I can't decideif it's adorable or irritating. I nearly burnt my hand to a crisp,after all. Not really a laughing matter. He presses a finger to myforehead. “There is magic in there, somewhere.”

Me?Magical? Does thatmean I’m a monster?

Listento me! Yesterday I would've laughed in someone's face if they said Ipossessed magic powers. Today the only thing I wonder is if it makesme a big bad monster. Although not all monstersare bad.

Ax still stares at me with those eyes that threaten to boil the bloodin my veins in the most delicious way.

Big, yes. Not bad.

“Youknow, that hummer is almost two hundred years old. And you nearlymanaged to ruin it,” he said.

Oh, right! Leave it to the stupid mortal girl to screw things up! Ireact before I register the smirk on his face, but by then it's toolate. I can't put the scalding tea back in the cup.

“Ohgod, Ax! Did I hurt you?” I kneel beside him and use the bottom ofmy shirt to mop his face. I guess it takes more than a cup of tea toscald a dragon. But I doubt he still wants me for a mate now. “Ohshit, I’m sorry.”

Hetosses his head back and laughs. And laughs. Oh god, does he laugh.The sound echoes in the room, bright and yet deep, like a perfectlytuned brass ensemble. If I wasn't right there, seeing it for myself,I never would've thought he could be so joyous. Dragons are always sodoom and gloom in the movies. Nothing like this. And I've never seena dragon with a dimple like that.

Did I not notice it before, or has he just never smiled like thisbefore? A gorgeous little dimple puckers his left cheek. It's small,but it softens the chiseled lines of his face. He looks so damn...cute! There's no other word for it. Impulsively, I lean forward andpress my lips to his cheek, right to his dimple. His laughtersoftens to the tinkling of wind chimes, but it reverberates inside mychest, filling me with a gentle hum that spreads to the top of myhead and the tips of my toes.

Isthis what he meant when he said I hum?

Ax turns his face so our lips nearly touch, but he doesn't kiss me.His breath is hot against my lips. What I wouldn't give to beconsumed by that fire. The vibrations in my chest begin to subside,but I don't want them to stop.

“Ax?”

His eyelashes flutter and when he looks into my eyes, I see his aremostly red now. The gold is but a thin ring around his pupils. I nipgently at his lower lip.

“Ax.”I straddle his lap and he wraps his arms around me. “Hum for me.”

He kisses me with the force of a Mack truck, and I return theurgency. His lips are hot against mine, and everywhere his handstouch – my face, my arms, sliding up under my shirt now – my skincomes alive with the flame of desire. I bury my hands in his hair andhold tight. It's definitely coming from him, the humming. But it'snot a sound so much as a sensation. Pressed together cheek to cheek,chest to chest, I can feel every very male, very human part of himagainst me. And yet his energy fills me until we hum together and Ican't tell where he ends and I begin.

An ear-splitting scream slices through our cocoon of heat and Inearly fall backward.

“Whatdid you do to her?” Ashley stands before us, wide-eyed andtrembling, as if Ax had just devoured me before her eyes.

Heand I are both still fully clothed, but I feel exposed andembarrassed nonetheless. Ax looks a little drunk, and blinks asthough to clear his vision. I feela little drunk, like my head is perched precariously on top of therest of my body and may fall off at any moment.

“Ash,what are you--” I see it at the same time Ax does.

He grabs my arm and turns it this way and that. The silver-blueiridescence is beautiful. Almost beautiful enough to distract me fromthe fact that between my wrist and my elbow, I've sprouted scales.

Everything You Wanted to Know About My Panties... Sort Of

2011-07-18T14:19:00.003-04:00

Simmer down now, class, it's not as racy as it sounds. This is yet another meme, this time thought up by the delightfully deviant Michelle Simkins, although if you believe her story, it was all Twitter peer pressure that made her do it. Something about goats and panties... We all knew it was bound to happen one of these days :-P

So Michelle tagged Suzanne, and Suzanne tagged me. So here we go!

What do you call your panties/underwear/undergarments? Do you have any commonly used nicknames for them?
Pantaloons! Just kidding. I just call them panties or underwear (under there!) Nothing fancy.

Have you ever had that supposedly common dream of being in a crowded place in only your underwear?
No, I don't think so. I've had dreams where I was inexplicably topless, but that's it. And I haven't had any of those types of insecurity dreams in a long time.

What is the worst thing you can think of to make panties out of?
Hair clippings. Hair splinters, anyone?? Yikes.

If you were a pair of panties, what color would you be, and WHY?
I would be lime green, because it is awesomesauce. Best. Color. Ever. For ANYTHING.

Have you ever thrown your panties/underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your panties/underwear at, given the opportunity?
I have never thrown my panties at anyone. The only time I want my panties being thrown is if Dr. Spencer Reid (Matthew Gray Gubler) is tossing them back to me after a steamy night of geek loving.

I mean, c'mon... Those boyish good looks. The suggestive way his double action revolver juts from his hip like that... Oh, sorry, what? Where was I...

You’re out of clean panties. What do you do?
Wash some? Seems like the smart thing to do...

Are you old enough to remember Underoos? If so, did you have any? Which ones?
I do know what they are, but I never had any.

If you could have any message printed on your panties, what would it be?
SLOW DOWN ;-)

How many bloggers does it take to put panties on a goat?
Four - Two to wrangle the goat, one to slip the panties on, and one to blog and tweet about it.

Tag Four People and tell them why you are being so cruel to them.

1. Dawn Sparrow because she's one of my crazy AQC/Twitter friends who has so far been spared from this silly panty meme.

2. T.L. Tyson because I think she's fun and awesome and needs to be introduced to the Twitter #goatposse

3. Darke Conteur because she needs to take time to do this so that I'll have time to catch up to her on the short story publications (yeah, right lol)

4. Kacimari because she's another AQCer who should get in on the fun! (UPDATE: Riley Redgate tagged Kacimari with the meme yesterday... so instead of me thinking of someone else to tag, she just gets to be extra special tagged!)

So go forth and answer the panty meme questions, and tag four more bloggers!

(As a side note, please read this hilarious response to the evil goat panty meme for a load of laughs.)

And that, my dear readers, is the end of the memes. I swear. Next person to tag me in a meme will be shot on sight. Or forced to put panties on a goat. I haven't decided.

Bring on the Memes!

2011-07-16T16:50:00.000-04:00

I was tagged in two separate memes circulating around the blogs of my writing buddies, so I figured I should play along. This first one comes to you courtesy of Dean, who recently guest posted here about time management. You can read his meme answers here. Now I'm going to be a total party-pooper and not do the tagging thing at the end of this (I know, boo, hiss, groan, I'm soooo lame haha) because 1. I feel like 8 people is a lot, and 2. I'm willing to bet everything I can think to tag has already been tagged. But feel free to copy the questions if you want to continue the meme-tagging! You can copy the tagging questions from Dean's post. Without further ado, bring on the memes!

If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?

Hmmm, this is a difficult one. I guess I would say my wedding, which is a lot of moments rolled into one day. It went by so fast, that I'd love to go back and experience it again.

If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

I don't think I'd change anything. Every experience I've had, good or bad, has helped shape me into who I am today, and I wouldn't change that. I've learned from the bad stuff, so I can't regret them. That said, I'll pick a tiny thing: my senior year in high school I was seriously crushing on this freshman guy, but I never did much about it. So if I could change that, I'd go back and say "Hey, I really like you." It probably wouldn't affect much of my future (although you know what they say about a butterfly flapping its wings...) but it would've made another nice little memory of that time.

What movie/tv character do you most resemble in personality?

I honestly don't know. This might be a better question for someone else to answer about me. I always loved Daria, though. I think we're kind of alike in certain ways.

If you could push one person off a cliff and get away with it, who would it be?

The man who decided that the soap dish thingy should be in the middle of the wall in the shower, where the soap is constantly getting wet, instead of on the far wall, away from the spray. Didn't he realize that by putting the soap dish there, he all but guaranteed premature soap dissolve? Sheesh.

Name one habit you want to change in yourself.

I tend to be a bit indecisive, especially when faced with a multitude of choices. Sometimes it's good that I take my time before making a choice, but sometimes I really just need to get over myself and pick something already. Like when I'm out to dinner. Stick me in a restaurant with an extensive menu (it really doesn't even have to be that extensive) and watch me sweat lol.

Describe yourself in one word.

Easygoing

Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.

Sweetheart!

Why do you blog? Answer in one sentence.

"I write in order to find out what I know" - Patricia Hampl

Who am I tagging?

Nobody! Because I'm a party pooper. I usually don't even participate in these types of things (but how could I turn down a nice guy like Dean?) Seriously, like those email chain memes and stuff. The buck most definitely stops with me. Sorry :-P But I have another meme coming up that I may tag a few people for, so stay tuned!

Meme The Second:

Are you hot?

Totally. It's like 80 degrees in here right now. :-P

Upload a picture or wall paper you are using at the moment.

I don't have any wallpaper on my computer, so here's the most recent pic I took with my phone.

When was the last time you ate chicken meat?

Umm... I think it was about a week and a half ago? I had it on a salad.

The Song(s) you listened to recently?

Già il sole dal Gange, Nel cor più non mi sento, Come raggio di sol, and a few other Italian arias. I want to audition for a choir, so I'm trying to pick a song for the audition (refer to the indecisiveness I mentioned above lol)

What were you thinking as you were doing this?

That I really wish Blogger would stop messing with the font and formatting and just do what I want already and stop making me go into the html to fix stuff!

Do you have nicknames?

Jen, J.Lo, and jello

A Writer's Guide to Successful Blogging, Part 2

2011-07-09T13:37:00.003-04:00

Today's Successful Blogging topic is all about time management. You can get so sucked into blogging and social networking that you lose sight of what you're supposed to be doing in the first place: writing! Or, you can be such a good little writer, churning out word after word, that you kinda neglect your blog until it has tumbleweeds and cobwebs. How do you find the time?

One of the best features to take advantage of (on both Blogger and Wordpress, as well, I'm sure, as other blogging platforms) is advance post scheduling. You can get your post(s) all set up and ready to go, then schedule them to post at the desired date and time. So if you have a particularly productive day where you hammer out four posts, you can schedule them and have extra time later on. This also helps with my second point:

Pick a schedule and stick to it. Even if it's just "I'll post on the first Monday of every month", that's fine. It gives your readers something to look forward to. I know, I know. Believe me, I know what you're thinking. But do as I say, and not as I do on this one, mmkay? Maybe one of these days I'll take my own advice here haha.

To finish up this post, I've invited Dean C. Rich, writing friend extraordinaire from AQC, to tell you how he's found the time to blog. He's quite the busy man, and he's only been at this blogging thing for about a month and a half, and he's doing well. Check out his blog for a new time management tip every Thursday.

Take it away, Dean!

J. Lea Lopez has become a great cyberfriend. I met her in the forums and Wednesday nightchat sessions at Agent Query Connect. Iam honored to be a guest blogger on her blog.

I’ve set up a blog of my own, and I have a very fullplate. I have three children at home,one is a dancer, two sons in show choir, and all three play instruments. My wife works full time and I am a generalmanager working 60+ hours a week. Soyes, I have a very full plate.

J. Lea and a few others at AQC suggested, no scratch that,urged, well no not urged, insisted on members setting up a twitter accounts, and ablogs. (Oh Dean, you make it sound like we were cracking the whip! *wink*) You must have a platform. I thought no way can I do a blog, twitter,write, and keep up with my professional life and family life.

However, as a writer you need a platform. You need to be involved in a writingcommunity. AQC is a great place tostart. (I will blog about that on my ownblog another time.) The community taught me to twitter. They got me to blog. Slowly I am building a following. I was very hesitant to blog, but my friend J.Lea really helped me get started. Shesuggested I build the blog but not tell anyone about it until I was morecomfortable. So I hinted to my friends atAQC that I was working on it, and I even managed to build some anticipation tothe “unveiling” of the blog. Twitterwent from 10 AQC friends to over 100 followers.My blog now has 13 followers, seven are friends I’ve made from AQC, butthe others have just arrived. So I willsay I’ve some success with my blog and twitter. I am making some great friends doing this. (And if I may interject again, Dean, with his 13 lovely followers, consistently has more comments on his posts than I did at that stage. Or even now, with 68 followers. Ahem. Just sayin'. :-P)

I know J. Lea has already talked about auto post, (thisworks great for me!) I like routines. Routines help me get so much done! The ebb and flow of the week gives me a fewwindows to write for my blog. It alsohelps to post a schedule on the blog. This makes you accountable to your readers. Accountability is important, it introduces self discipline, and forces you to make a commitment to your blog, and your readers. (Eventually you will gain readers.)

