Romancing the Atlantic

If Black Lace was a slice of cake, some of the lovely ladies here would be dark chocolate curls, the luscious cherries soaked in brandy and the tart coffee center. My place would be the fluffy pink frosting on the top. I’m basically a boring person with a wild imagination, so I apologize if this blog isn’t as scintillating and edgy as usual!

I write erotic romance even if my idea of what constitutes a happy ending isn’t the conventional one woman one man anymore. Growing up in England, my romance reading was confined to Mills & Boon and the gritty northern sagas by such writers as Catherine Cookson. I sensed even then that something was missing. I tried to write my own sagas but I kept morphing into a bad imitation of Jane Austen with sex and somehow I couldn’t quite get it right.

Then my big sisters discovered Kathleen Woodiwiss. I’d hide in the bottom bunk bed and listen to them read the books aloud to each other while giggling uncontrollably. After mulling over what I’d heard, I’d invariably have to ask my mum a few questions: such as what does phallic mean and what exactly is a burning tinderbox of love? She did her best to answer me and I knew I was getting somewhere.

I kept writing through university and the early years of marriage, still not getting it right. Feedback was at least consistent. Too much sex and not enough gritty angst. I stopped writing.

Fast forward to the late 1990’s and I get to move to California with my lovely family. Of course the first thing I do is head for a bookstore and I find a huge section labeled ROMANCE. I pick up the first book I see, which happens to be a Catherine Coulter, and I start reading. This book has SEX in it and a happy ending. A light exploded in my skull and I realized I’d found my audience.

I wrote a note to Catherine Coulter and she kindly replied and pointed me in the direction of Romance Writers of America. I was on my way to finding my peeps. Just in case you don’t know, RWA has over 9000 members both published and unpublished, including Nora Roberts. Romance in the U.S. accounts for over 51% of paperback sales and generates approximately 1.2 billion dollars in sales a year. That is a big number and makes the romance industry a force to be reckoned with. Every time someone sneers at what I do, and it’s not just men, I drop those numbers into the conversation and it usually makes them pause.

A romance section in an American bookstore is vast. It contains every sub-genre possible from inspirational, contemporary, paranormal, science fiction, historical, futuristic and of course, erotic. It’s a constantly mutating and developing market place.

When I first moved here, Black Lace books were shelved in some very strange places that included not only the erotica section but sexual therapy and ethics. Now they have proudly taken their place in the romance section as the American market has become hotter and hotter.

Some of that change has come from the internet publishers such as Ellora’s Cave, New Concepts Publishing and Amber Quill. They gave American women the opportunity to buy very hot romance novels as downloads which avoided a trip to the local bookstore and the potential snottiness of a sales assistant who considered all romance trashy porn. (and what’s wrong with that anyway?) Now most of the New York publishers have their own erotic romance lines. Kensington Aphrodisia (I’m also contracted to write for them) makes no apologies for publishing erotica. They chose to call it erotic romance in order to get it shelved in romance.

These publishers pushed the envelope and took their readers along with them. Of course, Black Lace had been merrily doing that for years. For me, my journey as a writer took me to Ellora’s Cave and then back in a nice cosmically pleasing circle to Black Lace and Cheek. As BL seek a bigger market share in the U.S. will the erotica publishers here reciprocate and send their books over the pond and how will they be received?

I’ve never quite understood why the huge Romance section available in an American bookstore hasn’t worked its way across the Atlantic yet. I know that it’s beginning to. My five sisters have converted a lot of people since I ‘showed them the way’.

When I lived in Britain, the word ‘romance’ conjured up Mills & Boon and that was it. Now it makes me think of a multitude of different sub-genres and a market that keeps on growing alongside an increasingly sophisticated audience. Will romance ever explode in Britain or is the word too clichéd to reflect the variety now available? It will be interesting to see.

Oh, and wish me a happy birthday-I’m… another year older. As my friend said on my card: “We’ll still be friends when we’re old and mysteriously not at all gray.”

Kate Pearce

Sexy Cinema (or Sex in Cinemas)

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I'm Bringing SpeccyBack...

