Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 119
July 13, 2012
Self-perception, sharing, Klonopin Lunch and secret hearts
I was originally going to try to tie these quotes together with a pretty bow of words and share something super insightful about writing and revelation and public and private, but I don't have any grand insights right now, or if I do, they are percolating, in the idea stage. There are so many ideas and false starts and even finished pieces waiting for me to figure out where, if anywhere, they go, beyond the confines of my laptop. And maybe I will try to tie everything up tidily, as I feel I should, but that will have to happen another time, if at all. For now, a few things I read this week that resonated with me.
1. xoJane's Jane Pratt, interviewed by Amy Odell at Buzzfeed Shift (which you should bookmark)::
3. "Thanks also go to Julia Pastore for shaping this book so expertly and helping me to puck the story I needed to tell from what was originally an emotional tangle." Jessica Dorfman Jones, Klonopin Lunch , a doozy of a memoir that I think all New Yorkers should read - it's outrageous, but also laughs at its (her) own outrageousness. It's titillating and wild but it's done so well that it doesn't come across as "a crash course in Snort, Kvetch, Schtup," though props to whatever publicist wrote that. I look forward to a time when not every memoir about sex is tagged with the Sex and the City label, because Jones, with her neuroses, adventures, dot com turned rock goddess tale, complete with Meow Mix memories and bad boys, is much more real to me, and I would imagine anyone who ever visited Meow Mix, than Carrie Bradshaw and her shoes and wondering could ever be. But that quote from the acknowledgements was another reminder to me that a) editors are extremely important and b) "memoir" does not mean "everything that ever happened to you." It means just as artfully crafted a story arc as fiction, perhaps even more artfully crafted as you have to try to see the world as it is and as you believe it to be (or have been).
4. Mike Daisey, from The Orient Express (Or, the Value of Failure), quoted by Chris Klimek, Washington City Paper
1. xoJane's Jane Pratt, interviewed by Amy Odell at Buzzfeed Shift (which you should bookmark)::
Getting writers to reveal very personal things in stories can be very difficult, and yet XO Jane's always do. Is it worth all the fear and anxiety?2. "We see the world not as it is, but as we believe it to be." Lisa Cron, Wired for Story - I'm amazed at how many parallels there are between what Cron explores as issues for writers regarding their characters, and takeaways for how I look at my own life. As a perpetual memoir reader, it's clear that these rules could be applied to memoir as well, where the characters are often real, but just as often composites. Cron's blog at wiredforstory.com examines these principles further, tapping into everything from why Fifty Shades of Grey works as a story to the basic but profound look at why stories matters to us so vitally as humans: "Neuroscientists believe the reason our already overloaded brain is wired to devote so much precious time and space to letting us to get lost in a story is that without stories, we’d be toast. Stories allow us to simulate intense experiences without actually having to live through them. We get to sit back and vicariously experience someone else suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, the better to learn how to dodge those darts should they ever be aimed at us."
What I find is that the more people do share the things that they feel like they shouldn’t share — whether it’s an image of themselves that they don’t feel is their most flattering — the more positive feedback they get.
3. "Thanks also go to Julia Pastore for shaping this book so expertly and helping me to puck the story I needed to tell from what was originally an emotional tangle." Jessica Dorfman Jones, Klonopin Lunch , a doozy of a memoir that I think all New Yorkers should read - it's outrageous, but also laughs at its (her) own outrageousness. It's titillating and wild but it's done so well that it doesn't come across as "a crash course in Snort, Kvetch, Schtup," though props to whatever publicist wrote that. I look forward to a time when not every memoir about sex is tagged with the Sex and the City label, because Jones, with her neuroses, adventures, dot com turned rock goddess tale, complete with Meow Mix memories and bad boys, is much more real to me, and I would imagine anyone who ever visited Meow Mix, than Carrie Bradshaw and her shoes and wondering could ever be. But that quote from the acknowledgements was another reminder to me that a) editors are extremely important and b) "memoir" does not mean "everything that ever happened to you." It means just as artfully crafted a story arc as fiction, perhaps even more artfully crafted as you have to try to see the world as it is and as you believe it to be (or have been).
4. Mike Daisey, from The Orient Express (Or, the Value of Failure), quoted by Chris Klimek, Washington City Paper
Before we go any further, I wanted to tell you—just this once—that I am an unreliable narrator. I am made of dust and shadows. I am telling you things now, and I will tell you more things. You will never know my secret heart. You will think you hold it in your hand, that you know the depths of me. And you know nothing. You will never know me. And I never wanted you to. That’s not why we’re here. That’s not why we ever came here to this place. And you should know the truth: That there are no reliable narrators.