My goal is to post at leastone item a week. To achieve my goal I decided to be true to the blog's theme, Time. So for me the only thing that is an absolute with my blog at this point is Thursday’sTime Tip. I must post a time tip every Thursday. Although my blog hasroom for other things I am committed to posting once a week. Eventually I may post themes on other days of the week, but I've left that open right now. I do have plans to expand the blog in the future. I currently have slots for tips on writing, excerpts on my work, as well asessays from my life, a get to know you type thing.

The important thing is to make up your mind to do something,then build a way to make it work.

15 minutes for twitter a week. 20 to 40 minutes a week to write at least onepost for the blog. Auto post will makeit happen at the same time every week. Find a rhythm, a routine, stick with itand some level of success will come your way.

Happy blogging!

Noirotica: A Subgenre Mashup!

2011-06-30T19:49:00.001-04:00

This is an entry for Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge. This week's prompt was a sub-genre mash-up where we had to choose two sub-genres from his list and mash 'em up into a thousand words or less of flash fiction fabulosity. Thanks to Michelle Simkins and Suzanne Payne who read the first draft of this story. I made some changes (and got it within the word limit, woo hoo!) Still not sure if it's very noir, but I tried! Without further ado, I am pleased to present you my "noirotica" story, Lady Dick.

Moonlight is diffusedby the fog outside the window, casting a silvery glow over the chairwhere he sits. I see what Shelly must've seen in him. But despite thehandsome face, there's a meanness behind his eyes, even as he grinsup at me now. They match his name, those eyes.

Dan Ire's ads make himseem more like a hitman than a private investigator. Call Dan –he's your Ire for hire! I wantto laugh at how pathetic he is. But Dan thinks he loves me. He“loved” Shelly, too. At least Shelly thought so, until she showedup at my office with a black eye and busted lip.

Dan doesn’t know heand I are in the same business. Lady Dick. No better than Ire for Hire, but I don't advertise that way. That’s thenickname some of my cop buddies gave me when I left the force.Sometimes the law doesn't know what's best.

Dan thinks I'm a lonelywidow who needs him to track down money stolen by my dead husband'sbusiness partner. Flash a little cleavage, smear on some trashy redlipstick, and Dan Ire will bend over backward to take your case. He'salso bent me over a few times since he took the case. Can't say Ididn't like it. The man's got stamina.

I sit atop the desk infront of him, sipping the watered-down whiskey from the bottlereserved for clients. I know damn well there's another bottle in thebottom drawer that he keeps for himself. Cheap bastard.

“LikeI said,” I uncross my legs and rest one foot on his thigh, “Ican't pay the rest of your fee yet. I'm sorry.”

“Idon't feel right asking for it, seeing as I didn't find anything.”He talks to my leg, his eyes fixed on the lace top of my stocking. Ablack garter disappears under the hem of my coat. He licks his lipsand looks up. “Let me keep looking. Just a couple weeks.

Andthen charge me for the extra effort. Scumbag. I put on my best pout.

“Iguess by then I'd have the money, if I pick up some extra shifts atwork.”

Heloves a damsel in distress.

“Baby,I wouldn't dream of taking your money.”

Besidesthe $5000 I paid up front. I drain the rest of the whiskey in oneswallow and set the glass down.

“Iknow how to pay you back.”

“Themoney isn't--” He stops when I start unbuttoning my jacket.

Thesepast few weeks I let him think that every time we fell into bed, or Ilet him shove me up against a building in some seedy back alley andcop a good feel, it was because he was so fucking irresistible and Icouldn't help myself, but it was all business. I hadn't expected thesex to be so damn good.

Withthe last button undone, the coat slips off my shoulders. There'snothing underneath but stockings and a garter belt.

“Christ,Mags.” He shifts in the chair. That bulge in his trousers must begetting uncomfortable. He can't take his eyes off my thighs and theireventual destination. I know he can see how aroused I am.

Despitemy hatred, he gets me hotter than blacktop in July.

Thehardwood floor will probably bruise me, but I kneel anyway.

“There'sa blanket--”

Iput a stop to his worry with a kiss. His concern for me wassuperficial at best until this past week. I was a fucktoy and asource of income, until suddenly I wasn't. I bite his bottom lip.

“Ow!Mags, that--”

Isilence that, too, with my hand in his pants. So easily I shut himup. He'll only love me until suddenly he doesn't anymore, and thenwhat? Then it's bruises and broken bones, like Shelly. Or worse.

Freedfrom his trousers, his cock beckons me, thick, unflagging. I love tomake it yield.

Heloves the slow movement of my tongue.

“OhMaggie.” He leans back as I slide him past my lips, over my tongue,to the back of my throat. “Ah, fuck.”

Heloves to see my red lipstick smeared up and down his shaft. I hatehow much I like seeing it there, too.

Danthinks he's a man's man – wife-beater, unscrupulous businessman,and all-around sonofabitch. Yet my tongue reduces him to a soft,panting heap. I could overlook all that when the job was over if he'djust keep making my toes curl for hours on end.

Butthat all changed when I found the videos. The same man who thinks heloves me takes deprave to a whole new level. The thought nearly makesme choke, but I don't.

Heloves how I can take him without gagging. He fits just so.

Ihate myself for loving how he feels inside me. Do I hate him more?

“OhMaggie. God yes, Maggie.”

Ihate the begging way he says my name. I want to scream at him to be areal man and fuck me, not some girl on a tape who looks like she'sbarely in high school.

Istand without warning. He's had enough. I've had enough.

“Mags,what in the hell!”

“Ssh.Just wait.”

Hesettles back into the chair again. I reach into my purse on the desk.

Shellyhired me to find something she could use to drag his name through themud. I found it. But he doesn't deserve to get up from the dirt, andsometimes the law doesn't know what's best.

Iturn and sink a bullet into his forehead before his eyes even focus onthe gun.

ThenI slip my coat on, pull the belt tight,and steal away into the nightmist.

SheWriter Blogger Ball!

2011-06-10T15:53:00.042-04:00

The fabulous Meg Waite Clayton is hosting a blog meet-and-greet of sorts for SheWrites.com members, so I thought I'd introduce Jello World to other SheWriters. For a list of participating blogs and instructions on how to get in on the action, click the bookcase above! I've got my dancing shoes on and am ready to twirl around on the arms of various bloggers so that we all might say How do you do? So without further ado, here is my introduction to me!

I am an aspiring novelist, with a few short pieces published in online venues (click the My Writing tab above for titles and links!) I write mostly commercial women's fiction and erotica. I love networking and socializing online with other writers... probably too much. In addition to SheWrites, you can usually find me lurking around Agent Query Connect, where I moderate a critique group, or occasionally posting snippets over at Fictionaut.

I have a penchant for jello (hence the blog name) and sometimes compare it to both life and writing. My adorable dachshund occasionally makes an appearance on the blog, although she's kinda pissed right now because we moved across the state, and therefore has not been especially adorable or cuddly. Writing (and reading!) erotica is tons of fun for me, but I have pet peeves about what currently passes for good erotica. I tend to develop writerly crushes on folks, and when I do, I'll promote their writing/blog/whatever with reckless abandon. All of these things - and more! - you will find if you stick around Jello World for a while. So, welcome! I look forward to meeting the rest of you!

WPHC9P6BTVA8

A Writer’s Guide to Being Sexy

2011-05-31T17:08:00.001-04:00

…in your writing. Sorry, I can’t help you with the real thing.

Whether you’re writing hardcore erotica, sizzling romance, or just a single scene requiring some Tab A into Slot B action, I’m here to help you bring the sexy back with this series on sexy writing.

Today we’ll talk about the language of the scene.

Let’s face it: it’s very easy to write a bad sex scene. You run the risk of clinically sterile language, or the opposite – coarsely pornographic language. There’s also the potential for unintended comedy. I don’t want that to happen to any of you, so I’ve compiled a few guidelines. Note that I didn’t say rules. It’s up to you to decide if/when to use each of these tips. And fergawdsakes, don’t overdo it with any of them!

More descriptors ≠ more sexy

Breasts are not made any more appealing when described as amazingly perky, round, brown sugar-colored globes of desire. Really? Would you say that to your partner, or want it said to you in a moment of passion? ‘Course not. You/they would likely burst into a fit of laughter. Stick to one, maybe two descriptors, or let the image stand on its own. This also ties into my next point:

Euphemisms are your enemy

If everyone calls it a cock, there’s probably a good reason. Don’t go trudging through the thesaurus looking for other names for human anatomy. Abandon the above mentioned globes and just call them breasts. Or maybe your character would say tits. Titties and boobies are giggle-worthy and should be avoided at all times, in my opinion.

When in doubt, revert to the standard slang, or DON’T NAME BODY PARTS at all. Yeah, you heard me. She let go a breathy moan as he pushed into her. No need to say what pushed where – we already know.

Here are some tried-and-true words to use (try not to blush):

cock
tits
ass
breasts
dick
pussy
clit

C*nt has become much more mainstream of late, but I’d be careful with it. I won’t even type the actual word here, and I won’t say it. I just don’t like it, and that’s a personal preference. But of course, if it fits the character you’re writing, it may be appropriate. Use it sparingly, at your own risk. I think it even sounds awful. Go ahead, say it out loud (preferably when you’re alone – not on the bus or at work). It’s guttural – all hard consonant sounds. Doesn’t scream sexy to me. Which brings me to my last point for today:

Pay attention to sound

No, not those sounds. Yuck. I’ll leave that for another post. I mean, pay attention to how the words you choose sound to the ear. I don’t know about you, but even when reading silently to myself, I still hear the words in my head, and, to a lesser extent, feel them in my mouth (oh boy, you’re gonna have a field day with that phrase, I’m sure.)

Never underestimate the sexiness of well-placed alliteration. His thumb slid over the sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her jeans. That s sound is just sensual, both to hear and to say, isn’t it?

To me, open, round vowel sounds as well as softer consonant sounds like f, h, and l (to name a few) can be the sexiest. The heat of his breath sends a slow shiver from the nape of her neck to her toes. Mmm, sounds yummy, right?

To contrast, clipped vowels and hard consonant sounds often are the least sexy. You’d do well to notice that most of your standard curse words have this characteristic – fuck, shit, bitch, etc. I’m not saying there’ll never be a place for an urgently whispered Fuck me! in your manuscript – there is certainly occasion for something like that. But an entire scene, or even just a few sentences, full of those types of words can really kill the mood.

Especially use this guideline any time you’re thinking of some anatomical euphemism. As I mentioned, c*nt sounds harsh to me. Words like rod and pole don’t sound particularly sexy either, and even invoke painful images at times. Unless you’re writing some sort of BDSM scene, these are not the images you want to paint in your reader’s mind.

Keep these tips in mind the next time you write a sex scene, and I promise you’ll have something that gets the heat level rising. Next time I’ll discuss realism when writing sex, so I hope you’ll stay tuned!

Do you have any favorite words that you find super sexy, or words that make you cringe?

Round Robin Blogvel

2011-05-30T12:10:00.000-04:00

It's a blog tour! It's a novel! It's a Round Robin Blogvel! The witty and talented Michelle Simkins came up with this idea of a traveling blog novel and has recruited 17 other writer-bloggers in addition to herself to write it.

And, lucky YOU, readers - I'm one of them!

There will be a chapter by a different writer every week, on their own blog. Michelle, since she is the mastermind of it all, is going to write the first and the last chapters. The blogvel is called Skeleton Key, and chapter one is live, RIGHT NOW! You can see it on Michelle's blog. Chapters will post each Monday on the appropriate blog. Click the Blogvel tab at the top of this page to find the schedule and blog links. I hope you'll follow along and leave your feedback!

