Category Archives: Writing
The downside of an incomplete writer’s high
So I spent the weekend in full-bore marathon mode in order to get Trickster finished, edited, and out the door to my betas, and then Evernight. Normally when I finish a writing project I get what I can only call a writer’s high. It’s this wonderful sense of extreme well-being and contentment that lasts somewhere between 12 and 24 hours.
But I didn’t get it this time, and I think I shot myself in the foot when I technically reached the end of the story Saturday and typed THE END, even though I knew full well that I had to go back and add some context and two sex scenes. The bugger of it is, that simple action seems to have short-circuited the full monty, which is fucking annoying. One of the things I like best about finishing a project is that I get a writer’s high in the first place — it’s the immediate gratification that makes a numb ass, confusion about what day it is, and the grease in my hair worthwhile.
But now — I dunno. It’s kind of like having a really mediocre orgasm, the sort that gets shut down almost as soon as it starts because the kids are banging on the bedroom door or you just can’t hang onto whatever masturbatory fantasy you’re using. And to add insult to injury, I can’t settle — I have His Last Vow on iPlayer, tons of crafting projects and three book covers to design, and I’m having a hell of a time making myself do any of them. As I told Ramón earlier, I feel like something inside me is just flapping in the wind, frustratingly incomplete. Come to think of it, I’m also craving my special mint and dark chocolate cookies, as well.
Unfortunately, my next writer’s high won’t be until I finish Two to Tango, which is still a good 15K off. So it looks like I’m going to be in for five days or so of delayed literary orgasm until I get Rory and Dmitri to their own happy ending. Bugger.
Maybe I’ll make those cookies after all…
We all need affirmation
So, thanks to the lovely people at http://hiddlestonhellodarling.tumblr.com, here is my affirmation of the day.
And just for my amusement, since this is a lovely concept and they were kind of the physical inspirations for Bythos and Aphros, after all…
No, don’t thank me. Noblesse oblige, after all.
So, it’s December…wait. it’s DECEMBER?
Aw, crap. What with the plague knocking out most of November and then getting sucked into the Plushie-Making Hellmouth (one more to do and then I’m finally free, and dear Lord I have GOT to learn how to say no), I don’t have a lot of time to finish Two to Tango and Breaker Zone before the end of the year, but I’m going to do my damnedest to get them finished and out.
In the meantime, since I apparently like pain, I was thinking of doing a Christmas free read about Paul, Rory and Tim, my menage from Vanilla-Free Christmas: Manlove Edition and “Tied with a Bow.” Well, it is their first anniversary as a triad, and I’m sure I could get them into some entertaining trouble if I put my mind to it, plus I’m wondering how Amira is doing and if Paul’s hired any new staff for the bookstore during the Christmas rush. If this is something that would appeal to you, let me know downstairs in the comments and I’ll see about getting it cranked out this weekend.
Speaking of writing, as you may know (Bob), Breaker Zone will feature a pair of mermen as major characters. In fact, the Christmas ornaments at right are my present to myself this year to celebrate Aidan and Liam (I know that technically Nick is a human, but I couldn’t pass up the doctor merman), so, yeah, I’m rather fond of fishy hunks at the moment. That being the case, I would like to tell you all about a very nifty Kickstarter project called Myth as Object by sculptor Cameron Stalheim. This is what he has to say about it:
This project aims to realize a monumental work of sculpture for my MFA graduating thesis at the Maryland Institute College of Art. I will be creating a massive, thirty-foot long merman. I have enlisted adult film star Colby Keller to model for the life cast that will become the base for the sculpture. Using skin-safe silicone, a three-dimensional replica of Colby’s body will be made and cast into plastic. The cast will then be transformed into a merman, lying serpentine in the middle of the gallery floor.
Stemming from my experience as a gay male from the Midwest and transitioning into the gay culture of the east coast, this sculpture, the first in a new series of work, questions the relationship between fantasy, reality and the objectification that happens in between.
We Camerons have to stick together, and Mr. Stalheim is only a measly $170 short of making his goal, so if you have a few extra shekels in your pocket I urge you to consider donating. It’s going to be a gorgeous sculpture (unsurprising, considering that the brilliant and delightful Colby Keller is the model), plus you’ll become a patron of the arts, which is always nice.
