S.J. Lewis's Blog, page 4
August 6, 2011
On Writing-Part 3
I always enjoyed writing erotica, but it was usually done only to satisfy my urge to write. Over the years I'd accumulated a number of little scenarios, but had never actually written a book. I shared some of them with some on-line acquaintances, and one day one of them suggested that I try to get my work published. She even sent me the website of a publisher who might be interested. So I took a look.
Pink Flamingo was looking for novels in the 45,000-word range and the longest thing I had available was a 16,000-word item. I sent it to them, asking if they thought it would be worth expanding into a book. I got an affirmative answer.
At that point, I began to realize how much work was in front of me. It seemed at first that all I had to do was tack another 29,000 words on to what I'd already written. After a few days it was clear that a problem simply stated is not necessarily a problem simply solved. I had a number of hot sex scenes, but PF was also looking for plot and character development, so I couldn't just tack on more hot sex scenes. I had to look at the characters and decide what might happen next, what might motivate them, what kind of conflicts might arise and how those conflicts might be resolved. In retrospect, it might have been easier to go all the way back and start over, but I hate going backwards. So I forged ahead.
What I wound up doing was keeping that first part more or less intact, and making the remainder of the book about the main male dominant looking up the main female submissive two years afterwards. He hadn't been able to forget her, but she regarded what she and her friend Dianne had done previously as a one-time-only thing that she really didn't want to repeat. Except that...
Parts of the story seemed to write themselves, but it was still a long, hard slog. I got the story up to the required length and sent it in. Shortly afterwards, I received a request that I make the ending longer and spicier, which I did. Then there was a discussion over the title. The publisher didn't think that 'Vacation' was catchy enough. I couldn't think of a possible different title, and thought that the whole story revolved around just what a particular vacation had led to, so I insisted on keeping the original title. The publisher relented, finally, and asked if I was planning to write any more books for them.
Pink Flamingo was looking for novels in the 45,000-word range and the longest thing I had available was a 16,000-word item. I sent it to them, asking if they thought it would be worth expanding into a book. I got an affirmative answer.
At that point, I began to realize how much work was in front of me. It seemed at first that all I had to do was tack another 29,000 words on to what I'd already written. After a few days it was clear that a problem simply stated is not necessarily a problem simply solved. I had a number of hot sex scenes, but PF was also looking for plot and character development, so I couldn't just tack on more hot sex scenes. I had to look at the characters and decide what might happen next, what might motivate them, what kind of conflicts might arise and how those conflicts might be resolved. In retrospect, it might have been easier to go all the way back and start over, but I hate going backwards. So I forged ahead.
What I wound up doing was keeping that first part more or less intact, and making the remainder of the book about the main male dominant looking up the main female submissive two years afterwards. He hadn't been able to forget her, but she regarded what she and her friend Dianne had done previously as a one-time-only thing that she really didn't want to repeat. Except that...
Parts of the story seemed to write themselves, but it was still a long, hard slog. I got the story up to the required length and sent it in. Shortly afterwards, I received a request that I make the ending longer and spicier, which I did. Then there was a discussion over the title. The publisher didn't think that 'Vacation' was catchy enough. I couldn't think of a possible different title, and thought that the whole story revolved around just what a particular vacation had led to, so I insisted on keeping the original title. The publisher relented, finally, and asked if I was planning to write any more books for them.
August 4, 2011
On Writing-Part 2
I consider myself to be a hack writer. Let me explain:
A hack writer is not necessarily a bad writer. In fact, some very good writers started out as hack writers. A hack writer is simply an author who has yet to break into mainstream publishing in a significant way. Instead of relying on a few high-selling titles for income, a hack writer must depend on a large number of lower-selling titles.
The barriers to entry into mainstream publishing are very high. If you don't know someone who knows someone, trying to get a publishing house to pick up one of your titles, or even take a good look at it, is much like trying to bring down a brick wall by repeatedly bashing your head against it.
Now we have the internet, which is changing everything about the old publishing game, all the way down to how books are sold. This could be the golden age of hack writers, since the barriers have been lowered and the field expanded. Some problems remain, however. There are now so many authors and so many titles available that it's difficult for any one author to stand out against all that background noise. It's not the same thing as trying to get some publisher to notice your manuscript in the first place, but now an author with an e-book is trying to get potential readers to notice, and that competition is fierce and unending.
Under these new circumstances, what can an author do? It helps to join an online group where one's works can be promoted and discussed. That takes some additional time and effort, but it does expand the number of potential readers. Think of it as an e-book e-tour. I think that the most important thing an author can do here, though, is to keep writing and bringing out new books. The more titles that are out there where people can stumble across them, the better the chances that some new reader will do so. If they like what they read, they may start searching for anything else that a particular author has written. They may also tell like-minded friends about it, and those friends may tell their friends, and so on, and so on. So, for a hack writer in this new golden age, there are now three iron rules:
1) You must WRITE
2) You must FINISH what you write
3) You must KEEP WRITING
A hack writer is not necessarily a bad writer. In fact, some very good writers started out as hack writers. A hack writer is simply an author who has yet to break into mainstream publishing in a significant way. Instead of relying on a few high-selling titles for income, a hack writer must depend on a large number of lower-selling titles.