I've noticed that glasses are far less common in TV dramas, movies and adverts than in real life - or at least the bits of real life I see. So here's a question ...

Has anyone ever written an erotic/romantic male lead who wears glasses?(Vampires in sunglasses don't count!)

Can specs be fetishised? Or is 20/20 vision a romantic necessity?

Okay, so that's several questions...

xxx
Janine Ashbless

And now for some serious news...

We interrupt this schedule to bring you disturbing news from the world of publishing.

I don't fully understand the mechanics of book production, but all I need to know is that a Very Big Company (AMS) has gone bankrupt (- people in prison, FBI raids, stockmarket crash). This is going to adversely affect not only a lot of the big publishing houses but most of all, a lot of little independent publishers. Who may not be big enough fish to survive. For those of us who write on the edges of fiction (and erotica often counts as such) this is not good news.

Writers won't get paid for sales from the end of last year. Imprints like Cleis Press could be badly affected.

So a plea on behalf of independent publishers - buy direct from them if you can. Cleis is having a big sale at the moment - well worth checking out.

All those of you who love books and want to help:

Don't let the little imprints go under! Man the decks! Save the independents! Buy direct!

Real Men

I'm a woman. And I don’t really understand men all that well. I don't think they're from Mars or anything – and a lot of the time, I'll admit, their behaviour and motivations make perfect sense. But after close observation of one subject for over ten years I know that they are different in more ways than the anatomical. For me, that makes them hard to write about.

You might be thinking, hey, Tilly, everyone's different. And you're a writer. Can't you use your imagination? But the thing is, yes, I can. But how do I know I've got it right? Can I imagine what it's like to be a man? Especially with erotica. Can I write about feelings of sexual desire from a man's point of view and be convincing?

When I wrote Equal Opportunities I decided to write it in dual first person point of view with the hero and the heroine taking it in turns to tell the story. Dual first seemed like a great way to convey the conflicted mix that was Mary and David's relationship. But I was scared of writing my hero in first person. Not because he was disabled and in a wheelchair, not because he was nearly ten years younger than me, but because he was a man. First person male point of view. Surely I'd get found out.

Here's a snippet (his kinky girlfriend Mary has told him he can’t come for 24 hours – that's why he's so frustrated by everything.):

David

But really, some days every woman in this place seems to have another job moonlighting as a body double for an Eastern European shot putter. Some days, most days in fact, it’s as grey and depressing as a pre-Jamie-Oliver school dinner.

So, like I said, I thought I’d be okay – or, as okay as anywhere - but I’d reckoned without this new girl. Eleanor she’s called. And, well, she’s what they call a breath of fresh air. In this wasteland of sheer unsexiness, Eleanor is pure totty. And she is a trainee physiotherapist’s, which in anyone’s mind approximates to nurse, which, of course - when it’s a girl like Eleanor - approximates to sexilicious.

And guess what I so don’t need right now! Yup, sexilicious.

No matter that Eleanor is make-up free and has her hair screwed up in an ugly purple butterfly clip. No matter that her uniform is at least two sizes to big and bags and sags around her little waist, looking as grey and greasy as old fish and chip paper. No matter that her shoes are scuffed-up cheap trainers rather than Carry-On-Matron-style stilettos. Today, and in my tortured state, Eleanor looks fucking hot. And, what’s more, underneath her function-over-form work-togs Eleanor is totally my type. From her honey coloured highlights to her neat petite ankles. She even has that kind of that mouth I like. That sort of pinky-coloured permanent moue.

She has a cocksucker’s mouth. And the funny thing is, I have a cocksucker’s cock.

Strange thing is - despite my concerns - the best comments in reviews were always saved for him. For David. My first person male hero.

And here's the thing. I write books for women. Do I write about men in a way that is 'real' or do I write about men in a way that I wish was real? I might not know for sure what *real* men are like but I know what the men I like to read about are like. They're sensitive and damaged and conflicted and stifled and loving and stubborn and dangerous and naked. And dangerously naked.

