Walking the Line

When "Eden's Pleasure", my first Regency erotic romance was published, several of the reviewers were far more interested in discussing the hero's darker identical twin brother, Gideon than the hero, Gervase. (memo to self, never ever write a book again with 2 guys with the same initial especially if it contains a menage scene) Some of that was probably my fault because I dared to introduce the heroine to Gideon before she re-connected with Gervase, and that's apparently a no-no for some romance readers. Apparently it builds up the wrong expectations, so a couple of the reviews weren't happy about that and were routing for the wrong guy.

I really wanted to write a book about Gideon and so I did. It's called 'Antonia's Bargain' but it's equally about Gideon. But how do you write a book about a man who has bisexual tendencies and still make him a romantic hero? I decided not to think about it too much and just write the book, and yes, dear Gideon managed to remain incredibly complex, both sexually and emotionally and yet find the perfect woman for him.

I don't usually think about themes until I've finished the book and this one was no exception. When I read it through I realized it was about acceptance and finding someone to love you for yourself-and hey, that's really what we're all looking for isn't it? Even better, was that the people who read it, including almost all the reviews, got that too and even found themselves falling in love with an unusual Regency hero. As one reviewer put it, "It's not your grandmother's Georgette Heyer."

And this book felt so 'right to write' and has led to two bigger books with Kensington Aphrodisia which have equally interesting Regency rakes as heroes. Whether they will be considered romantic enough is another matter. I'm still not sure where the romance line is drawn these days.

Personally, I think that if characters are well-written, sympathetic and draw you in, you can write a love story about anyone and it should work. So, here's a question for you all- where are your romance limits? When does it stop being a romance and start being erotica? I'm beginning to wonder what I write again...

Last night I dreamt about Brad Pitt.

Unfortunately, it wasn't what you might think. No...no...instead of hot, sweaty images that left me with the sheets twisted around my body and drool leaking into my pillow, I dreamt about me giving Brad Pitt parenting advice.

No joke.

Yes, I really do write erotic novels, even if I can't dream them!
Sheesh.
I have had erotic dreams about celebrities that really surprised me, though. Such as Mick Jagger. I mean, how can I dream sexy things about Mick, but not Brad? There's so much more to work with there!

Oh, and the other one that shocked the hell out of me was my erotic dream (years ago--no, decades ago!) about John Travolta. At the time, I thought he was creepy and weird (now I find out he's gay), but I had a sexy dream about him. Ugh. That still gives me the creeps.

What about Johnny Depp? Gerard Butler? Daniel Craig?

No. I have to pick Mick Jagger and John Travolting. Who's next? Tom Cruise? (Please, no!)

Okay, so 'fess up. What celebrities have been in your hot dreams?

Dirty Dictionaries

When it comes to writing sexy historicals, there’s a fine line to be tread between “understandable to the modern audience” and “accurate”. Our very own Lacy Danes has a lovely page of historical sex terms. One of my chosen references is the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, which I think is a later edition of an older 1750’sish dictionary. It’s mostly cant and rhyming slang, which as an Aussie I am particularly at home with. I often tell my husband to answer the “Eau de” (pronounced “ohdee”), which frequently gets a puzzled look, but “eau de cologne” rhymes with “phone”. Great if your hero is into that scene, which the original title page describes quite well:

A DICTIONARY of Buckish Slang, University Wit
and Pickpocket Eloquence

Your heroine is either taught this by a lover, is a pickpocket herself, or hung around with her brother and his university friends....

Another resource I use is The big book of FILTH: 6,500 sex slang words and phrases (ISBN: 0-304-35350-7). This is great. It dates every usage of the word, down to the decade. (It also has 30 pages of alternative words to “penis”.)

Which brings me to the problems of being accurate. Some of these words sound very silly: “torch of cupid”, “pizzle” sounds a bit odd. Even “limb” or “master of cockshire” is weird.

What’s a writing girl to do? The alternative is to get medical which is not always the best route to take. I mean, why bring the clinical into the erotic? But the best part is that there are words in modern day use that have been used since the 17th century. A happy, Anglo-Saxon, four-letter word.

People might think I’m vulgar, but hey, at least I’m accurate.

How do you deal with historical sex terms in your work? Readers: what words have made you howl?

