Writing Anxieties: Criticisms, Many and Varied

I recently had an unfortunate fall out with a friend. Well, ex-friend now. I won’t go into too many details, but the blow up was sparked after this person having made a couple of comments that made it clear they did not like that I wrote erotica. In amongst the many things that were said (and there were many, many things said, on both sides), the idea came up that I don’t handle criticism well, and was defensive about the writing that I do because, deep down, I wasn’t sure that I really believed it was ok to be writing erotica.

It got me thinking about the different kinds of criticism that people involved in creative pursuits, if they take them seriously, have to deal with. And, of course, how I handle it.

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Water and Dust: 14, m/m fiction WIP, NSFW

Previously

From where Brendan held him, Marc gazed down on Brendan’s face. The water had made his hair flat, though the curls tried to reassert themselves. Brendan features were placid, almost gentle. Unusual for Brendan, so much that Marc grinned, slipping his hands up to frame Brendan’s jaw and cheeks, like a cup for libation.

“Who made you?”

Brendan sighed. “You know.”

There was a pause as the memory of the desert threatened to dry the pool with harsh winds and sand. Marc quickly leaned down to kiss Brendan’s forehead, and said to his skin;

“Remember that harmony was born of love and war.”

Brendan chuckled sardonically. “Never thought I was that harmonious.”

Marc brushed his hand down Brendan’s wet hair. “Just saying that people can come from the most unlikely of places.”

Brendan pulled back, and met Marc’s eyes, curious, a little puzzled, but soft and warm too. His fingers clutched at Marc’s back, adjusting him so he sunk a little further down. Marc was grinning until he realised his cock, stiff as an arrow, brushed against Brendan’s own.

TBC

Photo by Dominic’s Pics found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

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Water and Dust: 13, m/m fiction WIP, NSFW

Previously

When Marc did sink his teeth into Brendan’s shoulder, Brendan gripped his forearms, his own trembling, the water drops shuddering down his back. He would have melted into the pool itself, gasping for air as he sank.

The sound and feel of Brendan quivering against him was enough to make Marc catch him closer, pull his teeth away, and bury his face in Brendan’s neck.

They say blood is thicker than water, Marc mused. But water, when it enters the body, and is absorbed, becomes blood.

Brendan was both his water and blood, and Marc ached to absorb him through his skin.

Brendan must have sensed Marc’s impending desire to collapse into him, and scooped his hands under Marc’s buttocks, making him bring his legs up around Brendan’s own. Marc’s feet left the bottom of the pool. They could never have done this without the buoyancy of the water; Marc was taller, broader, and heavier.

“You fucking amaze me,” Brendan breathed.

Marc exhaled, knowing it was him he should have said that. Jesus, what the hell would Marc do without him?

Been in Hell, no doubt.

TBC

Photo by R.S., found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

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Week in Review: 27 May

Sheep’s Green, Cambridge, UK. Part of Sunday in my City

Making a real attempt to start weekly updates on the blog each Sunday - am a little obsessed with trying to remember everything, and I think it would give me some peace of mind to make sure I do it, though whether or not an interesting read for everyone else, I cannot say! Also going to start doing Sunday in my City (though the picture may or may not have been taken on Sunday)…the above was taken Thursday.

But onward!

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Guest blogging at Victoria Blisse

Today I’m over at Victoria Blisse’s blog for her Friends Friday. My post is: Why I Write…Ladies on Top

Head on over to read and join the conversation. :)

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Twilight and fanfic and Grey, Oh my! 50 Shades of Grey review

Reading Remittance Girl’s astute review of 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James, made me set set aside my writing plans for the day to finish reading it and knock something off the ‘currently reading’ pile. [I started the review and then came back and finished a few weeks after.]

I was, of course, curious about it when it came out - being erotica that has has done so well, making sales in ways that much modern erotica aspires to but doesn’t quite manage, it struck me as something that one ‘ought to read’, in the way that any kind of publishing phenomena becomes self-perpetuating in that readers start to read just to see what the fuss is about.