So, yes, I’m back
And I must apologize for the radio silence, but as it turned out Ramón decided to sweep me away on a Disney cruise for seven days to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary (why, yes, I’m old).
And yes, I know — an erotic romance writer on board a Disney ship. It is to laugh. Except that it wasn’t. Disney cruises cater just as much to non-parental adults as they do to families, and we had an absolute ball on the cruise. Plus I wound up being seated at dinner with ANOTHER writer who is currently working on an erotic romance novel (hi, K!), and everywhere I turned it seemed that there were erotic romance readers and fans.
For example, I decided to pamper myself and get a facial (no, not that kind, get your mind out of the gutter, that’s my spot) at the on-board spa. As it turned out, my aesthetician (hi, Cheryl!) was a huge FSoG fan and wanted a list of my books when she found out I wrote erom. She mourned the fact that she hadn’t brought her copies of the Grey saga on the ship with her, so while I was in Key West I hunted down a set and bought them for her because I gotta be honest, this woman worked miracles on my crocodile-like skin. I later found out that she was sharing them with the massage therapist who did my chair massage (hi, Emily!).
Which just goes to show that smut is the gift that keeps on giving.
So, yeah, Disney cruises are not just for kids. I had a wonderful seven days at sea, went snorkeling (research for Olympic Cove, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it), visited Nassau and bought a ridiculously expensive but very pretty pendant, enjoyed the musical stylings of an utterly charming Canadian pianist (hi, Tim!), worked on Two to Tango and Breaker Zone while I was out there, and started my NaNoWriMo project which is finishing Behind the Iron Cross. My friend Michelle said, “NaNoWriMo while still on vacation? That’s hardcore.” I explained that I had to raise the money for the next cruise somehow. I also promised that I’d dedicate a book to Cheryl for her masterful work, and I may well just put her, Emily, Tim, and a few other people into Olympic Cove #4. Already came up with a great sequence set on a cruise ship, heh, heh, heh…
Come Back, Creative Mojo! I Have Cookies!
A while ago, an author friend of mine paid me the nicest compliment. She was heading off to Australia for a combination book tour/vacation, and I tweeted to her that I was jealous (which I am. Because, duh, Australia).
She thanked me and said that since she’s routinely jealous of me this must be cosmic balance. Which surprised me, since I couldn’t really think of anything she could be jealous of — my life is pretty nifty, but she’s an award-winning YA author, her career is going great guns, and her personal life is damned fine. When I told her this, she said, “It’s that wacky imagination of yours. You got the Platinum Level kind. I had to hock my soul to just reach the Gold Level.”
I replied that I was just making a buck off my barely suppressed insanity, and to quote Will Graham, “I know what kind of crazy I am.” She said as long as I claimed it, it’s all good.
And that’s true. Because if you think about it, most writers are more than a little nuts. We create alternate realities in our heads, make up stories about those alternate realities, and tell those stories to other people. If you do that in any other field apart from acting, you wind up in a psychiatrist’s office, if not a nice quiet mental ward somewhere.
But writers are encouraged to do this. Hell, we’re paid to do it, sometimes quite well. And in return all we have to do is go inside our heads, find those other worlds, shake them hard until an interesting story falls out, and bring it back to ground state reality in one piece.
Which can be an absolute piece of cake at times; the story practically leaps into your arms, and you gently deposit it on the page with a few gentle brushes to dislodge the travel dust. It giggles, flutters its wings, burps up a couple of pink bubbles, and you send it off with a song in your heart and the sure knowledge that this one will get you that six-figure book deal that finally lets you quit your day job.
Other times, yeah, not so much. You get a tantalizing glimpse of an interesting story, but you can’t quite track it down. Or you’ve got the story, but the little bugger is fighting you like a chocolate-smeared toddler at bedtime, and you wind up needing a stiff drink and some painkillers by the time you wrestle that sucker onto the page.
And sometimes you’re stuck there looking around at your various universes, wondering why nobody is doing anything. There’s just no oomph there, no inspiration to be had. How can you as a writer be expected to come up with entertaining lies if nothing interesting is happening inside your head? It doesn’t help when all your writer friends are crowing about their new stories or their latest sales on FB and Twitter, and you’re left there wondering what you did to offend the Muse.