A Writer’s Guide to Successful Blogging, Part 1

2011-05-26T15:51:00.003-04:00

Last night on Agent Query Connect, we had a fabulous chat about successful blogging. It was so awesome it inspired me to create a series here to recap the discussion and touch on some of the topics we didn’t get to cover.

We spent a good deal of time talking about branding. Your blog is a way to develop your brand as a writer. It doesn’t so much have to be about you as it does have to say something about you. It should give the audience a sense of your personality (because Voice is not just for manuscripts and queries anymore, it’s for blogs, too!), it should have content that will make people come back again and again, and it should not – I repeat, NOT – be one giant advertisement for your book(s). After all, how many times would you visit a blog where the posts only say things like “Buy my book!” or “Read this review of my book!” or the thinly veiled “Here’s some advice on writing… and see how I put it into practice by BUYING MY BOOK!” I mean, seriously.

Your blog should have some sort of theme, focus or niche that it fills. It doesn’t have to be super-narrow in focus, but you want some cohesion. Utterly confusing randomness is not a good idea. If you blog about your current book one day, rant about your in-laws another day, post a political manifesto yet another day… well, there’s nothing for your audience to rely on. They’ll never know what to expect from your blog. While you might think that’s a good thing (Yeah! I wanna keep ‘em guessing! That’s fun!) it can get old real quick. My time is precious, and I don’t always have a lot of it, so instead of reading your scattered blog, I’ll end up visiting other blogs where I at least have some idea of what I’ll be getting.

So how do you begin to develop your brand via your blog? Newer writers especially may be thinking they have nothing to offer the blogosphere. I’m not a writing expert, I just started! I’m not published. I’m still learning. What the heck would I blog about? For starters, never discount your position on the path to publishing. (Ooh, love that alliteration!) There are plenty of people who are at similar levels, or not even at your level, who would love to hear about what you’re learning, techniques you’ve picked up along the way, etc.

Of course, there’s no rule that says as a writer you have to blog about your journey to publication. Many do, but there are other aspects. What are some social issues you tackle in your stories? (Bullying? Date rape?) Or more concrete events or ideas that you write about. (Does your main character love classic cars?) Also, think about your non-writing life. What are some other passions or hobbies you have? (Music, food, etc.) What’s a unique skill set you have? (Can you solve any crossword puzzle in ten minutes flat? Can you sing?) What’s your day job? (Graphic designer? Teacher? Bartender?) Do you know a lot about a random topic? (Are you fascinated with kitschy art?) Use these answers as a starting point for finding your unique take on what would otherwise be just another writer’s blog.

Still unsure? Would you like a few examples? Of course you would! Shout out to some of my Agent Query Connect peeps: here are three blogs that have voice and a brand that you can count on time and again.

Ink Rock – This brand-spanking-new blog belongs to Stephen L. Duncan (Twitter: @stephenlduncan), who started last night’s AQC chat down the road of defining your blogging niche when he described Ink Rock for us. In his (paraphrased) words, his plan for Ink Rock is to become the Anthony Bourdain of the literary world. Who wouldn’t love that?
Writer, Writer, Pants on Fire – Anyone who’s gotten to know Mindy McGinnis (aka bigblackcat97 on AQC, @bigblackcat97 on Twitter) can tell you that she is spunky and a ton of fun, and her blog reflects that personality. She has interesting interviews and great writing advice and insight, and chances are you’ll laugh more than once while reading her blog.
Greenwoman – Michelle Simkins (Twitter: @Green_Woman) was in our AQC chat last night and was worried that her blog wasn’t focused enough. To which a bunch of us chimed in with “We love your blog!” She is a self-described “writer, knitter, gardener, radical homemaker.” And she’s funny! (Search #queenofhashtags on Twitter for even more fun.) And you’ll find little bits of all those things on her blog. EDIT Jan. 2012: Michelle's new Twitter handle is @MichelleSimkins, and she's now blogging at http://flowersandfbombs.wordpress.com

Changing Tides

2011-05-15T00:11:00.106-04:00

I feel like most of my posts recently have been of the "update" variety in recent weeks. My apologies. I'm trying to do better, I swear! But the past few weeks have been a whirlwind of changes that have kept me away from not only Jello World, but From the Write Angle, my friends and crit group at Agent Query Connect, and my writing in general.

First, my husband received an unexpected promotion at work, which came with an unexpected transfer across the state. It was only about two and a half weeks from the time we learned that he'd definitely gotten the promotion and his first day in the new place. So in that short period of time we had lots to do. Get our house ready to put on the market, and get me mobile.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, or if you know me personally, you may be aware that I've had a slight phobia of driving for a while. I never learned to drive when I was a teen, and after a while I had resolved to never learn. There was a lot of fear surrounding the act of attempting to control a motor vehicle for me. You can read a little about it in my May 2008 post, Facing Down the Fear. That was when I first tried to learn to drive. Needless to say, it didn't work out very well, and I did not get my license at that time.

Last October I renewed my permit to try again because I would need it for a job that I had started. It went a lot better this time around. When we learned of my husband's transfer, it became evident that I would be here for several weeks on my own while he went on ahead to start working and to find us a place to live. Suddenly I had a deadline. Not only did I need to get my license ASAP, I needed a car of my own. And guess what? I got both! I got my license on May 3rd, and we bought my car the week before that.

It's surreal. I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm experiencing a whole new level of freedom. I'm able to drive myself to and from work now, and my husband doesn't have to worry about me being here on my own because I can do everything for myself. I don't have to depend on anyone else to get around. When the move is final, I'll have a wealth of new job possibilities because I won't be restricted by distance.

Since my husband is already on the other side of the state, I've been taking care of a lot of things around the house. Paint, new carpet, major cleaning, and packing up stuff that we don't need to keep in the house at the moment. The house goes on the market this week and hopefully we'll be able to sell it quickly. Everything else has been going so smoothly, so hopefully this will also.

Okay, enough of that! One thing I do want to mention is that fellow writer and FTWA crew member Robert Lewis is also blogging for the new Macmillan site Criminal Element. Even if you don't read/write crime or mystery, you'll enjoy Robert's current series of posts, Bar Noir. Parts one and two are up, and part three will be up Sunday. The old book covers pictured in the articles is reason enough to read. He uses a story to discuss pulp fiction writers - which really isn't a genre I read, but his voice has spunk and panache, and makes me want to read some of the authors he mentions. Be sure to check it out, and be on the lookout for other posts from him!

Sex and Violence

2011-04-10T22:00:00.005-04:00

Today we have a special post, a sort of cross between a Random Shout Out Sunday (where I highlight an indie author or press, or other cool writing thing) and a guest blogger. Please welcome Drew Cross!

Hello out there!

First things first, thank you very much to Jen for letting me guest on your blog. The title of this post is a deliberately provocative one – just as the titles of my books aim to be (BiteMarks for my debut crime novel, and The Scarmap for my debut middle grade fantasy novel, both of which will be appearing later this year); but that's the whole point, right?

Read any 'how to write a bestseller' manual, and sooner or later they'll talk about your opener; so in that vein, here's one of mine for BiteMarks:

The girl draws in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and moans with a mixture of pain and pleasure; her white-blond hair feels like falling snowflakes where it brushes my skin. She has a tattoo on her neck, two small red pin-pricks and the words BITE ME in gothic lettering, stark against her near translucent paleness. A thin rivulet of blood snakes down her bare back, an escapee from the small clean incision on her shoulder blade. I kiss her deeply, my mouth still wet with her blood, holding her close and feeling her tremble, wanting to consume her, she runs her tongue over my elongated fangs as if she can read my thoughts. I can taste peppermint and vodka, the blood as a sweet honey tang underneath, her skin is aromatic with cocoa butter and the soft smoky musk of burning incense clings to her hair.

Whether or not that's attention grabbing is a matter of opinion and personal taste, but it does tell you something about the novel immediately. Note that I said 'something'…but not everything.

Now here's a piece from the next section of chapter one; it also features the male MC – Shane Marks - who we met drinking blood in the opener, but the tone's entirely different (a device used throughout the book to emphasise the duality of his existence):

“Marks?”

“Sir?”

“Briefing's in five minutes with CID, if that‟s enough time for you to finish preening yourself?”

The Inspector strides off without further pleasantries, but I can‟t help but like the grumpy old sod anyway. Marcus Cooke emerges still dripping from the shower, hurriedly towelling himself down and putting on his shirt having heard the Inspector's words.

“Why can‟t you put some pants on before your shirt? I don‟t want to see your dick every day.”

“Seeing my dick is the highlight of your day and you know it.”

He grins in his usual stupid broad fashion and slaps me on the backside as he passes to get to his locker.

Marks is a cop, and for me, that element of surprise is very important too. We live in a world with a short attention span, 'keeping em hooked' is half the battle - an extreme example of somebody who does this in the crime genre might be James Patterson, with his frantic pace and twists and turns on every page. Does it work? I hear he's sold one or two books recently, so just maybe there's something in it…

Let me also say this; BiteMarks is NOT a vampire novel. If you're catching the coat-tails of that particular bandwagon then all the best to you, but I am emphatically not. I've not read Ms Meyer, and all of the characters in my twisted little tale are all too human; albeit quirky types of human. However, there is something to be said about being mindful of 'trends' if you're commercially minded…I'm not suggesting you should sell-out and write what everybody else is writing, just that if you're aiming to make a good living, then be mindful of what the readership at large want when constructing your masterpiece.

So here comes the sex and violence promised: BiteMarks features a young police constable and practising blood-fetishist, chasing a savage attacker with a deep-rooted desire to bite his victims and spill their blood through the red-light zone of a violent city. Got that? Good. Sex and violence, and sexual violence, in all of it's permutations is dissected and deconstructed for your viewing pleasure – fundamentally sex and violence sells. If you want some more then look out for the book coming out somewhere near you very soon.

------------------------------------------------------------

Drew is a married father of two from Nottingham, England; he has been a model and a police officer (but never a model police officer!), and now masquerades as a financial adviser for a large banking group while dreaming of one day writing full-time for a living. When he's not reading, writing, toddler wrangling or weimaraner wrestling, he enjoys martial arts, cooking various cuisines (South East Asian a particular favourite) and meditating.

BiteMarks will be available soon in ebook and print form from Night Publishing.

Eternity, which Drew co-authored with Jenni James, was released as an ebook earlier this year.

Review: Triune, by Andrew Bowen

2011-04-04T10:30:00.000-04:00

A Jew, a Muslim and a Christian walk into a bar....

It's okay, you can laugh at whatever punchline you can imagine to finish that sentence. When it comes to religion and religious differences, I'm pretty sure Andrew Bowen would prefer we all laugh a little more and bicker a little less. Andrew recently published his novella, Triune, and it is available both in print and in Kindle format.

Product description from Amazon:

No one--not even the band themselves--expected Triune to go this far.

Jaron, Sam, and Noah have a simple mission: bring unity and peace among the faiths of Abraham through killer music. Triune's members: Jaron--a Jew with strong Israeli roots, Sam--a Palestinian Muslim, and Noah--a devout Christian with a haunted past, set out across the United States to spread their message and face acclaim and disaster at every turn. The country is taken by storm as Triune blazes a trail of revolution across the Plains toward a record contract in California. But when tragedy strikes Jaron's family and the Palestinians declare total independence from Israel, the Holy Land errupts into civil war. Secrets from the past and old rivalries emerge, forcing Jaron, Sam, and Noah to pick sides in a conflict that threatens to rip the band, their spiritual homeland, and their lives apart.

When I began reading, I was chuckling every few paragraphs it seemed. Jaron is a wellspring of comedic moments, whether its his substitutions for Amen at the end of prayers (Ra-men, Gay-men) or popping golf cart wheelies in the middle of a round of golf with the Reverend of a church. There are plenty of moments to laugh, but also plenty of moments to think.