July 12, 2012
Notes, Princeton, art, Wired for Story
Yesterday in photos - I'm not seeing the rotate option on Flickr, sadly, so my notes from my appearance on Boston Public Radio show On Point (click to listen to the show) are sideways. They really do say it all about how insanely nervous I was, but I felt calmer the more it went on, confident I did, indeed, have something to contribute (and will be writing more about Fifty Shades of Grey):
Walking through the Princeton University campus:
Art at the Princeton Public Library:
What seems like a game changer book for how I understand fiction, Wired for Story by Lisa Cron (see wiredforstory.com for more information), which I discovered/bought at Labyrinth Books. Subtitle is: "The Writer's Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence." Yes, it's about characters and how to make them realistic, but it's also about the very human need for story, a big topic this year (see also The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human by Jonathan Gottschall).
Walking through the Princeton University campus:
Art at the Princeton Public Library:
What seems like a game changer book for how I understand fiction, Wired for Story by Lisa Cron (see wiredforstory.com for more information), which I discovered/bought at Labyrinth Books. Subtitle is: "The Writer's Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence." Yes, it's about characters and how to make them realistic, but it's also about the very human need for story, a big topic this year (see also The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human by Jonathan Gottschall).
July 11, 2012
My Mitt Romney David Koch Hamptons fundraiser protest article
On Sunday, I was in the Hamptons covering the Mitt Romney David Koch fundraiser protest for The New York Observer. If you like the piece, please pass it on. It's my third article for them, and the first that's not about sex in some way. It was HOT out but now I can say I've walked barefoot on the beach for a story! There's also a slideshow of photos I took.
July 10, 2012
Wythe Hotel snapshots
From breakfast with my awesome friend Denise today at the Wythe Hotel. If you're in NYC and need a dog trainer, Denise is your woman. Visit empireofthedog.com for details.
soft boiled eggs (Denise's)
cherry tomato omelet (mine)
me, Instagrammed!
And not of the Wythe Hotel, but a little humor from The Meatball Shop:
soft boiled eggs (Denise's)
cherry tomato omelet (mine)
me, Instagrammed!
And not of the Wythe Hotel, but a little humor from The Meatball Shop:
20 hotel erotica stories for only $1.99? Yes, on Kindle!
These Kindle deals happen so fast I don't get notified, I just happened to stumble upon this, and last time it was only up for a few days, so if you want 20 HOT stories for only $1.99, download Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories for Kindle. Read the introduction and table of contents and watch the "Hotel rooms make me horny" book trailer below! And yes, I was a crazy erotica blogging fool back then so there are all sorts of author interviews and such. Maybe I can find a way to make that work for some of my upcoming books. Anyway, I hope you'll take advantage of this major bargain and I will do my best to be a Kindle detective and find other sales, cause I think it's a great idea generally (I often buy $.199 and $2.99 ebooks just to try them out).
Table of Contents
Introduction: Made for Sex (see below)
Welcome to the Aphrodisiac Hotel by Amanda Earl (read author interview about hotel sex)
Tightly Tucked by Alison Tyler (read author interview about hotel sex)
From Russia with Lust by Stan Kent)
Mirror, Mirror by by Andrea Dale)
The Royalton--A Daray Tale by Tess Danesi (read author interview about hotel sex)
So Simple a Place by Isabelle Gray Heart-Shaped Holes by Madlyn March (read author interview about hotel sex)
The St. George Hotel, 1890 by Lillian Ann Slugock
The Lunch Break by Saskia Walker (read author interview about hotel sex)
Memphis by Gwen Masters (read author interview about hotel sex)
The Other Woman by Kristina Wright
Talking Dirty by Shanna Germain (read author interview about hotel sex)
A Room at the Grand by Thomas S. Roche (read author interview about hotel sex)
Tropical Grotto, Winter Storm by Teresa Noelle Roberts
G is for Gypsy by Maxim Jakubowski
Reunion by Lisabet Sarai
Hump Day by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Guilty Pleasure by Elizabeth Coldwell (read author interview about hotel sex)
An Honest Woman by Tenille Brown
Room Service by by Donna George Storey
(read author interview about hotel sex)
(read "Love Hotel Madness")
Introduction: Made for Sex
Hotel rooms are, in a word, hot. The minute I enter one, I want to strip off all my clothes and dive naked between the sheets, whether I have a lover there to share in the indulgence with me or not. Much more so than my own bed, hotel beds make me horny. They are, or at least, seem to me, to be made for sex.
Hotels give us the chance to unwind, relax, and, if we choose, become someone else. Behind closed doors, we are free to frolic, fuck, and flaunt ourselves. It doesn’t matter whether the hotel is in a faraway land or in your own hometown; the point is, it’s a clean slate. It’s not your home filled with all the reminders of what you could or should be doing. Other people have fucked and will fuck in the bed you’re about to sleep in; that can be a turn-on in and of itself. It’s your borrowed space, for an hour, a day, a night, or longer, and in that time, you can claim it, control it, use it for your own naughty purposes. Other guests are prowling the hotel, checking in, checking out, banging and getting banged against the wall. There’s a sense that anything can happenæand quite often, it does.