The barriers to entry into mainstream publishing are very high. If you don't know someone who knows someone, trying to get a publishing house to pick up one of your titles, or even take a good look at it, is much like trying to bring down a brick wall by repeatedly bashing your head against it.
Now we have the internet, which is changing everything about the old publishing game, all the way down to how books are sold. This could be the golden age of hack writers, since the barriers have been lowered and the field expanded. Some problems remain, however. There are now so many authors and so many titles available that it's difficult for any one author to stand out against all that background noise. It's not the same thing as trying to get some publisher to notice your manuscript in the first place, but now an author with an e-book is trying to get potential readers to notice, and that competition is fierce and unending.
Under these new circumstances, what can an author do? It helps to join an online group where one's works can be promoted and discussed. That takes some additional time and effort, but it does expand the number of potential readers. Think of it as an e-book e-tour. I think that the most important thing an author can do here, though, is to keep writing and bringing out new books. The more titles that are out there where people can stumble across them, the better the chances that some new reader will do so. If they like what they read, they may start searching for anything else that a particular author has written. They may also tell like-minded friends about it, and those friends may tell their friends, and so on, and so on. So, for a hack writer in this new golden age, there are now three iron rules:
1) You must WRITE
2) You must FINISH what you write
3) You must KEEP WRITING
August 1, 2011
On Writing-Part 1
Back in high school, one of the elective classes I took in my senior year was Creative Writing. I only learned a little bit from that class. I learned a lot more from writing for the school literary magazine, because I got feedback from other students who read what I'd written.
There are no real secrets to writing. There is no body of arcane or occult knowledge that will enable someone to write. There are really only two rules to writing. I read them so long ago that I can't recall the original source, but those rules are:
1) You must WRITE.
2) You must FINISH what you write.
Everything after that is window-dressing. Someone can learn to write reasonably well by studying the styles of authors that they like and adopting whatever they think they could use. I don't recommend going with writers who show up regularly in school reading assignments. Herman Melville's style just won't work in the 21st Century, for example, no matter how many students are compelled to read 'Moby Dick'. Remember, you're looking for something that YOU can use, not something an English Lit teacher throws at you because it's been on the curriculum for decades.
This is not to say that the 'classics' aren't worth reading. But reading and writing are two different exercises.
Not everybody wants to write. This is just as well, or there would be no readers. Not everybody who writes should feel compelled to write The Great American Novel either. But for anyone out there who really has an itch to tell stories in print, remember above all these two iron rules:
1) You must WRITE.
2) You must FINISH what you write.
There are no real secrets to writing. There is no body of arcane or occult knowledge that will enable someone to write. There are really only two rules to writing. I read them so long ago that I can't recall the original source, but those rules are:
1) You must WRITE.
2) You must FINISH what you write.
Everything after that is window-dressing. Someone can learn to write reasonably well by studying the styles of authors that they like and adopting whatever they think they could use. I don't recommend going with writers who show up regularly in school reading assignments. Herman Melville's style just won't work in the 21st Century, for example, no matter how many students are compelled to read 'Moby Dick'. Remember, you're looking for something that YOU can use, not something an English Lit teacher throws at you because it's been on the curriculum for decades.
This is not to say that the 'classics' aren't worth reading. But reading and writing are two different exercises.
Not everybody wants to write. This is just as well, or there would be no readers. Not everybody who writes should feel compelled to write The Great American Novel either. But for anyone out there who really has an itch to tell stories in print, remember above all these two iron rules:
1) You must WRITE.
2) You must FINISH what you write.
June 8, 2011
Smut In Space: Part 4
I recognize that the age of consent varies from one country to another on just one planet. It's very likely that said age will also vary from one planet to another when humanity begins colonizing space. But, in order to get a hot, spicy, sexy science fiction story set in the far future published today we must all defer to nervous publishers and distributors in the present. With the 160,000 e-hour standard, we've done that for any number of worlds, and don't go upsetting the applecart by asking about time-dilation effects.
Likewise we've at least touched upon matters of gravity, microgravity and high gravity. We've also mentioned nonhuman aliens who somehow find human females...or males...irresistibly attractive. How could all of this information and all of these possibilities be put together?
The first thing that comes to mind is a very big and very special space station orbiting some barren, inhospitable rock. It's been specifically built to serve as the ultimate house of ill repute, and put in orbit around that barren rock so that there are no locals to complain about what's going on up there, even if they can't see it or hear it and wouldn't even know it was up there if they didn't have telescopes. The name of the place is irrelevant. It could be called anything from 'Research Station Two' to 'Madam Xyborg's Wheel Of Fun' or 'The Happiest Place Off Earth'. In order to gain admission, someone would have to prove that they were of age, giving authors a convenient way to allay the fears of publishers in the first chapter.
Once on board, the possibilities are...well, there are a LOT of possibilities. If the station is built like a number of spoked wheels connected by their hubs, and set to spinning around its axis at the proper rate, visitors can experience different levels of gravity, starting with near-zero at a hub and working their way up the scale as they move out along the spokes until they get to the outer rim, which would probably have a centrifugal force equal to about 1G. Pressurized suites set along each spoke would provide places for couples or menages to play in varying simulated gravities, and trained staff would be available to advise patrons of any potential problems they might encounter. Suites could even be adjusted to different atmospheres, temperatures and pressures to suit anyone's taste or sense of adventure. For the wannabe Kirks, human females on the staff could dress up as hot alien chicks, using body paint, makeup or temporary prosthetics as the fantasy required.