Thing is, it happens to the best of us. Sometimes, it’s an issue of brain chemistry, other times it’s a sign that you have been overdoing it just a bit. The best thing you can do in this case is step back from your keyboard, take a deep breath, then get the hell out of Dodge and go do something that is Not Writing. Read a book. Work in your garden. Go for a walk. Have a nice dinner with your SO and/or family. Pick up a cute tattoo artist and have wild sexual adventures whilst on a road trip (okay, I may have borrowed that from Robin Alan’s Cruise Control).
The important thing, however, is that you’re no longer engaged in output. Rather, you are engaged in input, absorbing all kinds of wonderful little bibs and bobs of information, detail, trivia, imagery, whatever, that get lodged in your subconscious and become the building blocks of your next story. This is important because you never know what will spark a story idea, you truly don’t. I once got a fantasy novel entitled Pharaoh of the Lone Star State from being stuck in downtown Dallas traffic (the exact chain of thought went, “Stupid traffic jam, might as well look at the architecture. Man, there are a lot of pyramids in Dallas architecture. Anyone who knew how to use pyramid power would love this place. Oooh, wait…”
This process of input also gives your imagination a chance to take a breather, which it needs once in a while. Writers have to put their imaginations through pretty hefty workouts; just as with physical muscle, that mental muscle needs downtime in order to recuperate and regrow, otherwise it fails on you. Getting away from the computer screen and doing stuff is exactly the kind of relaxation your imagination needs, plus you often wind up with a clean house or a nice weekend with your loved ones as a result.
Once you’re tanned, rested and ready, you’ll find that your writer’s brain has been hovering in the background, greedily sucking up all your new experiences and processing them into your subconscious. And that, my friends, is where the magic happens. You’ll be sitting there, explaining patiently to your cat that you’re hot and tired from doing battle with the Triffids trying to take over your yard and he can’t sit on you right now, and all of a sudden your subconscious will fire a shot across the port bow and you think, “Wait a minute — that thing I read about the Medusa myth on Tumblr! I can use that in my next book! Hell, I can turn that into a major subplot with my characters! Betrayal! Rejection! Death and angst! Rebirth and renewed love! Where’s my keyboard?”
The next thing you know, you’re pounding away, hip-deep in your next story and your cat is looking at you like you’re insane. Or that just may be my cat. In any case, your creativity has been jump-started and you’re working again. So if you find yourself struggling or in a dry spell, for God’s sake don’t fret about it. Go off and treat yourself to some input, even if it’s just a new book or a walk around the block. I promise you, it works wonders.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back to work on this story because, you know, Gorgons.
Why are there no good slang terms for vagina?
One of the fun things about being an erotic romance writer is that you get to write smoldering, pyroclastic sex scenes (if you don’t enjoy writing sex scenes, you probably shouldn’t be writing erotic romance, but that’s a post for another day). And if you lean towards the hotter end of the scale, as I do, you tend to get very descriptive during your smoldering, pyroclastic sex scenes, which means you find yourself using popular slang terms for body parts such as penis, vagina, clitoris, and anus. This is because very few people gets turned on by, “He thrust his penis into her vagina, stimulating her clitoris while she returned the favor by fingering his anus.” (If you do get turned on by this, you might want to check out medical fetish erotica, just a suggestion.)
Luckily, there are a plethora of good slang terms for penis. “Cock” is one of my favorites — it’s hard, punchy, and practically onomatopoeic in its descriptiveness of the male reproductive organ, particularly in an erect state. “Dick” and “prick” are also excellent slang terms for much the same reason. “Balls” are very descriptive of the male gonads, and “sack” an appropriate slang term for the scrotum. All well and good.
But then we turn our questioning gaze to the female reproductive anatomy, and find that acceptable (as in “don’t make you wince”) slang terms for that body part are, well, rather thin on the ground. And in case you think I’m just being picky, it’s not just me who feels this way. Tiffany Reisz, creator of dominatrix extraordinaire Nora Sutherlin and the white-hot Original Sinners series, rarely refers to a character’s vagina in any of her works. When I asked her why, she said the commonly used slang terms for vagina tend to make her cringe.