Are they anything like *real* men? I don't know. I don't know if I care. One of my favourite things in the world to read is slash fanfiction – stories of men in love with men written by women (and the odd gay man who often doesn’t know *what* he's got himself into). Are the men in these stories realistic? Does it matter if everyone's having fun?

So what do you think? Do you want realism or fantasy? Do you want to read and write about the kind of men who could really be the boy next door, or do you prefer a knight in shining armour type who you know in your heart might be too good to be true? Or perhaps you disagree with me totally and think that writing about men is no different form writing about women. Perhaps you actaully are a man.

Well tell me, or I'll send the boys round.

Mathilde Madden
Creative Director
The Mathilde Madden Foundation for the Preservation of Dangerously Naked Men

Coming Attractions

Monday sees me, your genial hostess, with a post about writing realistic male characters. Or rather about writing male characters who are hawt and charismatic and who I enjoy spending hours and hours obsessing over - and then worrying later about whether or not they're realistic. Or something. I'll figure it out.

On Wednesday Alison Tyler will be here kicking off the chat on favourite sexy scenes in films. Talking of which, why not try this while you're waiting Captain Jack brings Sexy Back!

And on Friday Kate Pearce will be talking about the differences between the UK and US erotic romance markets. It's not just about whether you write he had a cute arse or he had a cute ass, you know. Kate's lived and written in both countries so I'm really looking forward to hearing her perspective.

Tilly aka Mathilde Madden

My Mom Writes Erotica

By Alana Noel Voth


The concept for this post, as presented to me by the eclectic ladies at Lust Bites, was "Motherhood and Writing Porn for Money."

I made one-hundred-fifty dollars as a writer last year. Few years before, when my stories "Genuflection" and "Lemon-Lime Firefly Girl" appeared in Best Gay Erotica 2004 and Best Women's Erotica 2004, respectively, I earned five hundred. So we'd best dispel with the idea I make "money" writing. Which isn't to say some of my peers here at Lust Bites don't.

Ladies, I toast you.

Next spoiler: I did a reading once in which I was billed as the Sex Writer. After I read, a young woman raised her hand and said, "That wasn't very porn like."

"Oh . . . sorry."

"What I mean is, are you sure what you write is pornography?"

"No."

I write stories. These stories appear in publications like Best Women's Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, and Best American Erotica---so "erotica" appears in the title. I also used to write for Playgirl Magazine, and my editor at the time instructed me to write less narrative, more sex. "We're trying to sell sex here!" Understood. Except narrative inspires me. I love stories. And so I write stories, and often my stories involve sex, although to paraphrase Marcy Sheiner, "The sex isn't the story." I write stories to understand why people end up in bed together, what happens once they get there, and to discover any consequence or reward.

So while it remains unclear whether I write "porn" or not or will ever earn more than I need to claim on my taxes doing so, I am, without a doubt, a mom. Or Mama as my kid calls me when he wants something.

I named my blog My Mom Writes Erotica as one way to acknowledge who I am---a mother, a writer, a mother who is a writer who often writes about sex.

The other day my son, who is nine, took note of my blog's title, read it aloud, and then asked me, "What does that mean?"

"Means I'm a mom, and I'm a writer, and sometimes what I write involves sex."

"Oh."

I got the same reaction the time he asked me to explain, for the one-hundredth time, what sex was and I finally gave him a PG, rather than a G, version.

"When two people like each other, fall in love, or find each other attractive they often have sex, which is when the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina, and it feels wonderful, especially when the man wears a condom and the woman is on birth control."

"Oh."

I'm waiting for him to ask me to explain homosexual and lesbian sex because he will. He asked to see a condom once after he saw a commercial on TV. After I showed him a Trojan, out of its package, he said, "Oh," and then he asked, "Mom, why is it so big?"

Since I knew what he was thinking I assured him. "Your penis gets bigger as you get older, just like the rest of you."

Another "Oh," and this one evident with relief.

My kid knows no bounds when it comes to asking questions, probably because I'm comfortable answering them. Kids deserve respect; they deserve information; otherwise you leave them vulnerable, leave them ignorant.