(I didn't pay much attention to Star Trek: Voyager. Did Janeway ever hook up with a hot alien stud?)
If alien species have been found and contacted, some of them could also work as staff there. It's one way I can think of to explain why they find human females (or males) so attractive...they are paid very well to act that way. Maybe one or two of them are graduate students working on a paper about those weird, hairless, tailless monkeys who seem to be everywhere these days. And maybe some of them come to really enjoy kinky sex with a different species.
Such a place would eventually have powerful friends and equally powerful enemies. Someone would always be trying to slip a spy or two on board to find out what's REALLY going on, and maybe bring back videos so that politicians can watch them over and over to reinforce their righteous senses of outrage at such lewd, filthy, disgusting, nasty, squishy, messy, perverted activities.
The setting is such that the stories will practically write themselves.
I'd really like some comments.
Likewise we've at least touched upon matters of gravity, microgravity and high gravity. We've also mentioned nonhuman aliens who somehow find human females...or males...irresistibly attractive. How could all of this information and all of these possibilities be put together?
The first thing that comes to mind is a very big and very special space station orbiting some barren, inhospitable rock. It's been specifically built to serve as the ultimate house of ill repute, and put in orbit around that barren rock so that there are no locals to complain about what's going on up there, even if they can't see it or hear it and wouldn't even know it was up there if they didn't have telescopes. The name of the place is irrelevant. It could be called anything from 'Research Station Two' to 'Madam Xyborg's Wheel Of Fun' or 'The Happiest Place Off Earth'. In order to gain admission, someone would have to prove that they were of age, giving authors a convenient way to allay the fears of publishers in the first chapter.
Once on board, the possibilities are...well, there are a LOT of possibilities. If the station is built like a number of spoked wheels connected by their hubs, and set to spinning around its axis at the proper rate, visitors can experience different levels of gravity, starting with near-zero at a hub and working their way up the scale as they move out along the spokes until they get to the outer rim, which would probably have a centrifugal force equal to about 1G. Pressurized suites set along each spoke would provide places for couples or menages to play in varying simulated gravities, and trained staff would be available to advise patrons of any potential problems they might encounter. Suites could even be adjusted to different atmospheres, temperatures and pressures to suit anyone's taste or sense of adventure. For the wannabe Kirks, human females on the staff could dress up as hot alien chicks, using body paint, makeup or temporary prosthetics as the fantasy required.
(I didn't pay much attention to Star Trek: Voyager. Did Janeway ever hook up with a hot alien stud?)
If alien species have been found and contacted, some of them could also work as staff there. It's one way I can think of to explain why they find human females (or males) so attractive...they are paid very well to act that way. Maybe one or two of them are graduate students working on a paper about those weird, hairless, tailless monkeys who seem to be everywhere these days. And maybe some of them come to really enjoy kinky sex with a different species.
Such a place would eventually have powerful friends and equally powerful enemies. Someone would always be trying to slip a spy or two on board to find out what's REALLY going on, and maybe bring back videos so that politicians can watch them over and over to reinforce their righteous senses of outrage at such lewd, filthy, disgusting, nasty, squishy, messy, perverted activities.
The setting is such that the stories will practically write themselves.
I'd really like some comments.
April 30, 2011
Smut In Space: Part 3
One of the advantages to science fiction is that an author can create not just a whole new world but uncounted new worlds and populate them with exotic aliens. What this means for an erotic author is that there is no longer a need to come up with yet another variant of vampires or werewolves or shapeshifters. (Which prompts me to ask: Is there any gay male erotica out there that deals with shapeshifting gerbils?)
Anyway, once in space, nubile human females can be menaced and more by any kind of alien that the author can dream up. This kind of ignores the question as to why a BEM (Bug-Eyed Monster) or writhing mass of tentacles would even find a human female appealing. Yet how many old pulp sci-fi magazines have covers of some attractive and often scantily-clad woman being menaced or grabbed by just such an alien beastie? I think I know why this is: Most of the readers of such fiction were adolescent males to whom absolutely nothing was more appealing and desirable than a hot space chick. Giving an alien monster those same feelings not only gave them some vicarious stimulation, but also allowed them to imagine themselves as the hero who would save the lady fair.
Some time ago, and elsewhere, I asked why stories involving vampires, werewolves and the like were so popular among women readers. I was expecting a more complicated answer than the one I got: If you're going to fantasize, fantasize BIG. Well, there can hardly be anything bigger as a background for fantasy than outer space. Any and all sorts of creatures are possible, and I suspect that most of them will find human females irresistibly attractive.
Well, it's a fantasy, isn't it? And if you swing that way, no doubt some of the aliens can find human males irresistibly attractive. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Anyway, once in space, nubile human females can be menaced and more by any kind of alien that the author can dream up. This kind of ignores the question as to why a BEM (Bug-Eyed Monster) or writhing mass of tentacles would even find a human female appealing. Yet how many old pulp sci-fi magazines have covers of some attractive and often scantily-clad woman being menaced or grabbed by just such an alien beastie? I think I know why this is: Most of the readers of such fiction were adolescent males to whom absolutely nothing was more appealing and desirable than a hot space chick. Giving an alien monster those same feelings not only gave them some vicarious stimulation, but also allowed them to imagine themselves as the hero who would save the lady fair.