Words of Wisdom

Somewhere along the way I stopped being the new kid on the block. I am now, ahem, a multi-pubbed award-winning author, so why do I still feel so clueless? I mentioned on my response to Kate's Balls post that I'd had a breakthrough when I realized that the characters, and not my readers' expectations, would determine the love scenes. So what else have I learned? Here's a distillation of my wisdom from the past six years or so:

Don't write for the market. Who knows what it is anyway? I imagine each publishing house has a special room where a chained, foul-smelling beast lives. Every year there's a ceremony where a virginal editorial assistant is sacrificed, and after slaking various appetites, the beast lifts its dripping maws. Assembled executives tremble in fear. Some weep and soil themselves. Next year...next year, menages with dyslexic men in kilts...shell-shocked Regency heroes are out...gay Navy Seals are in...

Keep the story going. Now I get very intolerant and ranty about writers--and we've all met them--who smirk and simper, I'm a storyteller. Because god knows if you describe yourself as a writer you're one of those litfic snobs no one reads and whose heroines fling themselves under trains. But, yes, you do have to keep the story going, and that doesn't necessarily mean straight narrative, but everything should be there for a purpose.

Only contest judges care about formatting. Editors like a legible, seriffe font, and reasonable margins. And, oh yes, very, very good writing.

Go with the majority vote of your critique group unless you're absolutely convinced you're right and they're not. For instance, if four out of the five say, to a woman: I'm sorry, but I really don't think the heroine would feel like having sex minutes after she's seen her village destroyed and her kitten eaten by the hero's mastiff, and while she's in labor--take note. If one says, I don't like the heroine's dress, ignore her. But you might wonder why that stuck out like a sore thumb for her.

Sometimes the simplest solution is the best. This really means obeying your inner laziness. You want to make a particular point? Tell us. You are allowed to tell. It doesn't always have to be showing. For instance, sometimes, amazingly, people just walk into rooms. They don't have to stride, scamper, sidle, shuffle, limp, stagger, lurch, run, trot, sashay, swagger, and so on.

There is no right way to write or plot. You find what works best for you.

What are your words of wisdom? Do share!

The art, by the way, is Minerva Dressing (1613) by the female artist Lavinia Fontana.

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An Interview With the Eleven-Year-Old

I do my writing, as I often like to say, in partnership with my inner eleven-year-old. She's the one who contributes the innocence, bravery, curiosity, optimism, and giddy cluelessness, while all I have to do is back her up with a little true-life experience, a twist of syntactical sophistication.

Or so I like to say. In fact, I've said it so often that I was beginning to wonder if it were true.

I take some reassurance, though, from some of the posts on this august blog -- because it seems that many of us began to develop our erotic imaginations during that time spent on the cusp of girlhood and adolescence -- reading, dreaming, giggling, and wondering about The Big Adventure to... er, Come.

Would it really be as fantastic as everybody seemed to think it was? Would it feel a little like we sometimes felt when we and our girlfriends cooed over this or that really cute movie star? Or would it be more like the weirder, scarier scenarios that we (or at least I) only thought about alone in bed at night?

And would it really lead to a happy ever after?

I'm still touched by my memories of all that. When I read romance I'll even tolerate a touch of TSTL in the service of this eager bravado -- I mean, werent we all too stupid to live, before we began... living? (I've found, btw, that my friends who don't typically read romance are much more tolerant of this than big romance readers. Which would suggest that romance readers are smarter about these things -- or perhaps a tad more defensive... but that'll have to be another post.)

In any case, I'm glad to report that I recently got back in touch with my inner eleven-year old, by spending some time with an actual flesh-and-blood one during my recent east coast visit.

Call her Muse. I'd come to sleep on the fold-out futon in her room.

"You and I both have Kate Spade glasses," she observed -- which seemed a good enough way check in before launching into a heated round of speculation about what's going to happen in the forthcoming Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (now that Muse's little brother has become such a good reader, they're a two-Harry Potter family; I guess their mom has to wait until the kids are asleep to get a chance to read it).

Muse agreed with me that Snape is really on the good side (I wrote about this last year on my own web page if you want to check it out). And yes, we found that we were also on the same page about how probably one of the Weasleys will die in the show-down with Lord Voldemort (we both think it might be poor, deluded, conformist Percy).