To me, the anonymity of hotel rooms, their personality wiped clean with each new guest, is part of their appeal. They beckon us with their welcoming ways. They offer an escape from the everyday, a chance to let loose and become someone else. In Do Not Disturb, I wanted to capture the ways hotels fit into our erotic imagination, whether they’re a necessity or a luxury. Hotels let us explore parts of our passion that get left behind in the rush of daily life.
The authors whose work you are about to read understand perfectly the allure of a fresh hotel roomæor a hotel lobby. Indeed, the entire atmosphere a hotel offers can simply scream of sex. This goes for five-star and by-the-hour joints. They each have something to add, and here you’ll find romps between lovers and strangers, reunions and quickies, as these characters indulge in their new settings.
Many of the characters here use hotels for secrecy, relying on the unspoken code of employees to never share what goes on. Others use them for flirting, for catching their prey. Many need a hotel room in order to engage in an affair or a roleplay. Whether exploring Japan’s love hotels in Isabelle Gray’s “So Simple a Place” or getting “A Room at the Grand” for a very special callgirl, the men and women you’ll read about get off on their surroundings. The hotel itself becomes a player in their affair, a sign of the lengths they’ll go to be together.
And this book wouldn’t be complete without some extramarital affairs that can only happen in hotel rooms, like the lovers in Lisabet Sarai’s “Reunion” or Gwen Masters’s “Memphis.” For these characters, the hotel room takes on added meaning for it is an ever-changing venue where their relationships grow, where they can savor each other’s bodies without their spouses knowing, or so they hope.
Hotel rooms are also perfect for quickies, those fast fucks that you only need an hour or so for, made all the more arousing for their brevity. In Saskia Walker’s “The Lunch Break,” a sultry waitress pounces on a diner, and in my “Hump Day,” a couple shed their business personae once a week to become the kind of people they could never be (or fuck) at home.
Even in the more innocent stories here, the vacation sex, the getaways among couples, there’s something just a little clandestine about these hotel room hookups. That air of perversion is what makes getting serviced in a hotel (or motel) infinitely sweeter than doing it anywhere else. It’s a private way of being an exhibitionist, of leaving the staff and fellow guests guessing (or parading around in your hotel robes). Sometimes it’s a neighbor who’ll lure you from the safety of your relationship, such as the lesbian who teaches Madlyn March’s protagonist a thing or two in “Heart-Shaped Holes,” or the way Elizabeth Coldwell’s fellow jurors wind up relieving some tension in between trial time.
There’s a hotel in New York, the Library Hotel, that has long intrigued me. They offer an Erotica Suite, filled with strawberries, whipped cream, red roses, erotic dice, Mionetto Presecca, edible honey dust, and a Kama Sutra pocket guide. They’re upfront in their intention that you truly savor their package, as well as your lover’s. I’ve never stayed there, or done more than pass by. In some ways, I prefer to keep its beauty safely tucked away in my imagination, the kind of room I’d use with a rich lover from out of town who’d seduce me with his or her accent, whisper to me in a foreign tongue before taking that foreign tongue and licking me all over. That’s another thing about hotel rooms: they are perfect to fantasize about. In them, and in your dreams about them, you can have any kind of sex with anyone (or everyone) you want.
I can tell you that the sex I’ve had in hotel rooms has been some of the hottest of my life. I get off on knowing that neighbors may hear me, and in fact, that brings out the exhibitionist in me. The sexiest porn director I know took me to his hotel room in Manhattan one night and while his porn star girlfriend was elsewhere, we indulged in one of the most dirty, powerful, delicious fucks I’ve ever had, and when he came all over my chest, I reveled in it. I didn’t wash it off, either, but proudly let it dry on my skin and couldn’t stop the smile that found its way to my lips as I took the subway home.
Once, in some random seedy L.A. hotel, another lover and I hadn’t brought any condoms, and instead had to make do with a paddle and a butt plugæpoor us. In a seedy Midtown motel, I spent a few hours romping with a very sexy young man who showed me all kinds of ways I could twist my body to extend my pleasure, then felt a shocked, naughty thrill as he entered the bathroom while I peed and watched me before dipping his fingers into the stream. Something I likely wouldn’t have allowed at home became acceptable in a place I’d likely never find myself again. And when I’m in a hotel room by myself, tucked away under the sheets, I feel naughty and decadent, even if the only party guests I’m hosting are my fingers and my pussy.
While I doubt hotels are going to be stocking this book in their dresser drawers alongside The Bible, I hope that it finds its way into hotel romps. I picture lovers reading aloud to one another as they get ready to mark their hotel room, or in the afterglow, perhaps leaving it behind for the next lucky guest. I hope hotel staff spirit it away and read it during their downtime. I hope the next time you enter a hotel lobby, even if you have no intention of getting busy with anyone you may find there, that you’ll at least notice the many erotic possibilities that greet you.