You'll get to know and care about all three members of the band throughout the book. Sam's struggle to be her own person under the watch of her strict Muslim parents is touching, and something we can all relate to on some level. Noah is mysterious, seemingly haunted, and provides a quiet voice of reason. While each band member has their own “book” in the story, I feel Jaron is really the central focus of the plot. His actions are the catalyst for much of what happens, and he is the character I most identified with. He is light-hearted in his faith – something some may interpret as a lack of faith, or shallow faith, but it's not. He's prone to whimsical decisions he believes are divinely inspired, and this makes not only for some funny moments, but also his dramatic end.

Triune has an ending you have to read to believe, so I won't give it away here. I'll just say that Jaron takes some actions that surprised and saddened me. The ending stuck with me. I had to think about it for a while. I wished desperately that it hadn't ended the way it did. At first. Then I realized that, really, it couldn't have ended any other way. It was a logical progression of events where the characters behaved according to their personalities, not some author-contrived ending simply intended to shock (c'mon, I know you've all read at least one book like that and wanted to toss it across the room afterward, right? No worries about that here.)

I think the best word I can use to describe this story is unassuming, and that's a good thing. If someone wants to tell you a parable or fable, you expect a message. If someone wants to quote to you from the Bible or other holy text, you expect a message. Sometimes, expecting a message gets in the way of receiving that message. With Triune, Andrew has crafted a story that is entertaining and will pull you in, have you rooting for these three friends as their band tours the country, and hoping for their safety when things take a turn for the worse. Before you've had a chance to look for a message, you'll have learned it.

This Ain't No Joke!

2011-04-01T04:00:00.002-04:00

Happy April Fool's Day, everyone!

Despite the day, what I'm about to say is NOT a practical joke. (No, I haven't scored an amazing agent or publishing deal.) What I do have for you, though, is something that could help YOU on your journey to improving your writing, finding an agent, publishing - traditionally or otherwise - your work, and navigating the rapidly-changing industry.

Myself and a handful of other writers who met on Agent Query Connect (though let me stress, we are NOT affiliated with, nor endorsed by, AQC in any way) have come together to compile our various talents, levels of experience, and opinions, all for your benefit! I feel so lucky and honored to be working with this group of talented writers, and we are happy to present to you:


Offering multiple perspectives on writing and the publishing industry— from first draft to final product, and everything beyond.

Go on, click on the picture to go to the website! In addition to the site, you can also find us on Twitter and Facebook! Make sure you sign up to follow the blog, and visit the blogs of all our members, too. Leave comments, ask questions, email us, and enjoy!

Smashwords vs. Kindle Direct Publishing

2011-03-29T00:40:00.000-04:00

Here's the scoop: I've decided to self-publish my first manuscript in ebook format. I've been sitting on it a while, and I don't know that it's the type of story that will get me an agent or a traditional publishing deal. It's not poorly written, or uninteresting. Quite the opposite - I'm still as in love with it as I ever was. But if I'm honest about the difficulties of the traditional market right now, I can see that it may never see success in that arena, while my current projects have a much better chance. So, after thinking about it long and hard, and watching our friend Andrew Bowen take the brave plunge with his novella Triune (review coming soon!) in both Kindle and print versions, I figured what the heck, why not. Might as well put it out there myself, make a bit of money (heck, even if I only sell a few, that's still more than nothing!) and start making a name for myself.

Over on Agent Query, the AQCrew has two fantastic guides on how to convert your MS Word manuscript into a Kindle ebook, and how to publish your ebook on Amazon's Kindle store. Reading through these, I thought "Hey, easy peasy, I can do that!" and that's where my initial inspiration came from. Of course, I still wanted to do plenty of research. In doing so, our other good friend Terry Gould (author of How Can You Mend This Purple Heart) reminded me that he'd e-published with Smashwords (how could I forget?!) So I started looking at the Smashwords site and the Amazon site and comparing features. Then it dawned on me: I bet my readers would appreciate a nice handy comparison between the two!

There are a whole lot of things to take into consideration - more than I expected. So I made this handy little chart for you to compare e-publishing through Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing and Smashwords. I'm not sure yet whether I want to pursue a print version of my book, but if I do, I'll probably do a similar chart for the print options.

	Smashwords	Amazon
Available publishing formats	Kindle, Sony eReaders, Nook, Kobo, iPad, PDF, RTF, Palm Doc, Plain Text	Kindle
Costs for author?	Free	Free
Royalty %	85% of net, 70.5% of affiliate sales, 60% of list price from major ebook retailers	35% of list price OR the 70% option, available only on sales to customers from the US, Canada, and the UK
Transaction or other fees	Transaction fee of approx. $.33 per shopping cart (so if customer buys your book and another author's book, the fee is split between the two books) plus a % fee (not specified) based on total sale price; VAT for sales in the UK	$.15 per megabyte of your ebook file; for sales to the UK, there is a 15% statutory Luxemborg VAT
Distribution Venues	Smashwords site; Barnes&Noble, Borders, Apple iPad iBookstore, Sony, Kobo, Diesel eBook store all available upon acceptance into premium catalog; Atom/OPDS catalog which reaches major mobile platforms; Amazon coming soon	Kindle store (on device, PC, and mobile), Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk
DRM? (Digital Rights Management)	No DRM	You can choose to include/exclude
ISBN?	Required for certain distribution venues, but not for standard catlog. Free ISBN can be assigned (lists Smashwords as publisher, you as author) upon acceptance into premium catalog. $9.95 premium ISBN lists you as publisher	Not required. Your work will be given an Amazon Standard Identification Number (ASIN) automatically upon publishing (ASIN is 10 digits, standard ISBNs are 13 digits)
Print option available?	Yes, through affiliate Wordclay	Yes, through Createspace

What I will probably end up doing is using Amazon's KDP to publish the Kindle version, and Smashwords for other formats. This should ensure maximum royalties on the Kindle version, but maximum exposure with the multiple formats and distribution possibilities of Smashwords.

Have any of you already traveled this path of digital self-publishing, or do you have any opinions/input on either Amazon or Smashwords?

Wanna Win a New Kindle WiFi?

2011-03-15T11:06:00.000-04:00

Want to win a brand new Wi-Fi Kindle 3? All you have to do is leave a comment on this post, and you can have your chance! For more chances to win, visit the main contest page. Every participating blog you visit gives you another chance to win!

This post is part of Moira Rogers’ Wild Web Adventure Promo. For full rules and disclaimers, or to hold your own kindle contest, visit the contest post. Winners will be chosen during the first week of April.http://www.moirarogers.com/blog/archives/3473

About the book: Wilder's Mate: Bloodhounds, Book 1 was released March 8, 2011. I have not read it, but it sounds like something I'd love and have put it on my to-read list! Here's the blurb from the Amazon listing for the book:

Think a vampire-hunting bloodhound is dangerous? Try threatening his woman.

Bloodhounds, Book 1

Wilder Harding is a bloodhound, created by the Guild to hunt down and kill vampires on America’s frontier. His enhanced abilities come with a high price: on the full moon, he becomes capable of savagery beyond telling, while the new moon brings a sexual hunger that borders on madness.

Rescuing a weapons inventor from undead kidnappers is just another assignment, though one with an added complication—keeping his hands off the man’s pretty young apprentice, who insists on tagging along.

At odds with polite society, Satira’s only constant has been the aging weapons inventor who treats her like a daughter. She isn’t going to trust Wilder with Nathaniel’s life, not when the Guild might decide the old man isn’t worth saving. Besides, if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that brains are more important than brawn.

As the search stretches far longer than Wilder planned, he finds himself fighting against time. If Satira is still at his side when the new moon comes, nothing will stop him from claiming her. Worse, she seems all too willing. If their passion unlocks the beast inside, no one will be safe. Not even the man they’re fighting to save.

Warning: This book contains a crude, gun-slinging, vampire-hunting hero who howls at the full moon and a smart, stubborn heroine who invents mad-scientist weapons. Also included: wild frontier adventures, brothels, danger, betrayal and a good dose of wicked loving in an alternate Wild West.

Review: Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex

2011-03-03T22:24:00.001-05:00

This is my first time reading anything written or compiled by Rachel Kramer Bussel, so I wasn't sure what to expect – I only knew that there is a lot of mediocre erotica out there. I was pleasantly surprised by this collection of short-short stories. Definitely better than just mediocre.
For the most part, the stories are very well-written. There were a handful that simply didn't do it for me in terms of the author's writing style, but the positives far outweighed the negatives. One of the best things about this collection is that all 69 stories are under 1200 words, so it's easy to pick up and put down when you can't make the time commitment for longer chapters. Not to mention the fact that the heat level rises quickly and gets to the point without any contrived set-up. That's not to say there's no plot or story arc, because there is – another aspect that sets these stories a notch above the rest. I was surprised by the emotional depth encapsulated in so few words in many of the stories.

Regarding the erotic content, there's something for everyone in this collection: light bondage and BDSM play, stranger sex, public sex, the deep bond of long-term partners, and much, much more. Bussel has done an excellent job of structuring the anthology as well. The first story, Seven-Letter Word by Heather Lin, is fun and sexy, and it sets the tone so that you won't want to put the book down after just one story. The last story, Robert Peregrine's Vacation Pictures, has a unique voice that combines the erotic with a touch of humor and leaves you with the desire to flip back through the book the way you'd look back at snapshots from your own favorite vacation to relive all the best parts. The first and last stories are among my favorites, and here are a few others:

Too Wondrous To Measure, by Salome Wild – fun, humorous, and inventive. You'd never expect Godzilla to show up in an erotica anthology, and yet this was one of my favorites by far.
Eat Me, by Marina Saint – It doesn't mean what you think it means. This is for anyone who's ever craved a burger with the same carnal urge as you'd crave your lover's body.

Downpour, by Elle – A sweet story that shows we only get more beautiful, confident, and sexy with age.

Intercept, by Burton Lawrence – Space sex! Need I say more?

Last-Time Lesbian, by Geneva King – This one will make you think, and not just about the sex. It addresses the difficult emotional dynamics in a transgender relationship.

Going Bald, by Craig J. Sorenson – Women can be their own toughest critics when it comes to their bodies, so I loved this story giving a male perspective on the beauty of the female form.

I liked this book so much, I will definitely be checking out other titles from Rachel Kramer Bussel. Highly recommended

(Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book from the editor in exchange for a review on Amazon. But I assure you that didn’t affect my review in any way.)

Short Story: Home for the Holidays

2011-02-15T20:12:00.001-05:00

Who doesn’t love a free story? If you like a good tug-at-the-heartstrings kinda story with a sweet, romantic, potentially a little sappy ending, look no further!

Deployed to Afghanistan for more than half of his two-year marriage, Trent is determined to make it home for the holidays. But which holiday, exactly? And will he make it?

I’ll be home for Christmas. Sweeter than the strains of Ave Maria floating through the speakers, Trent’s voice echoed through my head like a Christmas carol sung just for me. As I placed a sliver ball on the tree, the shiny surface reflected my smile back to me.

Of course, it was almost Valentine’s Day. The original plan was for Trent to come home on leave for Christmas, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he promised to be my Valentine, and I promised him we’d have Christmas in February.

My neighbor Janine stuck a bow on my head.

“You will be the only present he wants, I’m sure,” she said. “I think you should gift-wrap yourself.”

I was going to. Sort of. Trent had been deployed to Afghanistan for more than half of our two-year marriage. When he called Wednesday morning with the news that he would definitely be home for Christmas-Valentine’s, I headed straight for my favorite lingerie boutique. The thought of the sexy little velvet number in the closet perked up the corners of my mouth a little more.

Janine and her husband Robert hung the last of the ornaments on the tree. They’d done most of the work. I was still in a daze and daydreaming about my husband’s homecoming. The first Christmas without him was hard, and when I learned he’d be gone for a second, I didn’t bother with anything remotely festive. Not until he was home. Janine and Rob showed up this morning with a beautiful Douglas fir in the back of their pickup and helped me find my belated Christmas spirit.