And she has a most salient point. Let’s look at some of the classic slang terms for the hoo-hoo, shall we? There’s the old standard “pussy,” which frankly sounds ootsy-cue and painfully twee (do we call a penis a bow-wow? I think not). “Cunt” is a perfectly good Anglo-Saxon term, but to me it sounds way too harsh for something that’s supposed to be soft and warm. “Slit” — actually not all that accurate, as the vagina takes on a barrel shape during sexual arousal, plus there’s also the unpleasant connotations of slitting something open. More recent entrants to the fray include “punany/punani,” which is sometimes attributed to Caribbean patois and may derive from pudenda, a Latin synonym for genitalia from pudēre, meaning “to cause shame”, or from “poontang,” which is believed to derive from the French putain, meaning ‘whore.” Great. More power to the Punany Poets for trying to take back this word, but it’s always going to come off as dodgy to me.
As for meaningless circumlocutions such as “sex,” “core,” and “center” — no. Just no. At lunch today, my friend Theresa opined that “core” sounded like something explosive that needed to be defused. I immediately came up with an image of Jack Bauer sitting in the OBGYN chair, staring intently between a panicking woman’s thighs as he hefts a pair of wire cutters, muttering “Trust me, I’m a professional.” Which might do something for you if, like Theresa, you are a fan of Keifer Sutherland, but for me it just makes me want to slam my thighs shut and wrap stout chain and a padlock around them for safekeeping.
Oddly enough, I don’t have a problem with “clit.” It’s short and sweet, much like the organ it describes, and works well as a slang term. Now we just have to come up with a decent term for what lies beneath this wonderful nubbin of happiness.
So far, the only vaginal slang term I personally like is “quim” (thank you, Joss Whedon, for bringing it back into modern consciousness). Quim has that nice onomatopoeic ring — it sounds warm, soft and enveloping. Granted, Loki used it as a female-specific insult in The Avengers, but if Whedon had been slightly less stylish the word “cunt” could have been substituted and maintained the same context (at least for American audiences — apparently cunt is not a female-specific insult in England. The more you know…). Unfortunately, “quim” hasn’t been used as common slang since the Victorian era, which explains why the phrase “what is a mewling quim” shows up as a popular search on Google.
But what the hell, it’s the best of a bad lot, so I’m going to start using it in my own work. Maybe if enough erotic romance writers like the term, it’ll regain its old popularity. And if not, at least I’ll sound hella period when I finally start that MMF Victorian paranormal.
Beautiful Yet Cruel: Reasons To Make Your Villains Attractive
Originally written as a guest post for Buffy’s Ramblings.
So I was cleaning my pool the other day and thinking of Mads Mikkelsen, as you do. Tall, Dark and Danish was on my mind because I’d just read a rather cogent post on Tumblr about fans who were gushing over the newest incarnation of Hannibal Lecter in a big way and kind of forgetting that, you know, Dr. Lecter kills people. And eats them. And serves them to other unsuspecting diners. And zestfully screws with Will Graham’s mind and health as a hobby. And is what we in the writing dodge like to call a Really Bad Guy.
The original poster was rather concerned that a lot of fans seem to be thinking with their ovaries and not their heads, as they are insisting that Dr. Lecter had Reasons™ for doing all those bad things, and that he’s just this mixed-up, misunderstood guy, instead of a vicious, psychopathic, cannibalistic monster. Whereas I agree with the original poster — Hannibal Lecter IS a vicious, psychopathic, cannibalistic monster. And the only reason why these fans aren’t recoiling from their widescreens in horror is that he is currently played by a very hot Danish actor who wears beautiful clothes, has perfect hair (when it’s not perfectly mussed), an insanely masculine bone structure, a lovely growly accent, just the right amount of chest hair, and is so damned graceful it’s not even funny–
Ahem. Sorry, needed to cool off for a minute there. Anyway, back to my topic, which makes me cackle with glee as a writer. These fans are looking at a complete and utter whackjob of a character, and even though they know full well he’s a whackjob, they become utterly infatuated with him because he’s attractive. I mean, really, the mental gymnastics necessary to resolve Dr. Lecter’s gruesome culinary habits with the deeply seated wish to see him naked must be absolutely astounding.