Basic plot (if you’ve somehow missed it): Anastasia Steele, Ana, an English student, is sent by her friend, who is ill and needs a replacement, to interview billionaire industry tycoon Christian Grey. Attraction between them ensues. But Grey has a dark secret - it’s not a spoiler at this stage to say he’s into BDSM, and he wants Ana to become his Submissive, a proposition that she is alternatively aroused and repelled by. Tension results from their trials to negotiate this and from Ana’s attempts to understand what is in Grey’s past that makes him desire ‘such things.’

Rambling thoughts below the cut.

As most people probably know, though it is not really given voice by the author herself, the novel, and the trilogy it is part of, was originally a Twilight fanfic titled ‘Masters of the Universe’. 50 Shades of Grey is definitely an improved title, because all I can think when I see that is of the rather silly film based on He-Man that came out sometime in the 80s starring Dolph Lundgren. As a transition from fanfic to so-called original, from what I can tell it was more a find-and-replace exercise. This doesn’t bother me too much in itself - when you do an AU (alternative universe) fanfic, there is a certain amount of work and world-building needed to make the characters come alive in a milieu they are not intended for. Granted I’ve not read Twilight, only seen the first film, so cannot comment on how alike Bella is to Ana, and Edward is to Christian. Though one suspects the characters are shallow enough that this was not all that hard to achieve.

I was by turns compelled by the plot, and at other times bored stiff. On the one hand, the back and forth exchanges between Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele were often fun and had a nice frisson - honestly James could have written the book entirely consisting of their email conversation and that would have made for much better and probably quite compelling work. Bored stiff, because after about the half way point, things seemed to plod along, with scenes that lacked basic tension required to forward a plot - despite repeatedly telling us about Ana’s concerns and fears from being in a relationship with Grey, I never really felt an imminent sense of danger, and you’d think I ought, right?

A good hand of pruning would have made for a more interesting read, to be sure. Not just of the sentences and excess of adverbs, but scenes themselves - redundant and tedious scenes of people making plans to meet up, paragraphs taken up of ‘Hi, how are you?’ ‘Fine thanks,’ conversations, slowed down the proceedings. There was also a set of very, very repetitive refrains - Ana appreciating Grey’s attractiveness, how much Ana beguiles him, Ana’s shock at him being anywhere in her presence - that became plain tedious.

There were aspects of the book I liked, or more accurately, had great potential. James has a sense of humour that comes through occasionally, so the laughs weren’t entirely at the expense of the missteps. Many people have complained about the use of Ana’s two internal monologue characters, her inner goddess and her subconscious, but they were kind of fun - could have been better handled, though, and, in the case of the subconscious, better named (as this glorious detailed, highly critical, and very funny review at Dear Author points out, it ain’t a subconscious if you’re aware of it!) And I did like the emails - the stylistic nature of them almost forced James to think more about the prose/dialogue nature of them. But oh! For a good editor! Oh! (no my at the end of that…)

Granted, the almost cartoon-ish appearances of the inner goddess etc. and with the constant ‘Oh mys!’ and the ‘Holy [insert appropriate expletive here], made Ana seem like a cross between Ally McBeal, Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and Robin for the camp-tastic 60s TV version of Batman…

The sex itself - it was ok. The only truly odd metaphor was the ‘popsicle’ reference to Grey’s cock - but that was the one true offender to my mind. After all the talk in the media about the BDSM aspects of it, I went in expecting something, well, more hardcore than I found. But then, I’ve read enough passing comments in the blogosphere to see that this is not an accurate depiction of a D/s relationship. More than that, James doesn’t seem to have a great grasp of what people who are into BDSM are like. Remittance Girl makes a good critique of some of those issues, and there have been others. I can’t come at it from a personal perspective, but it does, to my mind, read more like a vanilla couple who occasionally engage in some kinkier play - which isn’t a judgement on either way of doing things in one’s sex life, but it is a distinction that is important in terms of accurate characterisation, and indeed representation of what goes on in real life. Of course, 50 Shades is very much a fantasy, so we could argue until the cows come home about whether or not is has a responsibility to be true to life or nor, or indeed if erotica should try follow that too. I, typically, can see both arguments for it, and haven’t quite decided where I sit on this point. I do think it’s frustrating when you see an aspect of yourself you hold very dear misrepresented, though.

I can’t exactly recommend 50 Shades. Overly, I found it a very frustrating book with a some good points that I wish she’d developed.