I surveyed the finished product. The tree was only about six feet tall, wide with dense branches. It overwhelmed the room a bit, but it fit the occasion. Like me, it was full to bursting with happiness. Besides, I wasn’t even sure where they managed to find a Christmas tree in February so I wasn’t going to complain. There’s no shortage of tree farms here in rural Pennsylvania; I suppose they have evergreens year-round.

“When’s his flight?” Rob asked.

I checked my watch. The second hand counted down the hours, the minutes, sending surge after tingling surge of anticipation through my body.

“He lands in Georgia early tomorrow morning and he’ll be there a few hours before his flight to Baltimore.” I was tempted to jump in my car and drive the twelve hours down to Atlanta to get him instead of waiting for him to get to Baltimore tomorrow afternoon. The only thing stopping me was the three inches of new snow we’d gotten in the past few hours and the forecast for more overnight. Too bad he wasn’t able to fly into Harrisburg, only twenty minutes away. Two hours to Baltimore would be challenging enough. It amazed me how people forget everything they ever knew about driving once a snowflake hits pavement.

“Hopefully the snow won’t cause any trouble,” he said.

From his mouth to the Snow Miser’s ears.

I was too anxious to sleep later that night, so I slipped into a hot shower around midnight, hoping the steam would relax me. The snow had me worried. I tried to calm myself with the thought that if Trent’s flight to Baltimore was delayed or canceled, he had all day Sunday and Monday to try to get another one. We’d never placed much importance on Valentine’s Day, but this year was different. If he didn’t make it home in time, it just wouldn’t be the same.

I massaged strawberry-scented shampoo into my hair until my scalp tingled. It reminded me of my husband. He never complained about the girly scent because he knew how much I liked to smell it in his hair when we snuggled in bed at night.

As the suds dripped down my neck, I helped them along with my hands, spreading the silky lather down over my breasts.

Before he left for Afghanistan, we talked about having babies with his strawberry-blonde hair and washing them with strawberry shampoo and being a strawberry-scented family. But we couldn’t do that while he was away. He refused to leave me alone and pregnant, and I refused to bring a child into this world until its daddy could be there to see it born.

I rubbed the shampoo bubbles into my belly. No baby yet. Soon, hopefully. Trent and I would get lots of practice in during his leave, that’s for sure. My hands wandered low on my abdomen. My fingers teased at the top of my mound.

I had an idea.

Trent had asked me, once, but I was never brave enough. I would be brave now, to give him a spectacular combined Christmas and Valentine’s gift.

I grabbed my razor, shaving cream, and a hand mirror, and got to work.

Half an hour later, I stood naked in the bedroom, pampering my skin with shea butter lotion. I was smooth and silky from head to toe. Gently I massaged a bit of lotion on my inner thighs and over my newly shaved vulva. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be. Trent was going to love it.

I made sure to moisturize every inch. The skin there was even more sensitive now that it was bare. The slightest touch triggered the pleasure center of my brain. My nipples hardened. My knees trembled. I wanted to collapse onto the bed and tease my waiting clit into submission. But I didn’t. I wanted to wait for my husband.

The next morning I awoke to a nightmare. Three more inches of snow had fallen.

No sooner had I looked out the window when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Damn, baby, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

Trent’s gravelly baritone made me shudder with girlish anticipation. It was good to hear his voice, too.

“Please tell me your flight’s on time,” I said. His sigh was answer enough.

“Delayed. Gotta wait to see if it clears a little up that way first.”

Tears stung my eyes. I’d waited long enough, damn it. I wanted him home with me today. Not tomorrow. Not a minute later than scheduled.

“You there, babe?”

“Yeah.” I took a shaky breath. “I’m here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon. I gotta go for now, but I’ll call you as soon as I know when I’m leaving.”

“Okay. I love you. And I miss you.”

“Love you baby.”

As the hours passed, the forecast grew more dismal. The snow continued to fall steadily, from northern Virginia all the way up to the New England states. All flights to and from Newark and JFK were halted by two o’clock. BWI had limited air traffic, but they were expected to shut down any moment as well.

Rob and Janine braved the weather to come sit with me and watch the news.

The phone call came just after six. Trent’s flight had been cancelled, and all flights going anywhere near us were also cancelled due to the weather. I couldn’t hold back the tears this time.

“It’s already Saturday night. Are you going to make it here by Monday?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It depends on if it keeps snowing or not. But I’ll make it eventually.”

“What about our holiday? Valentine’s Day is Monday. You have to be here.” Tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder, I snatched a twig of fake mistletoe off the doorjamb, then unplugged the Christmas tree. If Trent wasn’t going to be here, I wasn’t going to celebrate. Janine grabbed my hand as I went to start pulling ornaments off the tree.

“It doesn’t matter what day I get there. You’re the only thing I need for Christmas or any holiday.”

“It does matter.” I wanted this to be special. I wanted us to celebrate like normal people do – as normal celebrating Christmas in February could be, at least.

“I’ll get there, okay? I’ll find a bus, or the first plane out of here, or something. It’ll be okay.”

Overwhelmed with my tears, I passed the phone to Rob to say hello. He took the phone into the other room and Janine put her arms around me. She didn’t say anything. I doubt she could’ve said anything to make me feel any better, anyway. She just hugged me and rubbed my back until the tears stopped.

“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my face.

“No thanks necessary.” She looked around. “I’ll go see what Rob’s up to.”

She disappeared toward the kitchen and left me staring at a Christmas tree I desperately wanted to tear down. It reminded me of what I was missing. If I didn’t look at the tree, I’d have to look out the window at the snow piling up. That wasn’t a welcome sight, either. Instead I went in search of Janine and Rob.

I heard Janine’s voice as I came into the kitchen.

“…are you really going to drive that whole way? How long is that?”

“Who’s going where?” I asked.

Janine looked to Rob, who held up his cell phone.

“Just got a call from one of my clients,” he said. “His mare is in labor and having a hard time.”

Rob was an equine veterinarian and was always making house calls for pregnant or injured horses.

“It’s a ways out, though. I’ll probably be gone all night.”

Janine grinned at me. “Slumber party?”

Anything to take my mind off Trent not coming home.

To find out whether Trent makes it home in time for Valentine’s Day, read the conclusion of the story on my Facebook page. Make sure you click “Like” to receive my updates. I hope to post more stories soon!

Happy New Year!

2011-01-02T20:10:00.000-05:00

Welcome to 2011! Hopefully this will be a successful year for myself and all of my fellow writers. To kick off the new year, guess what I got in the mail? A Possession prize pack from Elana Johnson! That's right, I actually won one of the goodies I mentioned in my last post! Check out the swag:

Signed book marks, super cool temporary tattoos that say "tagged", Possession keychain, and chocolate! What's even more awesome than winning is the fact that I just LOVE butterflies, so the theme of the artwork is perfect for me.

I remember when Elana and I were in a crit group together over on Agent Query Connect. If her being super nice isn't reason enough for you to go pre-order her book, I can assure you it will be good. I always loved reading Elana's chapters in our group. Although she workshopped a different story with us then, I do remember getting a sneak peek of this story when it was still in its beginning stages. Come June, this book will definitely be going on my shelf! Possession is Elana's debut novel and will be available 6/7/11 from Simon Pulse.

Goodies Galore!

2010-12-10T18:13:00.000-05:00

Today, I thought I'd bring you a few goodies from the writing world. Giveaways, vlogs, and general funness. First up:

Words With Jam
Words With Jam is a fabulous (and FREE!) e-zine for writers and readers looking for something a little different. You can subscribe via email on their site and receive the magazine right in your email every other month. It's available as a .pdf, or through the online viewer. I received my December issue a couple weeks ago and looked through it using the online viewer - and it is gorgeous! High quality graphics, informative and fun articles, contests. What more could you want? Although they're based in the UK, the wisdom in these pages is appropriate for writers all over the world. Sign up now!

That Girl Tyson

Tee (or T.L., or Tina, or Tyson) is a fellow writer I "met" on Authonomy and have kept stayed connected with on Facebook. She's been vlogging for a few months now, and it's a weekly six-minute smile for me. Her vlog features some regular segments like weird crap around her house, what came in the mail, and Urban Dictionary words. Not to mention regular appearances by her pets that always put me into adorable overload. She's cute, spunky, and Canadian! This is her most recent vlog, but you can subscribe to her posts at YouTube so you don't miss any of the awesomeness. You might watch the first time just for the endearing accent, but you'll keep coming back because it's good fun!

Win Stuff!

I came across Beth Revis's blog via a link from Elana Johnson's blog, and I'm glad I found it! Beth is a debut novelist whose first book, Across the Universe, will be released this coming spring. From her website, here's a tidbit about the book:

Seventeen-year-old Amy joins her parents as frozen cargo aboard the vast spaceship Godspeed and expects to awake on a new planet, three hundred years in the future. Never could she have known that her frozen slumber would come to an end fifty years too soon and that she would be thrust into a brave new world of a spaceship that lives by its own rules.

Sounds awesome, right? Well, she's having an amazing giveaway of 100 prizes, some of which include bookmarks, pins, and signed copies! Check out the contest here, and while you're there, take a look around her website for some great stuff. I love the layout and design of her site. Maybe one day I'll have something that looks that nice. I'll have to keep up a more regular posting schedule first.... LOL.

Win More Stuff!

The two ladies mentioned above (Elana and Beth) also blog for The League of Extraordinary Writers, a group of debut YA dystopian writers. In fact, Beth is the League's founder. Elana's debut novel, Possession, is also forthcoming this spring, and she is having her own giveaway, as are the rest of the League writers. To find out how to win this great stuff, check out their blog here.

Okay, last but not least in our goody bag today, is:

Contests, contests, everywhere! (Or: Win EVEN MORE Stuff!)

In another happy tale of link-clicking, I found the Just a Contest website when I went to the Words With Jam site just earlier today! They list tons of writing contests for writers, both here in the US and abroad. They list entry fees (if any), prizes, deadlines, and more. You can search contests, export contest info to a calendar, and I'm sure there's more, but I haven't gotten a chance to look at it all just yet! It's worth a look for anyone interested in writing contests.

That's about it for our goody bag today. Who knows, if I stumble upon more awesomeness, I may make this a regular feature!

Crit for a Cause

2010-12-02T22:49:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to take a moment to let you guys know about a great opportunity this month. Literary Agent Irene Goodman auctions off partial manuscript critiques on Ebay every month, with the proceeds benefiting charitable foundations. This month (December) however, she is auctioning off FIFTEEN critiques! This means YOU have a chance to have your partial reviewed by a top industry insider! Or, you could bid on a critique as a gift for someone else. Even better, the proceeds go to charity.

Irene's son has Usher Syndrome, which causes progressive loss of sight and hearing, so she has chosen to donate the proceeds of the auctions to three foundations doing research in these areas.

If you would like to bid on one of the auctions, there are links on the agency website. There are five auctions for each of the three foundations. Get feedback for yourself, and support a charitable organization. I'd say that's a win-win, how about you?

Random Shout-Out Sunday

2010-11-09T01:30:00.002-05:00

Well, it's not Sunday anymore, but it is random! Time for another shout-out!

If you've been following my blog for a few months or more, you've probably realized I have a bit of a literary love affair going on with the Dirty Prophet, Andrew Bowen. I first made Andrew's acquaintance when he accepted a short story of mine for publication in his online lit mag, Divine Dirt Quarterly, late last year, and I've been a fan ever since. In addition to being proactive and full of interesting ideas, he has a brand new project that I'm very excited to tell you about.

For a bit more background info on Andrew, make sure you check out my conversations with the Dirty Prophet (shame on you if you haven't read it already!) He was also recently interviewed by Lynn Alexander at PRATE, and she mentioned Jello World.... I'd be lying if I said I didn't go squeeee! when I saw it! So, Andrew is a father and husband, a student of theology, founder and editor-in-chief of DDQ, is pioneering his own genre of theological fiction, has a forthcoming novella, and his short fiction has appeared in various magazines. How much more can one man do, you ask?