And damn, that’s clever. That is just so clever. Why is that clever? Because it means these fans tend to give Hannibal the benefit of a doubt about his actions even though they know better. And that allows the series writers to completely mess with their heads when Hannibal fillets another rude phlebotomist or serves up Kidney ala Dental Assistant to Jack Crawford and the gang.
Which is fantastic if you think about it, and kudos to Bryan Fuller, Mads and the Hannibal team for pulling it off. Because creating a really good (and by good I mean captivating) villain is damned difficult, even harder to do than creating a good hero. After all, the hero has it easy — he’s the hero, the personification of everything that is right and good, and usually the default stand-in for the reader. Assuming that a story is well written, readers are predisposed to like and care for the hero.
But the villain, ah, that’s where you get into murkier and more challenging creative waters. Make your bad guy too much of a monster, and nobody gives a rat’s ass for his motivations — they just want him dead. Make your evil queen too simplistic, and people don’t care about her plans to roast her stepdaughter over a slow fire and snack on her heart — she comes off as a cartoon character. Writers need to walk a fine line, giving the villain enough emotional hooks so that the reader comes to care about him whether they like it or not. Granted, the only thing the reader may care about is seeing the baddie on a gibbet, but they still care.
And a very interesting way of generating that level of care is by utilizing the human fascination with physical beauty. As a species we’re hardwired to like and follow people we find attractive, even though they may be utter scum on the inside; CEOs, politicians, and high school mean girl cliques are real-life examples of how this works. And since we do tend to sympathize with attractive people, that adds a tasty little psychological twist when an attractive character takes out a room full of Starfleet brass, or blows up a hospital, or turns a human being into cold cuts. Sometimes, we even justify the villain’s behavior simply on the basis that he or she is pretty, and, well, pretty = good so there must be a really important reason for why they did what they did, right? Right?
Talk about a powerful writing tool. Making your bad guy appealing is a simple but incredibly effective way to captivate your readers, sucking them into the damaged amusement park full of red delights that is your villain’s psyche and spitting them out, blinking and stunned, at the end of the story. Think of Patrick Bateman, the White Witch, Mrs. Coulter, Tom Ripley, the Marquise de Merteuil, Randall Flagg, and the sexiest baddie of all, Dracula. Think of how skillfully they used their own attractiveness to entice both their victims and the reader at the same time. Would they have had the same impact if they had acne or male pattern baldness or a bad dress sense? I don’t think so. They know what they have, and they work it like a Las Vegas showgirl to get what they want.
Of course, they are villains. And we’ll cheer for the hero to come out on top at the end because hey, that’s what we’re supposed to do. We’re civilized creatures, after all (and for those of us who aren’t, we can fake it beautifully). But still, there’s that perverse little urge that battles logic and makes people feel just a bit wistful when some seductive devil works their evil magic, even if it means the walls are dripping red afterwards. So the next time you need to come up with a villain, think about what could make him or her attractive to your readers, then use it ruthlessly. If you can lure your readers so far over to the dark side that they start sympathizing with the devil, you’ve done your job as a writer.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, my pool is clean and I have a couple of Hannibal episodes on the DVD to enjoy. Bon appétit.
Getting a little loud there, Nic
I once read an interview with the delightful and talented Jeffrey Combs (horror fans will know him from Reanimator and other Stuart Gordon films; SF fans will know him from Star Trek:DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise. I may also have a small crush on him, never mind, moving along) where he talked about preparing for his one-man play Nevermore, which is an imagined lecture/performance by Edgar Allan Poe. The play includes a great deal of Poe’s poetry, and apparently Jeff spent a lot of time walking around his neighborhood quietly reciting to himself in order to memorize all that verse. He joked that his neighbors probably saw him wandering around talking to himself and thought he’d gone nuts.
I mention this because actors aren’t the only people who talk to themselves a lot. Writers do this, too, only we come up with dialogue as we’re walking/driving/making dinner/whatever. Or in my case, cleaning the pool. See, we’ve been having problems with the little algae eater that connects to a hose on the side of the pool and runs around the bottom merrily sucking up algae and small leaves. Basically, it stopped doing that. And since our pool cleaning company hates us because our neighbor’s trees badly overhang our yard and shed leaves into the pool every time there’s a hint of a breeze (yes, we’re getting that fixed next week, but you need the background), they don’t really bother to do anything if the algae eater fails.