My most recent hotel rendezvous was at the ultra-fancy art-filled Chambers Hotel in Minneapolis. I was staying by myself for two nights, and while I didn’t share my bed, the room itself beckoned to me. I found myself getting horny as I dove between the covers, wishing I had a lover to share my good fortune with. Now I have this book, which I hope you’ll take with you on your travels, perhaps read it while lounging in a hotel lobby, or whisper from it into your lover’s ear before you make so much noise in your hotel room bed that someone calls security. However and wherever you read this book, I hope it turns you on as much as it does me.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Table of Contents
Introduction: Made for Sex (see below)
Welcome to the Aphrodisiac Hotel by Amanda Earl (read author interview about hotel sex)
Tightly Tucked by Alison Tyler (read author interview about hotel sex)
From Russia with Lust by Stan Kent)
Mirror, Mirror by by Andrea Dale)
The Royalton--A Daray Tale by Tess Danesi (read author interview about hotel sex)
So Simple a Place by Isabelle Gray Heart-Shaped Holes by Madlyn March (read author interview about hotel sex)
The St. George Hotel, 1890 by Lillian Ann Slugock
The Lunch Break by Saskia Walker (read author interview about hotel sex)
Memphis by Gwen Masters (read author interview about hotel sex)
The Other Woman by Kristina Wright
Talking Dirty by Shanna Germain (read author interview about hotel sex)
A Room at the Grand by Thomas S. Roche (read author interview about hotel sex)
Tropical Grotto, Winter Storm by Teresa Noelle Roberts
G is for Gypsy by Maxim Jakubowski
Reunion by Lisabet Sarai
Hump Day by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Guilty Pleasure by Elizabeth Coldwell (read author interview about hotel sex)
An Honest Woman by Tenille Brown
Room Service by by Donna George Storey
(read author interview about hotel sex)
(read "Love Hotel Madness")
Introduction: Made for Sex
Hotel rooms are, in a word, hot. The minute I enter one, I want to strip off all my clothes and dive naked between the sheets, whether I have a lover there to share in the indulgence with me or not. Much more so than my own bed, hotel beds make me horny. They are, or at least, seem to me, to be made for sex.
Hotels give us the chance to unwind, relax, and, if we choose, become someone else. Behind closed doors, we are free to frolic, fuck, and flaunt ourselves. It doesn’t matter whether the hotel is in a faraway land or in your own hometown; the point is, it’s a clean slate. It’s not your home filled with all the reminders of what you could or should be doing. Other people have fucked and will fuck in the bed you’re about to sleep in; that can be a turn-on in and of itself. It’s your borrowed space, for an hour, a day, a night, or longer, and in that time, you can claim it, control it, use it for your own naughty purposes. Other guests are prowling the hotel, checking in, checking out, banging and getting banged against the wall. There’s a sense that anything can happenæand quite often, it does.
To me, the anonymity of hotel rooms, their personality wiped clean with each new guest, is part of their appeal. They beckon us with their welcoming ways. They offer an escape from the everyday, a chance to let loose and become someone else. In Do Not Disturb, I wanted to capture the ways hotels fit into our erotic imagination, whether they’re a necessity or a luxury. Hotels let us explore parts of our passion that get left behind in the rush of daily life.
The authors whose work you are about to read understand perfectly the allure of a fresh hotel roomæor a hotel lobby. Indeed, the entire atmosphere a hotel offers can simply scream of sex. This goes for five-star and by-the-hour joints. They each have something to add, and here you’ll find romps between lovers and strangers, reunions and quickies, as these characters indulge in their new settings.
Many of the characters here use hotels for secrecy, relying on the unspoken code of employees to never share what goes on. Others use them for flirting, for catching their prey. Many need a hotel room in order to engage in an affair or a roleplay. Whether exploring Japan’s love hotels in Isabelle Gray’s “So Simple a Place” or getting “A Room at the Grand” for a very special callgirl, the men and women you’ll read about get off on their surroundings. The hotel itself becomes a player in their affair, a sign of the lengths they’ll go to be together.
And this book wouldn’t be complete without some extramarital affairs that can only happen in hotel rooms, like the lovers in Lisabet Sarai’s “Reunion” or Gwen Masters’s “Memphis.” For these characters, the hotel room takes on added meaning for it is an ever-changing venue where their relationships grow, where they can savor each other’s bodies without their spouses knowing, or so they hope.
Hotel rooms are also perfect for quickies, those fast fucks that you only need an hour or so for, made all the more arousing for their brevity. In Saskia Walker’s “The Lunch Break,” a sultry waitress pounces on a diner, and in my “Hump Day,” a couple shed their business personae once a week to become the kind of people they could never be (or fuck) at home.