Some time ago, and elsewhere, I asked why stories involving vampires, werewolves and the like were so popular among women readers. I was expecting a more complicated answer than the one I got: If you're going to fantasize, fantasize BIG. Well, there can hardly be anything bigger as a background for fantasy than outer space. Any and all sorts of creatures are possible, and I suspect that most of them will find human females irresistibly attractive.
Well, it's a fantasy, isn't it? And if you swing that way, no doubt some of the aliens can find human males irresistibly attractive. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
April 5, 2011
Smut In Space: Part 2
It's surprising how infrequently the matter of gravity comes up, not just in erotic sci-fi, but in any sci-fi. The most visible example I can cite would be any of the old Star Trek shows. They'd mention the artificial gravity once somewhere early in the series and never mention it again. Given that the various systems on the Federation's ships were always going 'off-line' at what was usually the worst possible moment, but the artificial gravity NEVER DID no matter how wrecked the ship was, I always thought that they should have the people who installed the artificial gravity just go ahead and build the whole ship from the keel up.
I can understand how distracting it would be to a writer to have to keep the effects of gravity in mind when writing scenes. We grew up with 1G, and aside from a select few who have been into space or ridden on the 'Vomit Comet' or flown fighters 1G is all that any of us have any experience with. I think that authors are missing an opportunity here to add new and interesting takes on smut in space.
As it happens, we do have some knowledge of operating in free-fall (often referred to as zero-G). We have learned that normal sex just can't be performed in free-fall, since every force of motion imparts an equal and opposite reaction and after the first hard thrust of the male character's turgid member into the female character's throbbing womanhood, both parties will fly apart and have to start all over again.
We're an inventive species, and since we've gotten into space in the first place there's no reason that we can't figure out how to have fun up there as well. One obvious solution would be to provide hand- and foot-holds attached to something solid, but that would tend to limit the positions one could try. Another suggestion was to make a padded, hollow tube for the two star-crossed lovers to enter. I don't know how wide or well-padded such a tube would have to be, but this strikes me as way too much like cohabiting inside a habitrail. And who has to clean the thing out after each use?
Another consideration that must be made is the effect of zero-G on well-endowed women. On the one hand, the matter of support is taken care of, but there's still that equal and opposite reaction thing. D-cups and larger could conceivably smack the poor woman in the face in time to the thrusts of her lover's turgid member. I suppose that in zero-G a busty woman would have to resort to a special bra in order to avoid blunt trauma damage. In such cases, a woman putting her bra ON in front of a man could be viewed as a seductive act.
There are any number of interesting possibilities to explore in a zero-G environment, and yet they remain largely unexplored.
I can understand how distracting it would be to a writer to have to keep the effects of gravity in mind when writing scenes. We grew up with 1G, and aside from a select few who have been into space or ridden on the 'Vomit Comet' or flown fighters 1G is all that any of us have any experience with. I think that authors are missing an opportunity here to add new and interesting takes on smut in space.
As it happens, we do have some knowledge of operating in free-fall (often referred to as zero-G). We have learned that normal sex just can't be performed in free-fall, since every force of motion imparts an equal and opposite reaction and after the first hard thrust of the male character's turgid member into the female character's throbbing womanhood, both parties will fly apart and have to start all over again.
We're an inventive species, and since we've gotten into space in the first place there's no reason that we can't figure out how to have fun up there as well. One obvious solution would be to provide hand- and foot-holds attached to something solid, but that would tend to limit the positions one could try. Another suggestion was to make a padded, hollow tube for the two star-crossed lovers to enter. I don't know how wide or well-padded such a tube would have to be, but this strikes me as way too much like cohabiting inside a habitrail. And who has to clean the thing out after each use?
Another consideration that must be made is the effect of zero-G on well-endowed women. On the one hand, the matter of support is taken care of, but there's still that equal and opposite reaction thing. D-cups and larger could conceivably smack the poor woman in the face in time to the thrusts of her lover's turgid member. I suppose that in zero-G a busty woman would have to resort to a special bra in order to avoid blunt trauma damage. In such cases, a woman putting her bra ON in front of a man could be viewed as a seductive act.
There are any number of interesting possibilities to explore in a zero-G environment, and yet they remain largely unexplored.
March 28, 2011
Smut In Space: Part 1
I've given some thought to writing an erotic science fiction novel, and I even came up with what I thought might be an interesting plot premise.
Then I began thinking about some of the unique problems that would need to be dealt with while I was writing such a story. The least immediately apparent one might not turn out to be a problem at all, but I've often had jobs where one of my responsibilities was to anticipate problems and devise ways to deal with them if they happened to come up. So here it is: With publishers and booksellers very sensitive to issues of incest, pedophilia and the like, how do you establish that a character has reached the age of consent?
If you have an SF erotic novel where humans have spread and colonized other planets in other star systems, you can't refer to the old Earth calendar. Other planets would have their own days and years. Even if you had a planet with a 24-hour day, as on Earth, if it completes an orbit of its star once every four Earth years, an '18-year-old' from there hasn't just reached the age of consent, they've shot right past the age of retirement. Spring Break just wouldn't be as much fun there as it is here. Or imagine a world that has no days at all because it's rotation has become tidally locked to its star. Or, alternately, a planet like Uranus in our own system, which has its axis tipped over to such an extent that it seems to be rolling along on its side as it orbits the Sun. What exactly would a 'day' on such a world be?