Which means that the bottom of our pool is a disaster, and it’s up to me to fix this. Luckily I am descended from engineering and DIY gods, so I can do this messy and time-consuming task by myself, which includes snaking out the cleaner pipe and breaking up any blockages, running a hose down it to flush out said blockages, checking to make sure the suction is back up to snuff, re-priming the pool pump, burping out all the air, and running a hose-driven vortex cleaner to get the big crap off the bottom while the now-working algae eater starts puttering along.
Oh, and I did all this in 95°F heat, because this is Texas and spring don’t last long ’round here. Anyway, to distract myself from the fact that I was melting and desperate for a shower, I started developing dialogue for Olympic Cove Book 3. Why Book 3 and not Book 2, you ask? Well, because my subconscious dropped a beautifully juicy subplot on my head last night for Book 3 that literally made me spin in glee, it was so wonderful (I will give you a hint — it involves snakes). However, this subplot requires a lot of discussion between Poseidon, his consort Amphitrite, and Geoff Gordon, who will turn out to be the gods’ agapetos (if you don’t know what that means, for God’s sake go buy Storm Season, it’s all explained in there). There will be much angst, recrimination and shouting going on while the three of them work all of this out, and since it’s dialogue I started trying it out verbally to see how well it worked. After all, if dialogue doesn’t sound right when said aloud, you’re doing something wrong and you’d best start over.
It was only while I was running the vortex cleaner that I realized I was, er, kinda yelling. At myself. As different characters. I have no idea if anyone heard me, but the neighbors are close enough that if any of them were in their back yards tonight, they were treated to me doing two different accents and genders as I diligently worked out what my characters would say to each other. So, yeah, just in case any of my neighbors ever stumble across this blog and wonder why I talk (and occasionally yell) to myself in the back yard, now you know.
But damn, Book 3 is going to tear your heart out and stomp on it with hobnailed boots. I cannot wait.
Well, that was a good Thursday
- My guest post “Beautful Yet Cruel: Reasons to Make Your Villain Attractive” went up at Buffy’s Ramblings and attracted a fair amount of attention, based on the number of entries in the Amazon GC giveaway (yes, by the way, I’m giving away a $20 Amazon gift card on this blog tour, so go over to one of my stops and enter).
- I got the acceptance email for my short story “In His Name,” which will be in Evernight’s HIM: Strength Meets Innocence Manlove Edition anthology (the blurb for the story is, “Father Sean Halloran is a priest in crisis who must choose between his vocation and his growing desire for Matt McCormick, a Unitarian minister with a secret.” I am so going to hell for this one — but it’s tastefully done, I swear). I’m also trying to finish the story for the MF antho version at the moment, so with luck I may be able to make this a twofer.
- A bunch of lovely people started following me on Twitter and Facebook — hi people!
- I started weightlifting again last night. My body decided I was insane, and insisted on a 5-hour nap. When I woke up, Ramón had pizza waiting for me. Yay pizza!
So, yeah, that was a good day. I still have two more guest blog posts to write, the MF antho short story to finish, a short story for a steampunk magazine that is being patiently waited upon by the editor to finish as well, an Etsy sale to mail off and a couple of podcasts to edit. Happy Friday, y’all!
A word from the author
It’s on days like this, when I’m feeling very much like the weird kid in high school who’s sitting by herself watching all the cool kids eat lunch together, that good reviews can do wonders. I know we’re not supposed to put a lot of stock in reviews, but last time I looked I was human, and since I’m writing to entertain other people their feedback does matter to me.
Which is why I’m very happy that I just got another five star review on Goodreads for Storm Season, for an overall ranking of 4.50 stars. Storm Season also has two 4 and three 5 star reviews on Amazon, two 5 star ratings and a killer review on All Romance Ebooks, and a 4 star rating on Bookstrand. For everyone out there who takes the time to leave a rating or a review, thank you. They really do mean a lot.
Nicola Cameron Writes 