Even in the more innocent stories here, the vacation sex, the getaways among couples, there’s something just a little clandestine about these hotel room hookups. That air of perversion is what makes getting serviced in a hotel (or motel) infinitely sweeter than doing it anywhere else. It’s a private way of being an exhibitionist, of leaving the staff and fellow guests guessing (or parading around in your hotel robes). Sometimes it’s a neighbor who’ll lure you from the safety of your relationship, such as the lesbian who teaches Madlyn March’s protagonist a thing or two in “Heart-Shaped Holes,” or the way Elizabeth Coldwell’s fellow jurors wind up relieving some tension in between trial time.
There’s a hotel in New York, the Library Hotel, that has long intrigued me. They offer an Erotica Suite, filled with strawberries, whipped cream, red roses, erotic dice, Mionetto Presecca, edible honey dust, and a Kama Sutra pocket guide. They’re upfront in their intention that you truly savor their package, as well as your lover’s. I’ve never stayed there, or done more than pass by. In some ways, I prefer to keep its beauty safely tucked away in my imagination, the kind of room I’d use with a rich lover from out of town who’d seduce me with his or her accent, whisper to me in a foreign tongue before taking that foreign tongue and licking me all over. That’s another thing about hotel rooms: they are perfect to fantasize about. In them, and in your dreams about them, you can have any kind of sex with anyone (or everyone) you want.
I can tell you that the sex I’ve had in hotel rooms has been some of the hottest of my life. I get off on knowing that neighbors may hear me, and in fact, that brings out the exhibitionist in me. The sexiest porn director I know took me to his hotel room in Manhattan one night and while his porn star girlfriend was elsewhere, we indulged in one of the most dirty, powerful, delicious fucks I’ve ever had, and when he came all over my chest, I reveled in it. I didn’t wash it off, either, but proudly let it dry on my skin and couldn’t stop the smile that found its way to my lips as I took the subway home.
Once, in some random seedy L.A. hotel, another lover and I hadn’t brought any condoms, and instead had to make do with a paddle and a butt plugæpoor us. In a seedy Midtown motel, I spent a few hours romping with a very sexy young man who showed me all kinds of ways I could twist my body to extend my pleasure, then felt a shocked, naughty thrill as he entered the bathroom while I peed and watched me before dipping his fingers into the stream. Something I likely wouldn’t have allowed at home became acceptable in a place I’d likely never find myself again. And when I’m in a hotel room by myself, tucked away under the sheets, I feel naughty and decadent, even if the only party guests I’m hosting are my fingers and my pussy.
While I doubt hotels are going to be stocking this book in their dresser drawers alongside The Bible, I hope that it finds its way into hotel romps. I picture lovers reading aloud to one another as they get ready to mark their hotel room, or in the afterglow, perhaps leaving it behind for the next lucky guest. I hope hotel staff spirit it away and read it during their downtime. I hope the next time you enter a hotel lobby, even if you have no intention of getting busy with anyone you may find there, that you’ll at least notice the many erotic possibilities that greet you.
My most recent hotel rendezvous was at the ultra-fancy art-filled Chambers Hotel in Minneapolis. I was staying by myself for two nights, and while I didn’t share my bed, the room itself beckoned to me. I found myself getting horny as I dove between the covers, wishing I had a lover to share my good fortune with. Now I have this book, which I hope you’ll take with you on your travels, perhaps read it while lounging in a hotel lobby, or whisper from it into your lover’s ear before you make so much noise in your hotel room bed that someone calls security. However and wherever you read this book, I hope it turns you on as much as it does me.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
July 7, 2012
Slipping, falling, baking
Freeewriting for no reason other than because I never do it anymore...
Last Saturday night, I took myself out on an amazing date to see Shawn Colvin at World Café in Philadelphia, and it was everything I could ask for in a concert, and a concert venue. I can't believe I'd never been there before; for an acoustic show especially, it was so intimate and gorgeous, and I think everyone else was as extremely present as I was. It was a show that felt less like a performer on a stage and more like Shawn was right there in the midst of us. I sat, utterly enraptured, as The Royal You opened and harmonized beautifully, and then it was just Shawn and her guitar and that voice and those songs, including "Polaroids," which I first heard sung by Mary Lou Lord when I was a very different person, living not so far physically from where I live now, but with a 100% different point of view about pretty much everything. I sometimes think hearing that song on a benefit album was the first step in leading me to a different way of life, one certainly with its share of ups and downs, but one that will always fit me better than the even the best legal job could have.