How about take on a year-long project to explore various religions from the perspective of a new convert to each one? Take on Dirty Prophet and twelve months of "spiritual promiscuity" and you get Project Conversion. From the Project Conversion website:

Humanity has lost its mind, all because of religion. For a cultural phenomenon that’s existed as long as Man has been afraid of the dark, religion remains a divisive and misunderstood subject. A recent poll by The Pew Forum found that many religious groups know little to nothing about one another, or even their own theologies. People are afraid of what they don’t understand and willing to kill and die over their concept of the divine.
It’s time to lighten up.

Project Conversion: Twelve Months of Spiritual Promiscuity, has a mission: To enlighten and entertain. Over the course of a year, I will immerse myself in one religion per month. With the help of spiritual mentors and research, every step of the journey will be documented here via photos, video, and blog entry.

Should be fun. Will certainly be interesting, and hopefully by the end a few folks who may have been reticent to find out about a rival faith will learn something by vicariously practicing for a month through me.

While I think it's a great idea that people will be able to learn from, as well as be entertained by, there will be those who don't share my opinion. Some people are concerned that some faiths may be "butchered" by their portrayal in this experiment. Andrew has addressed some of those concerns on his blog, which you can read here. Whatever your opinion - positive, negative, or neutral - Project Conversion is definitely something to keep your eye on. Here's a brief video from the project's donation page on Kickstarter.

If you wish to support Project Conversion, you can do so here.

So, to recap, here are all the places you can find out about Andrew and Project Conversion:
Andrew's blog, The Dirty Prophet
Project Conversion website
Project Conversion on Facebook
Donation page at Kickstarter

Slackerville

2010-09-19T11:38:00.000-04:00

I know, I haven't posted in a few weeks. But to be fair, I haven't been spending ALL my time in slackerville! At this very moment I am double-checking all my manuscript formatting and such because I've received my first request!

In other news, Agent Query Connect has moved to a brand new website and it looks grrrrrreat! I'm moderating a critique group there and I've been busy setting that up. AQC is now tied with Facebook for the most use of my time hahaha.

And, of course, I've been writing. I'm making good progress with Confessions and I'm hoping to be finished and ready to query by Halloween. That's the plan, at least. The erotica is still just sitting there, but as soon as Confessions is done I'll be diving into that with all of my energy.

So I know it's short, but those are my updates for now. I'll be back soon, promise! I think it's time for another Shout Out Sunday or an Author Profile, or something... what do you think?

The Reluctant Exhibitionist

2010-08-23T16:13:00.000-04:00

The long wait is finally over! My erotica short story, The Reluctant Exhibitionist, is now available to read on the Oyster&Chocolate website! It's probably obvious from the title, but I'll say it anyway: this story is sexually explicit in nature, and is intended for mature viewers only. That said, click here to read the story, comment, and give a rating. Enjoy!

On a completely unrelated note, I will be enabling comment moderation because of the ridiculous amounts of comment spam I've been getting. Sorry for the inconvenience of not being able to see your comments immediately after posting.

Conversations With the Dirty Prophet II: Theological Fiction and Publishing

2010-08-04T11:30:00.002-04:00

A continuation of my interview with Adrew Bowen, founder of Divine Dirt Quarterly. To read part one, click here.

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Jello World: So, thinking more about novels now, do you have any thoughts on the mainstream publishing industry? I know a lot of people who are going the self-pub route, or going to smaller indie presses, and even some who've started their own publishing houses. And since you've seen fit to start up something like DDQ, I thought you might have an opinion on what is (or isn't) currently being published.

Dirty Prophet: A lot. That's it; there's a ton of material being produced despite the image of so much rejection. And now with the relative low cost of printing and small-scale production, artists can in effect tell the companies to screw themselves. This democratization is a two-edged sword. At once, it's great that more and more art can be shared due to this freedom, but the negatives are that the ratio of artist to consumer is tilting to a point of inflation. It's in vogue to diss the big houses and authors who rake in five to seven figures per title, but put yourself in their shoes: would you say no? Artists have a hard time supporting themselves as it is, but now a non-paying market is the norm. The next few years will be interesting.

Jello World: I wouldn't say no! haha. I think it will be interesting to see what happens over the next few years, whether digital will make print books obsolete (I doubt it) and stuff like that. I know you've had a submission out with an agent for a while now. Do you plan to continue pursuing the traditional publishing route, or would you consider self-publishing or e-publishing?

Dirty Prophet: Oh no, "the submission". It's been with this particular agent for almost eight months. So I suppose that yeah, I'm shooting for traditional, at least at first. Like I told the agent, writing is a career move for me. Sure, I'm an artist and want to express myself and all that jazz, but when it comes down to it, I know that this is what I'm built for and what better result than to do what brings me joy and be able to support my family?

Jello World: Amen! I have nothing but respect for anyone who chooses to do it themselves. I just don't have the discipline and motivation to be my own marketing machine. Plus, at least for now, I think the pros of traditional publishing still outweigh the benefits of self publishing.

Dirty Prophet: This is an aspect artist folks tend to forget about publishing: it is a business and what you produce is a product. I'm not entirely reticent to the idea of going solo, it's just a business choice: publisher = less risk. Artists have to be able to see themselves as business people if a career (and therefore income) is to rise to fruition. Should I get a contract, I'll have no problem going from writer to pimp of my work quicker than Clark Kent to Superman in a phone booth.

Jello World: haha! So you'd kill your darlings, so to speak, at the request of a publisher or editor to make your product more marketable?

Dirty Prophet: No, to make it better. I have no shame and very little ego. There have been several pieces of my short fiction that were modified and edited due to an editor's suggestion. This doesn't mean I'm a whore to the industry, but I recognize that there are people out there whose job it is to analyze work, recognize weaknesses, and make corrections. Being a writer is just a link in the creative chain and if my ego weakens that chain, show's over.

Jello World: But there are limits to what you'll do? I know a lot of writers feel that there are editors out there who will want to re-work your book until it hardly resembles what you set out to create.

Dirty Prophet: There are limits. This novel I've written literally defines me as an artist. I'll move and mold a lot, but I won't relinquish my identity or artistic soul to make a buck for myself or anyone else.

Jello World: Good for you! So do you think your "brand" will be theological fiction, or do you see yourself ever branching out into other areas?

Dirty Prophet: I actually think theological fiction has a ton of real estate. There are really just two areas here: Inspirational, where the literature is biased toward a particular mindset, and more literary work that sinks away into general fiction. The market has a tough time sorting the latter out. It's even more difficult to find this material (non-inspirational) in stores because they are buried in the "Literature" section. I'd love to see an emergence of this genre as it's own distinctive niche, like mystery or romance. This would make room for great sub-genres that, before, would have been unthinkable amalgams such as theo-erotica, theo-historical fiction, even theo-graphic novels...all of which center around this concept of theological expression and exploration.

Jello World: Sign me up for theo-erotica! I'm totally there. I think it would be great to see that kind of development, practically creating a new genre. Side rant: I really do hate how bookstores have that "Literature" section, because what it usually means is "we didn't know where else to put it" and just because you like one book in that section doesn't mean you'll be at all interested in the one sitting right next to it!!! *end rant*

Dirty Prophet: It's really like the Wild West of literally expansion. You realize this dream, this idea, that there's all this room to spread and build and then it suddenly hits you how enormous of an undertaking it would be.

Jello World: I have a friend who writes terrific Steampunk, bordering on erotica sometimes, and that genre is just starting to take hold too. I think she's on the leading edge of something that will be really great, and I think you are too. There are so many possibilities and so many stories to tell. The agent who snatches you up will be very lucky!

Dirty Prophet: Thanks! What's great about this genre is that it requires no baggage to contribute. To write Christian Inspirational, you kinda need to be a member, but with theo-lit, you could be an outright atheist and still have something to contribute. When you see theology and spirituality as something free to explore, it takes the barbs out it and suddenly we're all members of one diverse congregation.

Jello World: So true! And even under that heavy tag of "literary fiction" you have to have a certain something that not every writer has (or wants to). So you're envisioning more of a mainstream genre. Like you said, something more recognizable, like romance or mystery. Do you see DDQ almost as a first step in building the genre and getting the word out there?

Dirty Prophet: There are other zines out there. Image is a big one. A good friend of mine, Edward Simon started 31st Bird Review a few months before DDQ, Ashe Journal is another. There are others, but as I said, the horizon is wide open and there's certainly room for niches to develop and grow.

Jello World: Cool, I'll have to check out some of those too.

Dirty Prophet: Tell them I said hi.

Jello World: Will do! Wow... So this has been quite a productive chat! I think I've asked all the questions I had and have gotten lots of great material. Is there anything you wanted to share or tell readers that I haven't touched on?

Dirty Prophet: The standard I live by is this: We are all but neighbors, borrowing sugar (ideas, concepts, etc.) from one another to create our own pastries. Once we grasp this, that our humanity isn't stagnant, but a continual narrative where we share and make anew, the day gets brighter and the thunder of our lives becomes music instead of something mysterious to be feared.

Jello World: Prophet, indeed.

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Andrew's fiction has appeared in Metazen, Full of Crow, Nanoism, Pulp Metal Magzine, and Prick of the Spindle, just to name a few. He is the founder/editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly, and he blogs at The Dirty Prophet. If that's not enough, he also wrestles with God and they share beer afterward.

Conversations With The Dirty Prophet: Theology in Fiction and Divine Dirt Quarterly

2010-08-01T13:30:00.002-04:00

Recently I had the pleasure of sitting down for a chat with none other than the Dirty Prophet, aka Andrew Bowen, founder and editor-in-chief of Divine Dirt Quarterly. After nearly three hours, some excellent mindreading on Andrew's part, and some bad spelling and grammar on both sides (to be expected from an instant messenger chat), I bring you Conversations With the Dirty Prophet! I've broken it up into two parts for easy reading. Today's installation talks about theology in general and in fiction, and Andrew's experience starting DDQ. I think I even managed to fix all the spelling mistakes. :-)

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Jello World: Okay so, to get started, can you just tell me a little bit about yourself, besides the awesome writing stuff?

Dirty Prophet: Well sure. I'm from eastern North Carolina. Grew up an Army brat and was generally a social outcast through most of school. Then I went to college, got drunk and/or high a lot, was kicked out of college, got my girlfriend/bestfriend pregnant and then married. And so here I am.

Jello World: Did you ever go back to college?

Dirty Prophet: Going back now. Ironically, I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up until the last days of my college career. I started writing my first novel the summer before what was supposed to be my junior year. From there I wrote a few more and it wasn't until I started working on my latest one in 2008 that I realized religion and fiction were what I was to spend my life in ecstasy and agony over.

Jello World: So a slightly random question, where did the nickname "The Dirty Prophet" come from?

Dirty Prophet: Haha well I have a great interest in prophets and the historic/metaphorical spiritual aspects of dirt, so I just made them my own. Prophets are folks who express a need for change or challenge those around them to think. I'd like to think that my work does that. As for dirt, it's a unifying element. We came from dirt, so to speak, in both scientific and theological traditions. We dig in dirt to find things: our past, our technologies, worms for fishing...Dirt keeps us human, connected, and real. That's how I want to be: human, connected, and real.

Jello World: Interesting! I like that.

Dirty Prophet: Not as cool as Slim Shady or Dark Knight, but it'll do.

Jello World: haha I think it's pretty cool. It's fitting. Back to religion and fiction... as you know, I write erotica. It's not always a conscious choice, but rather something I fall into naturally. Even in my most mainstream stuff, the characters will probably hop into bed at least once. Do you find religion is something you just gravitate toward, or are you always making a conscious effort to write about it?

Dirty Prophet: Religion in general and writing with it in particular is something I merged into. My pre-theological material usually dealt with social issues like the teacher-student (minor) relationship or internet dating. I discovered my passion in religion while researching for my last novel. Suddenly a Pandora's box of subject matter and character types opened and my world hasn't been the same since. I think about this stuff 24-7. It annoys my wife sometimes.

Jello World: Funny you should say... my first novel ever dealt with a teacher-student relationship! Great minds think alike, I suppose.

Dirty Prophet: This is true!

Jello World: So does your wife have to continually change the topic to something besides theology?

Dirty Prophet: She understands my passion and so rolls with it. Because my spiritual background began with Christianity and she has just recently adopted that faith, we often discuss what she is learning. But for her watching me read about religion or write, I guess it's like watching a kid with Legos or a video game.