But what about the entirely admirable werewolf Remus Lupin? Muse and one of her girlfriends think he'll also get the axe, because it'll be in keeping with the myth of Romulus and Remus, where Remus dies.

Oh sure, I quickly replied. (Did Remus die in the Roman myth? Well now I know, anyway).

But now that Muse is of the age where she notices things like Kate Spade glasses, Harry Potter isn't really her favorite book anymore. Well, in some ways it still is, but these days it almost doesn't count, perhaps because it's been around for so much of her life and has become sort of like part of the family.

And Muse is starting to think about what's cool and exotic and a little further from home.

About a book about a vampire family, to be exact. I hasten to add that it's a good vampire family, with a gorgeous, moody, teenage son named Edward. Twilight, by Stephenie Meyer, is told by a human teenage girl named Bella who's in love with Edward (who, of course, is actually a lot older than a teenager -- oh, and who's also in love with Bella).

No doubt I've been living in some middle-aged romance-writer cave, but I'd never heard of Twilight, which Muse has read so many times that its (imo fabulous) front cover has fallen off. So the first thing I saw was the table of contents, with Muse's note that "vampires rock." Which was invitation enough for me to gulp down all 400 pages of Twilight during the weekend I spent with Muse and her family (luckily, Muse was busy with New Moon, the next book in the series).

And I'm here to tell you that Stephenie Meyer's vampires most definitely rock. Especially Edward, who for most of the 400 pages barely touches Bella -- so bravely, moodily, heroically concerned is he that he might lose control of his deep and dangerous, wonderful and mysterious and powerful vampire instincts and hurt the human girl he loves.

It's an astonishing performance -- beautifully paced and sweetly sexy in a way that I thought made total sense for a bright, alert reader on the edge of adolescence. And it's swooningly, overwhelmingly romantic, suffused with thrilled fearful anticipation, in a way I'm going to have to think some more about.

Because even though I write explicit stuff about grown up people, I know that I and my characters alike need to keep in touch with that brave yearning young self we all carry around with us.

So thank you Muse, for letting me touch base. And the rest of you out there might want to treat your inner eleven-year-olds to Twilight and its sequels.

Favorite Erotica and Erotic Romance

Over on Smart Bitches
They are talking about your favorite erotica recommended reads.
I though I would continue that list here.

I do have quite a few erotic romance authors that I read... Of course everyone on this blog is awesome… GRIN! I will try to mention others not on our list.


Anyway some of my favorite erotic or erotic romance books are:



The Lady Tutor by Robin Schone

Velvet Glove by Emma Holly.

Private Games by Tawny Taylor

Bound by Sasha White

Sanctuary by Eden Bradley (this novella is not out yet, but I know Eden, the novella is in the book Exclusive due out from Berkley in September and oh oh my!)

I also have quite a few Victorian erotic books that I love to read over and over again.
My Secret Life
The Pearl
The Romance of Lust
The Yellow Room
Autobiography of a flea.
most of these you have all heard me mention before on this blog. I love them! Shrugs.

What are your favorites?

Hugs and Kisses,
Lacy.

Balls anyone?

BBC images

The first time I read Jane Austen's 'Northanger Abbey', I was a naive, imaginative 15 year old attending an English convent school. (rather like Catherine Morland really) Having five sisters who all had an unquenchable thirst for literature, I mentioned the book when I got home. My three older sisters started sniggering. Sister number two quoted this line:

"Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were mending;she began to curl her hair and long for balls."

They kept sniggering and I still didn't understand. It took me quite a few years to work out why something the great Jane wrote might be misconstrued. It took me even longer to write anything that was deliberately erotic myself.



What makes a writer turn to the erotic to push the boundaries of what is considered romantic or acceptable? I know I never meant to find myself on the sharp pointy end of romance. I just slid into it by accident by challenging myself to write the best sex scenes that I could even if they were dark, a little uncomfortable and definitely outside my personal knowledge.

I have a theory that you can't force yourself to write good erotic romance. Just because the market is wanting it, doesn't mean you should write it. My sexy historicals were always a little too dark, too unconventional and not quite right for any publishers (so far, that might change) But I think those qualities made me write better erotica.

What drew you to erotic romance? What did it offer you that steamy romance didn't?
I'm also wondering how the other Crumpets arrived here? Do tell.