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No pressure, then? Productivity thoughts once more!

My writing anxieties post earlier this week was very pertinent to this article that I’ve just read:

Writer’s Cramp: In the E-Reader Era, a Book a Year Is Slacking

Got there from this post at Writer Unboxed, though, and this is worth remembering for sure!

Respecting Your Natural Rhythms

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Water and Dust: 12

We are now heading into NSFW territory. Text under the cut. :)

Continued from here

Marc fell into the kiss, while at the same time capturing Brendan to him, bring their bodies skin to skin, the water diverting around them to allow their hips and stomachs to slide next to each other.

Their cocks eased together – both had grown hard while in the water. After all this time, how much Marc still wanted Brendan, still felt the rising sensation in his belly. The serene comfort of being together, the familiarity and knowledge of each others bodies…it should have a dullness to it, Marc was sure. Yet Brendan’s coaxing mouth, and his splayed hands that caressed Marc’s hips, and then buttocks, rendered the comfort a new excitement.

The water made Brendan’s skin soft, slippery. Marc ducked his head, away from Brendan’s mouth, and planted a kiss where his neck met his shoulder. There was the slightest rise and fall of Brendan’s chest; it took Marc months to realise that this was a sign of arousal, that he was touching him the right way, that his lips had found the exact places would, if teased, would drive Brendan wild.

And of course, Marc knew that the spot he was pressing his lips to, once he begun with his teeth, would have Brendan rolling his head back and crying aloud.

Read on

Photo by Gagilas found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.

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Wanton Wednesday: Crown, F/m, NSFW, Part 1

Cut for NSFW, F/m piece. Part 1 of 2. It’s a shame Wanton Wednesday is finishing in a few weeks time, just as I was planning to start having a go of it! Oh well, let’s make this one and the next count for something. ;)

The box Larissa brought with her contained black cord, a jar of honey, a silver spoon with a long, spindly handle…and a triple crown cock ring.

Oh hell…

The last item K. picked up with pinched fingers, like he was holding a dead mouse by the tail, and examined held out from him as far as his arm could stretched, eyes glancing at it almost sideways.

Larissa giggled, and he looked at her sharply. “No.”

One explosive word, and she stopped giggling. Larissa’s face became hard and serious, and she pulled her clinging navy sweater over her head.

“Why not?”

As the sweater fell to the floor, she leaned forward, her breasts pushing together, raising the ruffles of her bright blue bra. K. swallowed; Larissa hadn’t worn that one for a while. He never told her, but it was his favourite. His eyes traveled to her legs - clad in dark denim, stretched tight over her glorious full thighs.

His hand started to shake. “For goodness sake,” he muttered. He tossed the triple crown on the coffee table; it clacked on the wood with the weight of a falling sword. K. crossed his arms, feet rooted to the ground, legs apart. For once, just once, he would take a stand. Larissa could push him to the edge, but she wasn’t going to send him falling off it.

Larissa straightened up, her breasts shifting again to ease. He sometimes wondered how she would look with longer hair, if it would spill over her body like water. Yet…she would not be Larissa without the peroxide spikes, the ruby-red nails sharpened to points. With long hair, she would have been a witch to him; instead, she was all power, pride, strength he used to think he possessed, until he met her.

K. never thought he’d enjoy being beaten in a match of physical skill by a woman. But she’d been taking bets in the bar that night for arm wrestles, he’d sat down with cool confidence, sure of his win.

And damn him if her victorious grin, and those hard, diamond-blue eyes hadn’t made his cock so hard so fast he’d had trouble standing up.

Larissa said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

K. looked at her askance. “Yeah?”

Her response was faux demure, a mockery of sweetness. “Not today. That’s a promise.”

“What’s that about then?” He pointed at the triple crown.

“We take it off if it starts to hurt.” She spoke flatly, with a finality that suggested he was an idiot for thinking otherwise. Despite the stance he took, K. flinched, and could only look at her from under his eye lashes, apologetic.

“It’s not about hurting you - it’s about challenging you.” She smirked. “The honey is a reward.”

That made him smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Larissa held up the black cord, twined around her fingers. “I want to see how far you can go.” She plucked at the strand that ran between them as if it were a guitar string, and grinned, her teeth a mere sliver of white between her red lips.