Jello World: Yes, the awe and excitement of it all, right?

Dirty Prophet: Religion (cosmology too) for me is like numbers to a mathematician or musical notes to a composer. The myths, the stories, the rituals and histories just make sense to me. Funny, it's my security blanket in a world where religion is a cause for death and strife. I see no duality, just the beautiful, trippy, human color of imagination and faith.

Jello World: You're reading my mind today, because my next question was going to be what is it about theology and religion that captivates you enough to want to challenge it, write about it, and to share it with your readers? Are you searching for you own truth when you write, or have you already found that?

Dirty Prophet: Interestingly enough, a search is how this mess started. When researching for my novel's protagonist (he's a prophet), I came across information on all sorts of traditions. It was inviting to settle with one, but just then, I'd fall in love with another. I was becoming spiritually promiscuous. My truth is that I have no damn clue. I've adopted a position of a nomad, roaming from faith to faith (and sometimes none) and finding solace within each oasis so long as there is water and shade. Then, I pack my bags and move on. I intentionally make my fiction ambiguous to reflect this.

Jello World: "Spiritually promiscuous" I love that! So you're not necessarily trying to lead your readers to any one conclusion about god or theology?

Dirty Prophet: No. That would be dishonest. If we subscribe to the idea of a perfect "other" or God, while admitting ourselves to be imperfect, then how the hell would any of us, being imperfect, be able to dictate absolute truth? I think faith, spirituality is a journey, something to dig for. It's curiosity, a kid digging in the dirt. No, I write to pose questions and challenge folks to think.

Jello World: So would you say that you personally don't subscribe to the idea of that "perfect" god? Or just that you don't feel qualified to say who or what god is or isn't?

Dirty Prophet: The latter. The Greek idea of God (Islamic as well) is unanthropomorphic. I'm in that category as well, though not definitively. I'm committed to my ignorance, so to speak, to the point where I'm open to new (and old) ideas. Always in awe, always surprised, and never in a comfort zone.

I think once people close the lid on their spirituality, they effectively limit outlets in which the divine might speak to them, because if you believe in a creative God, what size box would he/she/it be able to fit into?

Jello World: Don't you think that most organized religions are effectively closed in that way? They define the is or is not, the can and the cannot. They prescribe religious experience instead of letting it happen. Or am I just swayed by the institutionalized form of religion and not really seeing what each faith, at its core, has to say?

Dirty Prophet: Depends on the faith. Christianity happens to be exclusively based due to a doctrine of Christ's divinity. This seems strange because he was so inclusive in his ministry. Eastern faiths like Hinduism and Buddhism are very open due to one having literally thousands of modes of worship and the other not requiring a God, respectively. The first tenet of Sikhism is that "There is only One, and he is God." This is to say that we are all an aspect of the divine, so every path is basically valid. There is also the human element. Borders mean safety. Unfortunately, religion becomes a victim of this mindset.

Jello World: Yes, the human mind likes things to be compartmentalized, to make sense, to fit some kind of pattern. That's where stereotypes and things like that come from, too. The categories themselves aren't the problem, it's when we fail to realize that not everything fits into one neat category (and that it's OKAY for things to be that way!) that we start killing each other over something like who believes in the "right" god.

Dirty Prophet: Kafka once said that "Every revolution evaporates and leaves behind only the slime of a new bureaucracy." In this way, we can think of each religious movement as a revolution to the "bureaucracy" of the old way. For Christianity, is was a revolution against the cumbersome Law. Islam resolved to return everything to monotheism and unite Arabia. Sikhism set out to destroy the caste system that crept in Hinduism. But each of these has fallen prey to its own purposes of change. Thermodynamics is a bitch.

Jello World: That's so true. My senior year in college I had a class that dealt with spirituality and religion and it really helped me dig and flesh out what it is that I believe (for the moment, anyway) and I pretty much came to that same conclusion. I don't think there's really any religion that has remained unchanged through the many years since they began, and it's because of the human element. I like to think that god, or what I like to call the sacred, never changes. Ever. The only thing that changes is our way of experiencing it and our ability to communicate those experiences.

Dirty Prophet: Exactly. We are finite beings trying to understand and articulate something infinite. We haven’t even mapped the entire ocean floor. So we have a ways to go. This is why I started Divine Dirt Quarterly. Because I believe the "human gospel" as I've coined it, is still being written by humanity. If we were created in the image of a creative spirit, then we can't help but be expression. The results can be amazing, and it's a crime against humanity to put a lid on such a thing.

Jello World: two points for you! your mind reading abilities really are stellar, because I was definitely going to ask about the inspiration for DDQ! I could totally sit here all day and chat about theology with you! But I suppose I should probably bring it back to the writing part a bit. Tell me a little about the process of starting something like that. Was it a difficult undertaking?

Dirty Prophet: The concept was as easy and natural as breathing. What was difficult was the technical aspects of building a site (I'm horrible with tech stuff) and getting folks involved. Religion is a taboo subject, especially in literary circles where most folks are abhorrent to anything religiously based (and in many cases, I can't blame them!).

Jello World: When I was looking for a home for my story On a Trans-Atlantic Flight, I searched Duotrope using Religious as one of the theme filters. And let me tell you, everything I found was about praising god, writing about the positive influence of god, living a godly life, etc. There really wasn't anything specifically for writing that was more seeking in nature, challenging traditional beliefs, or describing the untraditional ways people experience god and the like. And then, of course, I found DDQ! So I think you're really filling a void.

Dirty Prophet: Oh yeah. It's sad. Granted, I don't think there's anything wrong with those other markets, but as you said, they aren't conducive to material that sees theology as expression as opposed to a confirmation of faith. My own writing has a hard time finding a market, so DDQ is an effort to remedy that issue for others.

Jello World: Oh for sure, I have no problem with those other markets either. Except that that'd never publish something like our stuff haha. So how did you get hooked up with Yvette and Kat to be your editors? Were you already familiar with them from other literary circles, or was it a happy accident kind of thing?

Dirty Prophet: I actually met up with Kat Dixon on Agent Query (same with editor Cynthia Reeser and writer Stefin Bradbury). It was early in my writing career and so I tried to make friends wherever I could. She seemed cool and was committed to poetry, so I invited her along. With Yvette, I met her on Fictionaut. From the start she was very candid with her commentary on my fiction and supportive of the marginal genre that is theological fiction. We've been like peas in a pod ever since.
Jello World: Agent Query and Fictionaut are both great sites! It's great to be able to network with other writers, editors, etc.

Dirty Prophet: Internet-land is a great place. I've meet some awesome and talented people in the writing world. The company I keep couldn't be better.

Jello World: It really is! Being able to chat with you, or be FB friends with the editor of an erotica anthology, or meet tons of interesting published and unpublished writers and share their successes (and rejections because, well, they happen lol) is so amazing!

Dirty Prophet: Indeed it is. Who knows, perhaps Wikipedia, when our descendants look back on us, will be interpreted as the new Oracle at Delphi. The way History repeats itself and humanity's patterns are just too cool. Concepts like this are what get me up in the morning.

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Stay tuned for the conclusion of my conversation with the Dirty Prophet on Wednesday, when we discuss the publishing industry and the blossoming genre of theological fiction.

Andrew's fiction has appeared in Metazen, Full of Crow, Nanoism, Pulp Metal Magzine, and Prick of the Spindle, just to name a few. He is the founder/editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly, and he blogs at The Dirty Prophet. If that's not enough, he also wrestles with God and they share beer afterward.

Random Shout-Out Sunday

2010-07-18T18:25:00.000-04:00

Let me say, I love the online writing community - small presses, indie authors who self-pub and/or take their marketing into their own hands, fledgling lit magazines seeking to fill a gap in the market, online writing communities nurturing the creative spark, etc. All of these people/places are trying to give voice to ideas generally swept aside by mainstream press because they won't make money/are too controversial/will be difficult to market/[insert other ridiculous excuse here], desire to change the face of publishing so that it's more representative of quality writing, and respect the author as artist instead of cash cow. There are a lot of great people in this movement, and I'm pleased to have made the acquaintance of some of them online. Just the other day I was exchanging Facebook comments with Diane Nelson, editor of Dancing in the Dark, and erotica anthology I plan on submitting to, chatting with Andrew Bowen, founder of Divine Dirt Quarterly (stay tuned for an interview!), and exchanging comments on some excellent published and unpublished stories on Fictionaut. I doubt you could find this same level of vertical access and communication in the big-box publishing industry.

So I'd like to take this opportunity to start a new feature on the blog: Random Shout-Out Sunday, where I pick a group, publication, or author to highlight, without them even having to ask for it. Because if there's anything I love more than the online writing community, it's giving my friends lots of free publicity! (Disclaimer: due to the malleable nature of Jello World, I wouldn't necessarily count on this feature showing up every week. :-P And it may occasionally pop up on days other than Sunday. Just sayin'....)

Today's spotlight is on Dragon International Independent Arts.

From the About Us section of the Diiarts website:

For the reader, we believe we are giving you books which represent a break from the mainstream, not in direct competition, but as a parallel alternative. Through our forum here, we encourage our readers to interact with the authors, presenting as few barriers between the writer and the reader as possible and actively encouraging participation in the reading/writing process.

For the author, we believe firmly that you own your writing, and that you should retain all publication rights and final editorial control for your work. Our editors work closely with each author to help the author achieve what he/she wants for his/her work, and to make the manuscript as good as it possibly can be. We will also use what technological resources are available to employ innovative and effective means of promoting our authors’ writing.

What more could a reader or writer ask for? Here are the books Diiarts has published so far, in no particular order:

May 1812 by M. M. Bennetts

In the war against Napoleon, there are no easy victories.

Pistols for Two, Breakfast For One by Matthew J. Dick

English gentleman seeks easy life featuring exquisite tailoring and fine women.
Tiresome encumbrances such as political intrigue, murder or Mafiosi need not apply.

Harbour by Paul House

Three cultures collide—the end of an Empire.

Common Places by Paul House

When Leah Elisabeth Browne accompanies her mother to southern France to visit her brother, Harry, she is unaware that the events and people she encounters there will puncture forever the facade of her staid suburban existence, and expose the many tragic follies hidden behind the prim respectability she has always known.

Whom Must I Kill To Get Published? by Jason Horger

Wes Pennington finally has a mystery manuscript worth selling, but the price might be his life!

Die a Dry Death by Greta van der Rol

June 1629. Laden with treasure and the riches of Europe, the merchantman Batavia, flagship of the Dutch East India Company, sails on her maiden voyage from Amsterdam bound for the East Indies. But thirty miles off the coast of Terra Incognita Australis—the unknown south land—she smashes into an uncharted reef.

Tulagi Hotel by Heikki Hietala

World War II has given Jack McGuire the chance to escape the confines of the Midwest and the family farm. An ace U.S. Marine fighter pilot, he risks his life each day with his squadron in the South Pacific theatre. For him, there’s calm and camaraderie up there in the cockpit. But when the war ends, Jack struggles to find his place in civilian society.

So, devoted Jello World followers, take a look at the Diiarts site, purchase a book or two or seven, and support your fellow authors!

I do hope the folks at Diiarts and the listed authors don't mind me using the graphics because it took me a very long to get everything formatted, linked, and aligned! :-) Plus, it just looks prettier than a big ol' block of text.

The Erotica Writer's Manifesto

2010-07-03T17:59:00.000-04:00

So I covered a bit of this in miniature on Facebook already (what?? You're not following me on Facebook yet? Well why on Earth not??) but thought it deserved a more detailed post here. Now that I've taken the leap and changed jobs with the intention of focusing on writing as more of a full-time occupation, it's time to come right out and say it: I write erotica. I've never been afraid to say so, but this is bigger than that. I don't mean "I occasionally write an erotic story", I really mean I. Write. Erotica.

It's where I plan to focus much of my writing time and energy. It's where the stories in my head naturally lead. It's the type of writing I'm good at, and that I enjoy writing.