*****

My books lie around the apartment. When I publish a story I share my pride and delight with my son. Few weeks ago my contributor's copies of Best Gay Erotica 2007 showed up, to much personal fanfare, and the second I opened the package my son wanted to see.

So I showed him the book, the cover, opened the pages and then showed him where my story appeared.

"Good," he said. "Good, Mom, you wrote a story that's in a book. When you going to have a book that's only your stories? That's what you need to do next."

*****

One reason I decided to drop my pen name, Lana Gail Taylor, is because mentors in college convinced me not to publish erotica, a.k.a. smut, a.k.a fluff as "myself." Wouldn't be academic. Wouldn't be literary. Acceptable. Swank. I never felt comfortable with that decision though, to write as Lana Gail Taylor, because the shame I felt about writing erotica wasn't innate so much as imposed. If what I write makes me feel ashamed my child will inevitably inherit that shame.

"Why do you use a pen name, Mom?"

Because what I write is bad.

Except I've never believed what I write is bad. Lousy characterization perhaps; shabby craftsmanship; trite language once in a while, even boring or dumb a couple times (haha) but never bad. More precisely I've never believed what I write is wrong.

If I thought what I wrote was "wrong," I wouldn't write it.

Sure, "wrong" is a matter of opinion, definition even, and my "wrong" in this instance refers to harmful to my son, harmful to people in general. Writers write because we're driven to the point of obsession to communicate and to better understand our human condition. Sometimes illumination comes at a price, is painful. Writing often feels risky to me, but it has never felt "evil," and that's what we're really talking about, right? Whether or not writing about sex is evil; whether or not a mother who writes about sex is irresponsible and indirectly abusive.

What is she subjecting that poor child to? A house of horrors, a Roman-sized orgy?

I participated in a panel once at the University of Denver called "The Erotic and the Fantastic," and a young man in the audience raised his hand and then asked me, "Do you do everything you write about in your stories?"

The writers on each side of me chuckled.

"Hmm, no." I smiled. "If I did I'd never get out of bed."

Historically, I'm not a non-fiction writer; blogging has complicated that, mixed it up, or at least made writing more hybrid for me, but generally speaking, I write fiction. Even so, no writer writes divorced of her experience. Writing comes from the head, heart, and soul. Some of it's innate; some of it's knee-jerk reaction; it's analysis, exploration, a journey. I don't do everything I write about, but writing is still an extension of something I've thought about a lot.

*****

At long last, the big question: What will a child learn from a mother who writes erotica?

No way I can answer that question with certainty. I'm not omniscient, a fortune teller, or a know-it-all. As a mom I rely on instinct, common sense, and a devotion to my child's well being. Right now, my kid still has to endure the awkward insecurities of puberty, the trials and tribulations of young manhood. Growing pains. Kinks. Triumphs and failures. Life.

But hard pressed for any predictions for my son's future in relation to my being his mother who writes erotica I'd propose this:

• Maybe he'll learn sex is normal and natural, that it's a large part of being human.
• Maybe he'll learn curiosity and exploration are also part of being human.
• Maybe he'll accept people---straight, bi, or gay---and thus accept himself.
• Perhaps he'll understand, by my example, that you trust your own instincts, stay true to your aspirations, stand proud, don't quit, and fight hard as hell not to let other people shame you into submission, obscurity, or shame.
• Maybe it will be more simple than that: He'll learn if you want something you keep at it and don't give up. After all, my kid is often by my side when I receive yet another rejection note from an editor, and he sees me at my computer day-in-and-day out writing.
• Maybe he'll learn we don't do what we love just for the money; sometimes we do what we love for a whole lot of other reasons, like survival. Self fulfillment. Enlightenment. Something.

But maybe the lessons are even bigger than that: Maybe my son will adopt a lack of pretension and won't be so quick to judge or persecute others. Maybe he'll listen as much as he speaks. Maybe he'll let go of that fear, ignorance, and vulnerability that assholes count on when they go looking for someone to manipulate, victimize, or control.

Adolf Hitler once said, "Thank God people rarely take time to think."

Maybe I've got you thinking.




Visit my blog here or you can email me: alananoel at comcast.net, with @ for at, no spaces