Then she said, her voice frighteningly steady, “Take off your clothes, and pick it up again, my sweet.”

The spot at the base of K’s throat pulsed. Damn, he thought, and blood streaked up his thighs and along his now-hardening cock. Still, though his breath was unsteady, he undressed inch by inch. She snapped the cord a couple of times, the heavy pluck resonating, but he didn’t move any faster. When he was naked, he curled the triple crown into his palm, and knelt, hands folded in front of him, just hovering over his hard-on. Heat rushed down his spine as her nails skimmed the back of his neck.

On to Part 2

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Writing Anxieties: Prolificacy and Productivity

In April I made huge plans to write 5-6 new pieces and submit them. It felt like a challenge, but doable, sacrificing only a little bit of sanity. Unfortunately, I was knocked somewhat sideways by a small blow up in my personal life, and that took its own toll on my ability to sit down and write. I got some work done after I went on leave (am back at work as of today), but not as much as I’d hoped or planned.

Life does get in the way of writing and work from time to time, it’s true. Still, I felt I’d let myself down by a) not being as productive as I’d hoped, b) not meeting the goals I set (I did get two thing submitted last month, but still – I’d promised myself a pretty orchid if I met the goal – so, no orchid) and c) once more not being as prolific in my output as I’d hoped.

Why worry about it? Well, as I’ve been getting more into this so-called ‘life of a writer’, I’ve been watching, quietly from the sidelines, and there are some writers who seem to be just everywhere; books coming out, blog posts, guest posts, tweeting, Facebooking, participating in conversations on all these networks, and somehow, in the midst of this, finding time to write and having things published very frequently.

And I gaze upon all this activity and I can only think ‘how on earth do you do it!’ And ‘how can people expect that kind of constant productivity!’

Taking the latter point first (and it’s kind of related to Donna George Storey’s comment on this blogpost at ERWA), I wonder if this pressure to produce is perhaps particular to erotica and erotic romance? It’s just, I can’t imagine anyone ever wondering where the latest book by [insert name of your favourite, or most hated, New York Times best-seller] on a monthly or even twice-yearly basis. For a lot of published writers by the traditional method, prolific is deemed a book a year. I read a little while back the advice it was an idea to get out 4 books a year so people don’t forget your name, while doable…the amount of work needed for that just makes me woozy.

It does also make me wonder if people do actually expect that kind of output, or we just think they do. As nice as it is to hear ‘when’s the next one coming out’, would a reader prefer a constant stream of kind of ok work, or would they prefer a less frequent output of really decent, enjoyable writing? That does assume it’s not possible both have good work and be highly prolific, but if there is a choice between only the two, I’d certainly prefer the latter as a reader. And I suspect, despite my best efforts, I can only manage that as a writer. And I have to tell myself that that’s ok.

The thing to remember is that people have different lives. Some, particularly women writers, are married and don’t have a job outside of writing, but am guessing take on a greater share of the household chores even so, and often even have kids, which has got to be an enormous pressure. I’m single and childless, so don’t have the pressure of a relationship or the care of another highly dependent on me, work part-time and have other commitments related to the dancing that I do. Others manage a full-time job and still are able to get work out, others yet are ferociously committed because this is all they have to earn a crust.

Keeping these things in mind calm me down. Remembering too I’m my own person, work at my own pace. I occasionally think I’ve found what that pace is, and then try to push myself that bit further…and it doesn’t seem to quite work. So how am I going to deal with this? Well, my New Year resolution to submit at least one new thing per month has so far worked, and perhaps I need to just keep doing that, rather than set myself insane goals. I have a m/m novel in the works which I really do love and care about, and there is always the Dragon novel, but that really is on hiatus as I slowly research it better and in a more focused way than I was before (I hope to share the fruits of that research at some point on this blog). So I suspect the plan is to stick with my one-short-story per month, keep on going with the m/m novel, and keep plugging away at dragon research. It may not be as productive or prolific as some, but perhaps it’s the thing I need to keep from panicking about it and then not producing at all!

(Then there is the small matter of the ‘Emerald and the Grey’ web serial I really want to do…um…*scampers off for another small rethink*)

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