You may not think it's a big deal to stand up and say I write erotica, but you'd be surprised at some of the reactions. Sometimes I think people want to ask me why I write erotica (as if the answer would be anything different than one they'd get from someone who writes in another genre). Sometimes I get the feeling they want to ask how I got into something like that, like I've just admitted to a shoplifting addiction or secret life as a porn star or something else considered equally deviant. I'm sure when I tell some people I write erotica it conjures images of all the really bad sex writing out there, which is NOT what I write. It elicits giggles and blushes as much as blank stares and brows furrowed in confusion.

I want to let you in on a little secret. Lean a little closer so I can whisper it... A little closer...

PEOPLE HAVE SEX!

Sshhh! Don't go spreading that around now, y'hear?

Seriously, though. People have sex. It's been known to happen. A lot of what's communicated - or not communicated - during sex is emotionally loaded, rich with meaning. People relate to each other through sex. People create and resolve issues with sex. They learn about themselves and each other. And aside from all that, sex is just plain sexy and fun, and there's absolutely nothing writing with reading or writing about it!

So I'm putting it out there for any reader, agent, publisher, editor, etc. who might want to take notice: I write erotica, and if I may say so, I'm pretty decent at it.

I'm an erotica writer, and here is my manifesto:

I will not use ridiculous euphemisms for body parts or actions unless I intend them to be ridiculous.
I will portray realistic bodies and body images without being condescending, patronizing, insulting, sexist, or demeaning.
I will write characters who are realistic and easy to relate to. I will write characters you care about, who will stick with you after their stories have ended.
I will write sex scenes that arouse and excite.
I will write sex scenes that are thought-provoking and touching.
I will make the sexually explicit scenes relevant to the story. Even in erotica, I believe gratuitous sex is unnecessary and boring.
I will not write trash.
I will portray realistic sexual actions - including, but not limited to, mutual and solo masturbation, oral sex and all the hang-ups that may come with it, sexual dysfunctions, safer sex practices, birth control, sex aids, and much, much more. Furthermore, I will handle these issues with humor, tenderness, valid medical/scientific research when necessary, honesty, and passion.

This manifesto may grow and change as my writing journey progresses, but these are my basic promises to my readers. When you see my name on an erotic story, you can be sure I won't disappoint!

A Few Updates

2010-06-20T21:49:00.000-04:00

Hello fellow jello-lovers! It's been a few weeks since my last post, so I thought I'd at least post a few random updates.

* You have to check out the brand new look of Divine Dirt Quarterly! The new site layout is nice. They'll now be able to publish new pieces upon acceptance, instead of putting out one "issue" every 3 months. AND they're now accepting music, film, and non-fiction! If you haven't already, check the archives for my story, On a Trans-Atlantic Flight, in Issue 1.1 Fiction, and my poem, Unsuspecting Bodies, in Issue 2.1 Poetry.

* I've finally done it - found myself a part time job! I have two weeks left in my current full time position, but after that, I'll have loads more time to write and write and write and write and.....

* Oysters&Chocolate has accepted an erotic short story of mine for publication on their website! It's not live yet, but I'm expecting to get the email any day now. As soon as it's up, I'll have the link for you!

* You can now read some sample chapters on my Facebook Author Page! I have one chapter each from Sorry's Not Enough and Confessions of a Non-Believer. Make sure to click the "like" button while you're there!

Check Me Out!

2010-06-02T23:31:00.000-04:00

Recently, author Cheri Lasota and I swapped guest blog posts. You can see my guest post on her blog here - it's everything you ever wanted to know about writing dialogue!

Aspiring Author Profile: John Sankovich

2010-05-21T10:00:00.001-04:00

Name: John Sankovich

Location: Oregon

Age…ish?: 28

Genre(s) you write: Young Adult Fantasy, Paranormal

Books/Authors you love: Stephen King stuff. I liked the Harry Potter series as well. I also like some of the old stuff such as Tolkien and C.S. Lewis

How long have you been writing? Um... Been for a long time, I think I created my first Comic Book back in Kindergarten which was 12 parts. Seriously, probably about 12 years, first screenwriting and about 2 years ago started my first novel.

Do you have any professional/industry experience as a writer? I've done a little technical writing at my current job, but want to get into publishing/editing more, but my state doesn't have much in the way of that career.

Had anything published? Nope.

Agent status (please X all that apply)

[ ] Need one

[X] Want one. Desperately. Want. One.

[ ] Got one

[ ] We’re “talking”

[ ] I’m cyberstalking him/her, but so far they have yet to respond to my inappropriate sexual advances…. Erm, I mean, my query letter.

[ ] Agent? Who needs an agent?

Either/Or when you write:

Pen and paper, or computer screen? computer screen, but have written a few short stories with pen and paper.

Plotster (outlines, scene cards, etc.) or Pantster (writing by the seat of your pants)? Pantser. I like that word.

Music on, or off? I like music, but can't always have it.

Solitude, or surrounded by people, sounds, things? Solitude when at home, but I also write while at work during work. shhh don't tell my boss.

Cleanest first draft possible, or screw grammar/spelling/punctuation and fix it later? I'm more of a screw grammar I'll fix it later kind of guy.

Slave to the whimsy of your muse, or writing like it’s your job, even when you don’t feel like it? I try to write 5 days a week if possible. Weekends are reserved for family. Some days, after an early morning due to kids its harder than other times, but usually I write Monday through Friday while at work, and on my lunch. If the mood hits me after work, but I think I get about 4 hours or writing in a day at work including an hour of it during lunch.

Do you have a certain place/time of day/writing implement/obsessive ritual/etc. that is crucial to your writing process? Nope.

Where do you get your inspiration? I first get a what if going, like what if my characters all had powers controlled by their mind. (Gifts.) What if twin sisters were also deadly assassins and one wanted to leave the life? (Silent Souls.) Then I start to develop the characters, first the main one and then they introduce me to the others as I write.

What one thing do you really love about your own writing? I think I do action scenes well, coming from a screenwriting background, I feel I'm best at describing the actions as opposed to the emotional aspects.

What one thing do you wish you could do better? Up the emotional aspects and inner feelings of the characters.

Anything else you want to say? I think that if you learn to listen to life, the writing will reflect that.

Anything for us to read? This is the first page or so of Gifts:

Rebecca hurried toward the front gates of the football stadium, tired of always missing the first half. A few stragglers had started filing in as the halftime show came to an end. Mr. Gerrard, dressed in Peakside purple and white, stopped her. “Come on Rebecca, you don’t want to miss the entire game, do you?”

Rebecca sighed. “Sorry Mr. Gerrard. I got caught up in my book again. How’s Alex doing?”

“He’s doing well,” he said. She flinched at the sight of a piece of popcorn stuck between his teeth.

She slipped past and continued toward the bleachers. Before she climbed the steps up into the stands, a scream stopped her in her tracks and she turned to where she thought the sound came from. She took a quick glance back at Mr. Gerrard, but he was busy counting the receipts for the game, oblivious to the scream. Curious, she headed toward the sound, hoping she imagined it. The gravel crunched underneath her feet, grating on her nerves, as she approached the back alley of the bleachers.

Mixing with the adrenaline, her gift flooded throughout her. She cherished the power as it seeped into her, giving her a soft electrical buzz and some much needed confidence.

Behind the bleachers, Gretchen and three of her friends pinned Cindy against the wall. A flash of light reflected off the class ring on Gretchen’s finger when she slapped Cindy. Her friends snickered like hyenas while holding the struggling Cindy. The pained expression on her face revealed that this incident had been going on for a while.

Rebecca’s power increased with her anger as she moved into the alley behind the bleachers, away from the roaring crowd. The crunch of gravel gave her away and they turned toward her.

A crooked smile crossed Gretchen’s lips. “Rebecca? You’re the last person I expected to show up.”

“Leave her alone.”

“Sure.”

Gretchen’s friends released Cindy. Cindy rubbed her red cheek where a red palm print glowed on her cheek. After a moment to catch her breath, she shoved her way through Gretchen’s friends, and disappeared into the shadows. Hoping Cindy was okay,

Rebecca felt the energy tingle at her fingertips, but she didn’t want to let it out, so she clenched her jaw. Now that her power teetered on the edge, she struggled to keep it contained.

You can visit John's website here, or his blog here. Thanks John!

Pre-Marketing Your Book

2010-05-16T12:00:00.002-04:00

I'm still a relative newbie when it comes to marketing and promotion, but it's an important part of being a writer these days. So today's post comes courtesy of a guest blogger, Cheri Lasota, who is much wiser than I when it comes to.....

Pre-Marketing Your Book

Most writers are beginning to understand that writing is only a small part of the equation when it comes to publishing success. It is no longer enough to be a good writer. One must be a good marketer as well. However, marketing can be learned and practiced. The key is to start early, and use what techniques you know you can master based on your skill set. It is never to early to start forming a marketing plan for your writing career. You may be in the revision stages of draft three or four or already out there submitting your finished manuscript to agents. It doesn’t matter. Every day can be an opportunity to spend five to ten minutes on building a marketing plan. How do you go about it? Read on . . .

Start the wave

According to literary agent Lily Ghahremani, a publishing house will be happy to support and fuel a marketing wave you’ve already started. It is not all that rare for publishers to supply secondary funding pushes based on an author’s own efforts at increasing readership. If you already have a sizable network of possible readers, publishers do take notice, and in the negotiation phase, it can make a difference between signing on or receiving another rejection letter.

Begin with who you know

Buzz begins with a core market and expands. You know more people than you think you do. Take a pen and paper and write down a list of as many friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintences as you can think of. All done? Now think of all the authors, organizations, bookstores, libraries you hope to make contact with when you’ve published your book. Don’t forget to include local newspapers and magazines as well as online e-zines. Keep this list. You’ll need it when you go about marketing before and after publication.

For a few minutes each week, work on researching or recording contact information for these sources. These are the people and groups you will want to reach first when your first book comes out in stores. Easy enough, huh? This is something you can start doing today. As an addendum to this list, think through the major elements that make up your novel or nonfiction book. Does a mother in your novel have to deal with a child who suffers from autism? Then research autism groups on the Net. Here’s another example: my novel is set in the Azores Islands. I have and will continue to research all sites related to the Azores, whether they are travel sites or sites run by Azorean geneology enthusiasts, etc. These are possible avenues for selling books, interviews, and perhaps speaking engagements.

Target your readers

Describe your target reader to yourself, and be as specific as you can. Here is my target audience for my first novel: Women 18-35 who love romance, mythology, and history. Within that target, I will need to create a marketing plan that focuses on each element. Those who love mythology might frequent mythology sites on the Web. Could these be possible avenues for trading links or getting the word out about my novel? Do these groups have links to other groups that could be avenues to explore as well?

Identify competitors

Identify competition, but don’t fear it. Competition indicates there is already a market for you to sell your books to. Read books in the same genre or about the same topic: can you tap those readerships? How do those authors market their work? Read other author Web sites to gather ideas, then see if you can put a new twist on those ideas.

When working on your book marketing, specifically, brainstorm several differentiation statements. These statements are often used in query letters to compare an author’s book to another’s to aid the agent in placing your novel in the marketplace. For example, you could say your horror novel is in the vein of Stephen King’s “Carrie”, or that your mainstream novel is a cross between Michael Crichton and Michael Connelly.

One caveat: don’t make claims you can’t back up. Saying your book would outsell the “Harry Potter” series would merely illicit raised eyebrows and snickers from agents or editors. They’ve heard it all before, ad nauseam. Use the differentiation statement as a quick way to let the agent know what kind of book you are selling, not to make claims of greatness.

You can work on all the above ideas immediately, no matter what stage of writing you are in. Working on your marketing plan, may only take a few minutes of your day or week, but you won’t regret the invaluable lessons you’ll learn, nor the expertise you’ll have once your deep into selling your published book.
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Cheri is a freelance editor specializing in fiction. She is also an author, and has recently signed with literary agent Bernadette Baker-Baughman of Baker's Mark. Her YA novel, Artemis Rising, is an excellent read and I can't wait until I can see it in print. Visit Cheri's author website to read excerpts, learn more, and view her book trailer.