So, there has to be some galaxy-wide system for determining when boys and girls legally become men and women and can legally start doing the things that erotica readers want to see being done in an erotic novel. I started by doing a little math and came up with one Earth-year being equal to 8760 Earth-hours: 8784 E-hours if you have a leap year, so let's average it out to 8766 E-hours equaling one E-year. An 18-E-year old would then be 157,788 E-hours old. This is an inconvenient figure. In any case, how would you calculate E-hours without some sort of E-watch for each person that you always made sure was properly wound?
As it happens, such a timepiece is already available, based on the absolutely regular decay of certain radioactive isotopes. Okay, it's somewhat more complicated and expensive than the average wristwatch, but the point is that the technology already exists. It can be used without any tweaking at all. Let us call this device an E-clock.
This still leaves that inconvenient figure of 157,788 hours. Now we have to do some serious tweaking. Bump it up to 158,000 hours and you not only have a more convenient number but a 212-hour (8 E-day, 20 E-hour) cushion with which to calm nervous editors and publishers. 160,000 is an even more convenient figure, but now you have that poor character having to wait an 'extra' 92 E-days and 4 E-hours before they can go into the bar in Mos Eisley, that wretched hive of scum and villainy, and legally order something stronger than a Shirley Temple. But now the editors and publishers can breathe even easier, and for the sake of this line of reasoning I'm not going to bring up the matter of fake IDs. Remember, the aim here is to keep editors, publishers and distributors from becoming too nervous. And, if the time of a birth is carefully noted by E-clock time, one does not need a separate watch for each individual.
One possible problem down. More to go.
Then I began thinking about some of the unique problems that would need to be dealt with while I was writing such a story. The least immediately apparent one might not turn out to be a problem at all, but I've often had jobs where one of my responsibilities was to anticipate problems and devise ways to deal with them if they happened to come up. So here it is: With publishers and booksellers very sensitive to issues of incest, pedophilia and the like, how do you establish that a character has reached the age of consent?
If you have an SF erotic novel where humans have spread and colonized other planets in other star systems, you can't refer to the old Earth calendar. Other planets would have their own days and years. Even if you had a planet with a 24-hour day, as on Earth, if it completes an orbit of its star once every four Earth years, an '18-year-old' from there hasn't just reached the age of consent, they've shot right past the age of retirement. Spring Break just wouldn't be as much fun there as it is here. Or imagine a world that has no days at all because it's rotation has become tidally locked to its star. Or, alternately, a planet like Uranus in our own system, which has its axis tipped over to such an extent that it seems to be rolling along on its side as it orbits the Sun. What exactly would a 'day' on such a world be?
So, there has to be some galaxy-wide system for determining when boys and girls legally become men and women and can legally start doing the things that erotica readers want to see being done in an erotic novel. I started by doing a little math and came up with one Earth-year being equal to 8760 Earth-hours: 8784 E-hours if you have a leap year, so let's average it out to 8766 E-hours equaling one E-year. An 18-E-year old would then be 157,788 E-hours old. This is an inconvenient figure. In any case, how would you calculate E-hours without some sort of E-watch for each person that you always made sure was properly wound?
As it happens, such a timepiece is already available, based on the absolutely regular decay of certain radioactive isotopes. Okay, it's somewhat more complicated and expensive than the average wristwatch, but the point is that the technology already exists. It can be used without any tweaking at all. Let us call this device an E-clock.
This still leaves that inconvenient figure of 157,788 hours. Now we have to do some serious tweaking. Bump it up to 158,000 hours and you not only have a more convenient number but a 212-hour (8 E-day, 20 E-hour) cushion with which to calm nervous editors and publishers. 160,000 is an even more convenient figure, but now you have that poor character having to wait an 'extra' 92 E-days and 4 E-hours before they can go into the bar in Mos Eisley, that wretched hive of scum and villainy, and legally order something stronger than a Shirley Temple. But now the editors and publishers can breathe even easier, and for the sake of this line of reasoning I'm not going to bring up the matter of fake IDs. Remember, the aim here is to keep editors, publishers and distributors from becoming too nervous. And, if the time of a birth is carefully noted by E-clock time, one does not need a separate watch for each individual.
One possible problem down. More to go.
January 22, 2011
Tha Author's Dilemma
I started writing erotica partly for fun and partly to make a little extra money. Now, what I earn from my writing represents the bulk of my income. My thanks to all the readers out there who buy my stories.
Now I'm encountering something new, which I call the Author's Dilemma. I must keep on writing in order to make a (better) living. I can't keep writing what is essentially the same book over and over again, but when it comes to erotica there are only so many things that you can do, especially with regards to the sex scenes. I've read a number of reader comments complaining about how an author repeats scenes within a book. It reminds me to be careful not to repeat scenes in successive books, which means that I sometimes have to go back and read what I've already done, just to be sure.