Anyway, tonight was much more prosaic, but much as I like to escape, I am a pretty routine girl. I like familiarity, sameness, solitude. I like being able to wander and discover the infinite universe of magic, mundane or magnificent, that streets of New York City offer me, and now that I've realized my days here are probably pretty numbered, I feel like I value them all the more. I returned from a few days of fireworks and domesticity with my boyfriend and dragged myself to the gym. I like going on off hours when it's emptier, and I read Rurally Screwed by Jessie Knadler, which seemed particularly appropriate, because we talked about possibly moving to North Carolina, and while that's not necessarily imminent, something went off inside me, the way it does when I know I have to visit somewhere, when he was telling me about the cost of living. I have little desire to live in a barren suburb where there aren't coffeeshops, let alone culture. I love the fact that I was able to run across the street just now, as the rain and lightning started up, to get toilet paper and seltzer from the deli owner who knows that I almost never need a bag. I love that even though I've been a bad bad theatergoer, awaiting me in my inbox are so many options at the tip of my fingertips. I love that I got asked to cover two stories yesterday and one of them has absolutely nothing to do with sex; to me that is the true mark of having "made it" as a writer, though of course I'm aware that back when I was the stupid little law student, naïve about New York, about the world, about myself, basically clueless about anything that mattered, including how the hell to pass her classes, I didn't really think much about branding or bylines or what the fuck I was doing with my career. I'm not sure that I do all that much anymore in that I'm not so strategic in the big picture sense; I'm more about sitting down and banging out the words and studying the market sand trying to figure out where my ideas and experiences can fit.
So back to tonight, after the gym, I was walking through Union Square, on my way to Barnes & Noble ostensibly to buy a magazine I plan to pitch, but really because it's my shopping spiritual escape, my place to run my fingers and gaze over shelves where I could have had my book nestled, and where I someday still might, though for sure a different book. I love being surrounded by so many ideas, and I whip out my iPhone and type notes about cozy mysteries to request at the library, and hope that the spark of inspiration, a snippet of conversation, a cover, an idea, will slip by me. I was also reading Fifty Shades Darker on my phone as I walked, because for whatever reason Kindle for Mac decided that my download no longer exists and rather than wanting to punch myself in the face or taking a hammer to my laptop in the process of removing the book from my device and redownloading it (ah, to have any clue how to do that), I am just going to read it umpteen screens at a time on my phone. I was doing that and walking and all of a sudden a skateboard was very close by and then crashing into me and I fell and my glasses and phone fell with me. My first thought was that I cannot afford new glasses, which is a sign of what happens when you lack both a paycheck and health insurance. The skateboarder and a kind stranger asked if I was okay and I was so happy when I picked up my glasses to see that they were fine that the very minor scrapes on my knees and left palm were nothing. I was a little shaky but kept walking to the bookstore and realized that sometimes, like the last few days, I just want to block out the world, but it wants me here. Yesterday I took an accidental nap, and woke up groggy and angry at myself for wasting time, and then, despite my time wasting, these assignments landed in my inbox, and I realized that life goes on, even when I hate myself and think I won't be able to tackle everything on my to do list and have no idea what the future holds.
So now with the fan blasting on me, back home, which feels increasingly special and cozy the less time I'm here, I'm kindof savoring that slight twinge in my palm as I try to get back to what I was supposed to be doing the last few days. Instead I watched some pretty kickass fireworks and baked kale chips and marshmallow brownies and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and learned how to use a hand mixer and bought a jigsaw puzzle shaped like the state of California, my former home, with all its beaches and jagged edges. I didn't even know they made jigsaw puzzles that weren't rectangular.
I must get back to the ongoing list and get ready for this assignment, I just wanted to write something, anything, which these days I more often put aside, or write and not finish the story, essay, pitch, application, because I'm sure it sucks so why bother. I also bought a new journal tonight, because my old one has a bit of a rocky history and now is in high demand as a holder of important documents, money and assorted papers, so many that to displace them would wreak havoc with what little organizational systems I have. I liked the idea of starting over, starting something new, for no reason other than that I appreciate the idea that every day is not only a gift, but a chance to crack that clean slate and blank page and create something. I forget sometimes that for every awful thing I've ever done and all the messes I've made of my life, I wake up every single day to as many blank pages as I want. I just have to get up and greet them and be ready, slips, falls, mishaps, blocks and all.
Video of "Love Well" by The Royal You. When I heard them sing this live, I definitely gave myself a little reality check about the times I haven't loved well, when I haven't treated the people I care about the way I'd want to be treated. Lately, I have been extremely focused on just trying to survive and prove to myself I can do this ridiculously insane wacky thing called supporting myself as a writer/editor/blogger/miscellaneous creative person. It still seems supremely laughable some days, and exactly what I should be doing on others, but mostly it feels like it requires 24/7 vigilance and attention to potential stories, to reading everything and trying to be everywhere at once, which certainly doesn't make me a great girlfriend, so I'm trying to be a little better about balancing those things. And also that loving well means taking care of and loving myself, too, to the best of my abilities. I'm trying, even when I fall, hard.