Fortunately, erotica has a number of sub-genres. My first nine books were all consensual. I made a decision to try to get some non-consensual books published, partly to expand my horizons and partly to see what would happen. Well, I got two of them published, gained a new set of readers and distressed some of the ones that I already had, who didn't like the new direction so much. I have to say that it's extremely difficult for me to write a non-consensual story, and while I may write another some day it won't be for a while. I'm going to try writing some paranormal erotica, but I'm also going back to my previous consensual tales.
Now I'm encountering something new, which I call the Author's Dilemma. I must keep on writing in order to make a (better) living. I can't keep writing what is essentially the same book over and over again, but when it comes to erotica there are only so many things that you can do, especially with regards to the sex scenes. I've read a number of reader comments complaining about how an author repeats scenes within a book. It reminds me to be careful not to repeat scenes in successive books, which means that I sometimes have to go back and read what I've already done, just to be sure.
Fortunately, erotica has a number of sub-genres. My first nine books were all consensual. I made a decision to try to get some non-consensual books published, partly to expand my horizons and partly to see what would happen. Well, I got two of them published, gained a new set of readers and distressed some of the ones that I already had, who didn't like the new direction so much. I have to say that it's extremely difficult for me to write a non-consensual story, and while I may write another some day it won't be for a while. I'm going to try writing some paranormal erotica, but I'm also going back to my previous consensual tales.
September 28, 2010
Minda The Bold Chapter 2
Chapter 2 of the story is finished. I won't be posting it on my blog because publishers are leery of accepting tales that have been available on line. However, anyone interested in reading the chapter can IM me and I will happily forward it to them via email.
September 11, 2010
Minda The Bold (Chapter 1 Part 2) by S J Lewis
She trotted along for another twenty or thirty yards, then stopped. She could hear no more yelling. Either the skirmish had moved away from her or the combatants had all taken cover and there was a lull in the fighting. She moved behind a tree and looked and listened intently. This part of the forest had never been logged, so the trees here were very old and very tall. There was little underbrush to obscure her view, or the view of anyone out there lying in wait. She looked and listened a bit more until she caught sight of a lone figure up ahead as he darted from one tree to another. Between the drab clothes and the big yellow safety goggles that everyone wore to these games it was difficult to tell who it had been, but she'd noticed that whoever it was didn't seem to be wearing one of the red armbands that the other team was wearing. Since he'd had his back to her, she made the assumption that she was somewhere behind her team and it should be safe to move.
Then she heard a noise off to her left. It sounded like someone who was not trying to be quiet at all. Everyone on her team knew better than that. Crouching low, Minda peered around the weathered gray tree trunk. The minute she saw the long, flowing pale golden hair she knew who it was: Donna Johansen, co-captain of the cheerleading squad and the girlfriend of one of the big, loud jocks that made up the other side today. She must have gotten lost, and now was trying to find her team.She was wearing drab, loose-fitting khaki pants and a green-and-blue checked shirt that could provide a bit of camouflage. Her red armband stood out clearly against that background.
Minda shook her head. Donna was out here only because she was trying to find something she could do with her boyfriend besides partying and sex. She really didn't belong out here among the dedicated paintballers. Still, a kill was a kill, and even a rank amateur could pose a threat if she got behind somebody. She was a little too far away for a good shot. Once out of the barrel, the paint-filled thin plastic balls could literally go anywhere if the paint had settled and unbalanced the round. Minda let her quarry come closer. But when Donna began looking in her general direction she had to pull back behind the tree. Even an amateur could get in a lucky shot every once in a while. Unable to safely keep an eye on the girl now, Minda concentrated on listening. Donna's noisy steps drew closer and closer, then paused. When they began again, they were moving away. Minda straightened up and peered cautiously around the tree. Donna was no more than twenty feet off now, her back to Minda, unaware of her imminent peril. She'd stopped again, and was peering intently at the trees in front of her. Minda drew careful aim. Donna was dead meat now, but there was little glory in backshooting a complete noob. Anyway, she wanted to see the expression on Donna's angelically pretty face when the paintball hit her.
"Hey!" Minda called out cheerfully. Donna obligingly turned around and an instant later Minda's shot splattered messily against her perky, perfect, plump left tit.
"No!" Donna wailed. "Oh, dammit! That stings!" The look on her face was all that Minda could have hoped for.
"Shouldn't've gone off without your boyfriend," Minda taunted as she stepped fully into view. "Next time, stick close to him. He's a bigger target." She trotted past Donna, grinning at the other girl's dismay. Donna might have it all over most of the girls at the college when it came to looks, clothes and popularity, but none of that counted for anything out here in the woods. Here, Minda the Bold reigned, and woe betide any cheerleader who thought to challenge her on her own turf.
"Hey!" Donna called out just as Minda heard the sounds of renewed combat from somewhere ahead. She stopped with a sigh and turned to look at Donna.
"What?" Minda demanded, her hands on her hips.
"Where do I go now?" Donna asked. "I mean, which way...?"
"That direction," Minda replied, pointing.
"Are you sure?" Donna asked. She sounded dubious, as if she wouldn't put it past Minda to send her hiking into the next county.
"Yeah. I've been here lots of times," Minda answered. "I know where everything is. Anyway, if you hurry you'll catch up with one of my team. He's been shot too. He'll make sure you don't get lost."
"Oh. Okay, thanks," Donna said. She turned to go.
"Hey," Minda called out. Donna stopped and turned.
"What?" she demanded.