[image error]
Last Saturday night, I took myself out on an amazing date to see Shawn Colvin at World Café in Philadelphia, and it was everything I could ask for in a concert, and a concert venue. I can't believe I'd never been there before; for an acoustic show especially, it was so intimate and gorgeous, and I think everyone else was as extremely present as I was. It was a show that felt less like a performer on a stage and more like Shawn was right there in the midst of us. I sat, utterly enraptured, as The Royal You opened and harmonized beautifully, and then it was just Shawn and her guitar and that voice and those songs, including "Polaroids," which I first heard sung by Mary Lou Lord when I was a very different person, living not so far physically from where I live now, but with a 100% different point of view about pretty much everything. I sometimes think hearing that song on a benefit album was the first step in leading me to a different way of life, one certainly with its share of ups and downs, but one that will always fit me better than the even the best legal job could have.
Anyway, tonight was much more prosaic, but much as I like to escape, I am a pretty routine girl. I like familiarity, sameness, solitude. I like being able to wander and discover the infinite universe of magic, mundane or magnificent, that streets of New York City offer me, and now that I've realized my days here are probably pretty numbered, I feel like I value them all the more. I returned from a few days of fireworks and domesticity with my boyfriend and dragged myself to the gym. I like going on off hours when it's emptier, and I read Rurally Screwed by Jessie Knadler, which seemed particularly appropriate, because we talked about possibly moving to North Carolina, and while that's not necessarily imminent, something went off inside me, the way it does when I know I have to visit somewhere, when he was telling me about the cost of living. I have little desire to live in a barren suburb where there aren't coffeeshops, let alone culture. I love the fact that I was able to run across the street just now, as the rain and lightning started up, to get toilet paper and seltzer from the deli owner who knows that I almost never need a bag. I love that even though I've been a bad bad theatergoer, awaiting me in my inbox are so many options at the tip of my fingertips. I love that I got asked to cover two stories yesterday and one of them has absolutely nothing to do with sex; to me that is the true mark of having "made it" as a writer, though of course I'm aware that back when I was the stupid little law student, naïve about New York, about the world, about myself, basically clueless about anything that mattered, including how the hell to pass her classes, I didn't really think much about branding or bylines or what the fuck I was doing with my career. I'm not sure that I do all that much anymore in that I'm not so strategic in the big picture sense; I'm more about sitting down and banging out the words and studying the market sand trying to figure out where my ideas and experiences can fit.
So back to tonight, after the gym, I was walking through Union Square, on my way to Barnes & Noble ostensibly to buy a magazine I plan to pitch, but really because it's my shopping spiritual escape, my place to run my fingers and gaze over shelves where I could have had my book nestled, and where I someday still might, though for sure a different book. I love being surrounded by so many ideas, and I whip out my iPhone and type notes about cozy mysteries to request at the library, and hope that the spark of inspiration, a snippet of conversation, a cover, an idea, will slip by me. I was also reading Fifty Shades Darker on my phone as I walked, because for whatever reason Kindle for Mac decided that my download no longer exists and rather than wanting to punch myself in the face or taking a hammer to my laptop in the process of removing the book from my device and redownloading it (ah, to have any clue how to do that), I am just going to read it umpteen screens at a time on my phone. I was doing that and walking and all of a sudden a skateboard was very close by and then crashing into me and I fell and my glasses and phone fell with me. My first thought was that I cannot afford new glasses, which is a sign of what happens when you lack both a paycheck and health insurance. The skateboarder and a kind stranger asked if I was okay and I was so happy when I picked up my glasses to see that they were fine that the very minor scrapes on my knees and left palm were nothing. I was a little shaky but kept walking to the bookstore and realized that sometimes, like the last few days, I just want to block out the world, but it wants me here. Yesterday I took an accidental nap, and woke up groggy and angry at myself for wasting time, and then, despite my time wasting, these assignments landed in my inbox, and I realized that life goes on, even when I hate myself and think I won't be able to tackle everything on my to do list and have no idea what the future holds.
So now with the fan blasting on me, back home, which feels increasingly special and cozy the less time I'm here, I'm kindof savoring that slight twinge in my palm as I try to get back to what I was supposed to be doing the last few days. Instead I watched some pretty kickass fireworks and baked kale chips and marshmallow brownies and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and learned how to use a hand mixer and bought a jigsaw puzzle shaped like the state of California, my former home, with all its beaches and jagged edges. I didn't even know they made jigsaw puzzles that weren't rectangular.
I must get back to the ongoing list and get ready for this assignment, I just wanted to write something, anything, which these days I more often put aside, or write and not finish the story, essay, pitch, application, because I'm sure it sucks so why bother. I also bought a new journal tonight, because my old one has a bit of a rocky history and now is in high demand as a holder of important documents, money and assorted papers, so many that to displace them would wreak havoc with what little organizational systems I have. I liked the idea of starting over, starting something new, for no reason other than that I appreciate the idea that every day is not only a gift, but a chance to crack that clean slate and blank page and create something. I forget sometimes that for every awful thing I've ever done and all the messes I've made of my life, I wake up every single day to as many blank pages as I want. I just have to get up and greet them and be ready, slips, falls, mishaps, blocks and all.