"You'd better push those goggles up," Minda said. "Somebody might not notice that paint splotch and take another shot at you, but we have strict rules about shooting at anyone without eye protection on."
"Oh." Donna pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. "You mean like this?"
"Yeah," Minda said, nodding. "Just like that. Better luck next time." She didn't wait to hear if Donna had any more questions. She'd already been separated from her band for too long, and they probably needed her. She moved quickly now, dodging from tree to tree and keeping an eye out for any movement. It looked as if the fight had wandered into a part of the woods where the trees were smaller and the underbrush thicker. That wasn't a good thing. Her teammates were all good shots, but close country like this canceled out that advantage. It wasn't likely that the jocks had planned on that. Minda and her team had gone up against them a number of times before, and the jocks always fought the same way, each and every one of them trying to be Rambo. Teamwork was better, which was why her team of geeks and nerds usually came out on top. It had earned them some grudging respect from the jocks.
She caught sight of two of her teammates near a blackberry bush, standing back to back for mutual protection. One of them saw her coming and started pointing his gun at her before he recognized her. He waved her in and resumed his watchful pose. Minda sprinted over to them.
"Hi, Jim, Barry," she whispered hoarsely. "I got lost. Sorry. What's the situation?"
"One or two of them got behind us somehow," Jim answered without looking at her. He was a short, stocky young man with unruly red hair, majoring in languages. "I don't think they know where they are, let alone where we are. I think we bagged all of their buddies."
"I got one of them a minute ago," Mindy said.
Barry snorted. "Where'd you get off to, Mindy?" he asked. "They tried to ambush us. They could've gotten us all but they sprang it too soon and Jason took all the hits. We fell back and ambushed them when they came after us."
"Sorry," Minda repeated. Barry always called her "Mindy" instead of "Minda". She let it pass. She was tired of correcting him. "So now what?"
"We sent a two-man team to swing out wide and get their flag," Jim said. "If they succeeded, we should know soon."
Minda nodded. None of the jocks ever wanted to stay behind to guard their flag. Some times they'd make whoever of their team who had been 'killed' first in the previous fight take that duty, but they didn't always stay put. Her team always left someone to guard their own flag. That duty rotated through their ranks, excepting always Minda. She was too valuable as a scout.
"So," Minda said, "We just wait?"
"Let's give it another five minutes," Jim replied. "If we don't see them or hear the horn by then we'll go hunting jocks."
"Fine by me," Barry agreed. "They're getting better at it, but they're still pretty easy. It's funny."
"What is?" Minda asked.
Barry grinned. "They play team sports, but once they're out in the woods they don't seem to know how to act as a team any more."
"They don't all play on the same teams," Jim pointed out. "That may have something to do with it."
Minda debated asking her teammates if either of them knew anything about a man living out here in the woods and decided against it. Jim and Barry were very bright guys, but they had very little interest in anything besides their studies and their games. She then debated telling them about her encounter with Jesse Semmes and likewise decided against that. It had been a chance meeting, however unlikely it might seem. It was a small college and a small college town, but she'd probably never see the man again. That thought bothered her, and she couldn't say why. Then the memory of how he looked and smelled came surging back into her mind, blocking out everything else for a moment. She recalled how easily he had helped her up, and how the look in his eyes had changed while they were talking.
"Mindy?" Barry asked. He looked concerned. "You okay?"
"What?" Minda shook her head. "I'm fine. Why?"
"For a minute there it looked like you were off in your own little world," Barry replied.
"Oh." Minda smiled, hoping that it looked reassuring. "It's nothing. I have a paper due soon. I was just thinking about how to make it better."
"What's it on?" Jim asked. "Maybe we can help."
The sound of an air horn split the air. Inwardly, Minda gave a sigh of relief. "C'mon," she said to her teammates. "Let's go find out who won."
Then she heard a noise off to her left. It sounded like someone who was not trying to be quiet at all. Everyone on her team knew better than that. Crouching low, Minda peered around the weathered gray tree trunk. The minute she saw the long, flowing pale golden hair she knew who it was: Donna Johansen, co-captain of the cheerleading squad and the girlfriend of one of the big, loud jocks that made up the other side today. She must have gotten lost, and now was trying to find her team.She was wearing drab, loose-fitting khaki pants and a green-and-blue checked shirt that could provide a bit of camouflage. Her red armband stood out clearly against that background.
Minda shook her head. Donna was out here only because she was trying to find something she could do with her boyfriend besides partying and sex. She really didn't belong out here among the dedicated paintballers. Still, a kill was a kill, and even a rank amateur could pose a threat if she got behind somebody. She was a little too far away for a good shot. Once out of the barrel, the paint-filled thin plastic balls could literally go anywhere if the paint had settled and unbalanced the round. Minda let her quarry come closer. But when Donna began looking in her general direction she had to pull back behind the tree. Even an amateur could get in a lucky shot every once in a while. Unable to safely keep an eye on the girl now, Minda concentrated on listening. Donna's noisy steps drew closer and closer, then paused. When they began again, they were moving away. Minda straightened up and peered cautiously around the tree. Donna was no more than twenty feet off now, her back to Minda, unaware of her imminent peril. She'd stopped again, and was peering intently at the trees in front of her. Minda drew careful aim. Donna was dead meat now, but there was little glory in backshooting a complete noob. Anyway, she wanted to see the expression on Donna's angelically pretty face when the paintball hit her.