Video of "Love Well" by The Royal You. When I heard them sing this live, I definitely gave myself a little reality check about the times I haven't loved well, when I haven't treated the people I care about the way I'd want to be treated. Lately, I have been extremely focused on just trying to survive and prove to myself I can do this ridiculously insane wacky thing called supporting myself as a writer/editor/blogger/miscellaneous creative person. It still seems supremely laughable some days, and exactly what I should be doing on others, but mostly it feels like it requires 24/7 vigilance and attention to potential stories, to reading everything and trying to be everywhere at once, which certainly doesn't make me a great girlfriend, so I'm trying to be a little better about balancing those things. And also that loving well means taking care of and loving myself, too, to the best of my abilities. I'm trying, even when I fall, hard.
[image error]
June 29, 2012
Talking Fifty Shades of Grey, kinky erotica and hotel sex live tonight on Sex Out Loud Radio!
I'm very excited about being on Sex Out Loud Radio live tonight at 5 pm PST/8 pm EST with Tristan Taormino. I've interviewed her probably 5 times for various publications, so I'm curious what she'll want to ask me about Fifty Shades of Grey, kinky erotica, hotel sex and more. I published my very first erotica story, "Monica and Me," in her anthology Best Lesbian Erotica 2001 and more recently, the gay trans male boxing story "Punching Bag" in her Lambda Literary Award winning anthology
Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica
. You can listen here live or after the show (it's recorded) and call in at 866-472-5788. Follow @SexOutLoudRadio on Twitter for show updates.
The last extension of the anal sex erotica anthology, get me your hot stories ASAP
I'm very close to being done but still need a few stories for my anal sex anthology, so if you were planning to write something but didn't have time, now's your chance. Thank you! I still need a few more stories to complete this book, by July 14th, but submissions will be considered on a rolling basis and earlier ones are welcome. I do not need any first time anal sex stories, or any lesbian or gay stories, but would consider bisexual or transgender stories. I am looking for creative settings, scenarios and characters, BDSM stories, anal sex along with other types of sexual activity, threesomes or group stories, masturbation stories, sex toy stories, from butt plugs to use of other types of toys in conjunction with anal sex, and anything out of the ordinary and extremely hot.
Anal Sex Erotica Call for Submissions
To be published by Cleis Press in 2013
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for hot and sexy anal erotica that will inspire those looking to explore backdoor sex. Everything from intercourse to analingus, strap-ons to butt plugs, bondage, spanking, self-pleasure and more. Stories will range from new practitioners of anal sex to seasoned anal lovers, and recipients of anal pleasure of any gender. Final book will contain a variety of scenarios related to anal sexuality. All characters must be over 18; no scat, incest or bestiality. No poetry. Original, unpublished stories only. 2 submissions maximum per author.
How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document (.doc or .docx) with pages numbered OR RTF of 1,500-3,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to analantho at gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. You will receive a confirmation within 72 hours. I will get back to you by November 2012.
Payment: $50 and 2 copies of the book on publication
Deadline: July 14, 2012 (earlier submissions are strongly encouraged and preferred)[image error]
Anal Sex Erotica Call for Submissions
To be published by Cleis Press in 2013
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is looking for hot and sexy anal erotica that will inspire those looking to explore backdoor sex. Everything from intercourse to analingus, strap-ons to butt plugs, bondage, spanking, self-pleasure and more. Stories will range from new practitioners of anal sex to seasoned anal lovers, and recipients of anal pleasure of any gender. Final book will contain a variety of scenarios related to anal sexuality. All characters must be over 18; no scat, incest or bestiality. No poetry. Original, unpublished stories only. 2 submissions maximum per author.
How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document (.doc or .docx) with pages numbered OR RTF of 1,500-3,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to analantho at gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. You will receive a confirmation within 72 hours. I will get back to you by November 2012.
Payment: $50 and 2 copies of the book on publication
Deadline: July 14, 2012 (earlier submissions are strongly encouraged and preferred)[image error]
June 26, 2012
Penis photo sending, age differenct and lust in this week's sex diary
Check out this week's sex diary: The 38-Year-Old Woman Lusting After a Homeless, Jobless 22-Year-Old"" and if you're so inspired to want to write your own, email me at sexdiaries at nymag.com for details. (I'm the editor.)[image error]
June 25, 2012
Sex sex sex diaries
I'm writing because I would love it if you'd pass on my call for sex diarists for the Daily Intel weekly sex diary series to anyone you know who might make a good candidate. You can be single, in a relationship, in New York, not in New York; there's no minimum or maximum amount of sex. Rather, I want you to be able to tell us why you like who and what you like and what a week in your love like looks like. After you've read a few diaries, if you're still interested, email me at sexdiaries at nymag.com and tell me in a few sentences why you would make a good diarist (could be anything from having a thing for redheads to dating two people at once to being back in the dating game after a divorce, to name just three of an infinite possible list of things we're looking for). All diaries are anonymous. Thank you!