"Hey!" Minda called out cheerfully. Donna obligingly turned around and an instant later Minda's shot splattered messily against her perky, perfect, plump left tit.
"No!" Donna wailed. "Oh, dammit! That stings!" The look on her face was all that Minda could have hoped for.
"Shouldn't've gone off without your boyfriend," Minda taunted as she stepped fully into view. "Next time, stick close to him. He's a bigger target." She trotted past Donna, grinning at the other girl's dismay. Donna might have it all over most of the girls at the college when it came to looks, clothes and popularity, but none of that counted for anything out here in the woods. Here, Minda the Bold reigned, and woe betide any cheerleader who thought to challenge her on her own turf.
"Hey!" Donna called out just as Minda heard the sounds of renewed combat from somewhere ahead. She stopped with a sigh and turned to look at Donna.
"What?" Minda demanded, her hands on her hips.
"Where do I go now?" Donna asked. "I mean, which way...?"
"That direction," Minda replied, pointing.
"Are you sure?" Donna asked. She sounded dubious, as if she wouldn't put it past Minda to send her hiking into the next county.
"Yeah. I've been here lots of times," Minda answered. "I know where everything is. Anyway, if you hurry you'll catch up with one of my team. He's been shot too. He'll make sure you don't get lost."
"Oh. Okay, thanks," Donna said. She turned to go.
"Hey," Minda called out. Donna stopped and turned.
"What?" she demanded.
"You'd better push those goggles up," Minda said. "Somebody might not notice that paint splotch and take another shot at you, but we have strict rules about shooting at anyone without eye protection on."
"Oh." Donna pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. "You mean like this?"
"Yeah," Minda said, nodding. "Just like that. Better luck next time." She didn't wait to hear if Donna had any more questions. She'd already been separated from her band for too long, and they probably needed her. She moved quickly now, dodging from tree to tree and keeping an eye out for any movement. It looked as if the fight had wandered into a part of the woods where the trees were smaller and the underbrush thicker. That wasn't a good thing. Her teammates were all good shots, but close country like this canceled out that advantage. It wasn't likely that the jocks had planned on that. Minda and her team had gone up against them a number of times before, and the jocks always fought the same way, each and every one of them trying to be Rambo. Teamwork was better, which was why her team of geeks and nerds usually came out on top. It had earned them some grudging respect from the jocks.
She caught sight of two of her teammates near a blackberry bush, standing back to back for mutual protection. One of them saw her coming and started pointing his gun at her before he recognized her. He waved her in and resumed his watchful pose. Minda sprinted over to them.
"Hi, Jim, Barry," she whispered hoarsely. "I got lost. Sorry. What's the situation?"
"One or two of them got behind us somehow," Jim answered without looking at her. He was a short, stocky young man with unruly red hair, majoring in languages. "I don't think they know where they are, let alone where we are. I think we bagged all of their buddies."
"I got one of them a minute ago," Mindy said.
Barry snorted. "Where'd you get off to, Mindy?" he asked. "They tried to ambush us. They could've gotten us all but they sprang it too soon and Jason took all the hits. We fell back and ambushed them when they came after us."
"Sorry," Minda repeated. Barry always called her "Mindy" instead of "Minda". She let it pass. She was tired of correcting him. "So now what?"
"We sent a two-man team to swing out wide and get their flag," Jim said. "If they succeeded, we should know soon."
Minda nodded. None of the jocks ever wanted to stay behind to guard their flag. Some times they'd make whoever of their team who had been 'killed' first in the previous fight take that duty, but they didn't always stay put. Her team always left someone to guard their own flag. That duty rotated through their ranks, excepting always Minda. She was too valuable as a scout.
"So," Minda said, "We just wait?"
"Let's give it another five minutes," Jim replied. "If we don't see them or hear the horn by then we'll go hunting jocks."
"Fine by me," Barry agreed. "They're getting better at it, but they're still pretty easy. It's funny."
"What is?" Minda asked.
Barry grinned. "They play team sports, but once they're out in the woods they don't seem to know how to act as a team any more."
"They don't all play on the same teams," Jim pointed out. "That may have something to do with it."
Minda debated asking her teammates if either of them knew anything about a man living out here in the woods and decided against it. Jim and Barry were very bright guys, but they had very little interest in anything besides their studies and their games. She then debated telling them about her encounter with Jesse Semmes and likewise decided against that. It had been a chance meeting, however unlikely it might seem. It was a small college and a small college town, but she'd probably never see the man again. That thought bothered her, and she couldn't say why. Then the memory of how he looked and smelled came surging back into her mind, blocking out everything else for a moment. She recalled how easily he had helped her up, and how the look in his eyes had changed while they were talking.
"Mindy?" Barry asked. He looked concerned. "You okay?"
"What?" Minda shook her head. "I'm fine. Why?"
"For a minute there it looked like you were off in your own little world," Barry replied.
"Oh." Minda smiled, hoping that it looked reassuring. "It's nothing. I have a paper due soon. I was just thinking about how to make it better."
"What's it on?" Jim asked. "Maybe we can help."
The sound of an air horn split the air. Inwardly, Minda gave a sigh of relief. "C'mon," she said to her teammates. "Let's go find out who won."
