Mickey J. Corrigan's Blog, page 3
March 21, 2014
What? Sex with a Sex Offender?
You may wonder why I chose to write a romance in which the alpha male love interest (a handsome, intelligent, thoughtful man) is a convicted sex offender. Not sexy, right? Well, it's not that simple. Sometimes people are branded as sex offenders who are, in fact, nothing like the stereotype you may have in mind.
The story that inspired me to do some research on the topic was told to me by a friend. His brother in law was accused of harboring child porn on his office computer. When he was arrested, his marriage, career, finances and reputation were quickly destroyed. He ended up committing suicide, yet claimed until the day he died that he had been set up. My friend believed him. An angry employee or client with access to the man's office could have downloaded the material. The material may have been downloaded from a remote location without his knowledge.
That story got me thinking. So I looked into the topic, and some of the cases are startling. For example, the 15 year old boy accused of raping a 14 year old girl. He pled guilty so he wouldn't have to go to an adult prison. After spending more than a year in a juvenile detention center, the boy was released when girl admitted she had invented the rape so her parents wouldn't be mad at her for having sex. Now the young man is unable to remove his name from the sex offender registry. His family has been forced to move several times due to neighborhood harassment. The kid can't go to school because he is not allowed near any school properties.
Other surprising cases abound. Rape "victims" who marry their "rapists" after the girls' parents are no longer able to have the men arrested for seeing their underage daughters. Revenge cases. Mistaken identity. In one chat room I read about the paranoia a man is experiencing because a convicted sex offender with a similar name, age, and build lives nearby. What if the neighborhood confuses the two men? What will the good folks do to him if they believe he is a sex offender?
Like you, I despise the evil creatures who prey on women and children. Sex criminals are sick and dangerous and need to be removed from society. But there are too many instances in which innocent people get sucked into the vortex of inflexible law and public opinion. Some people really do not deserve to be ostracized, punished, branded. This is the kind of situation I decided to write about in my new book Whiskey Sour Noir.
Originally appeared on Romance Reader: http://romancereader-riya.blogspot.co...
The story that inspired me to do some research on the topic was told to me by a friend. His brother in law was accused of harboring child porn on his office computer. When he was arrested, his marriage, career, finances and reputation were quickly destroyed. He ended up committing suicide, yet claimed until the day he died that he had been set up. My friend believed him. An angry employee or client with access to the man's office could have downloaded the material. The material may have been downloaded from a remote location without his knowledge.
That story got me thinking. So I looked into the topic, and some of the cases are startling. For example, the 15 year old boy accused of raping a 14 year old girl. He pled guilty so he wouldn't have to go to an adult prison. After spending more than a year in a juvenile detention center, the boy was released when girl admitted she had invented the rape so her parents wouldn't be mad at her for having sex. Now the young man is unable to remove his name from the sex offender registry. His family has been forced to move several times due to neighborhood harassment. The kid can't go to school because he is not allowed near any school properties.
Other surprising cases abound. Rape "victims" who marry their "rapists" after the girls' parents are no longer able to have the men arrested for seeing their underage daughters. Revenge cases. Mistaken identity. In one chat room I read about the paranoia a man is experiencing because a convicted sex offender with a similar name, age, and build lives nearby. What if the neighborhood confuses the two men? What will the good folks do to him if they believe he is a sex offender?
Like you, I despise the evil creatures who prey on women and children. Sex criminals are sick and dangerous and need to be removed from society. But there are too many instances in which innocent people get sucked into the vortex of inflexible law and public opinion. Some people really do not deserve to be ostracized, punished, branded. This is the kind of situation I decided to write about in my new book Whiskey Sour Noir.
Originally appeared on Romance Reader: http://romancereader-riya.blogspot.co...
March 6, 2014
Indiegogo for Authors
Jake and Kate Perry are into being happy RIGHT NOW. I'm a little too Irish for that sort of thing. Pass the downer whiskey, please. But I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. Anyway, J&K are offering a free sample of the first book in their new series. Check it out and see what they are doing (kinda cool) with Codename: Chimera on Indiegogo:
http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/cod...
http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/cod...
March 1, 2014
Cool new site for authors and readers
My book Sugar Babies is being featured today, Saturday, March 1st, 2014, at eBookSoda, a new readers' site where they'll send you ebook recommendations tailored to your taste. Very cool site. Check it out!
http://www.ebooksoda.com.
http://www.ebooksoda.com.
February 24, 2014
Free Download Cards for Sugar Babies
Hi!
On March 3rd, I'm giving away 10 download cards for my sexy thriller Sugar Babies. If you are one of the 10 to win this raffle, I'll send you a card you can redeem for an ebook. You can pick the format you prefer: PDF, ePub, mobi. I love these cards so I bought a bunch of them to share.
Enter (now) on my website www.mickeyjcorrigan.com
or here to win:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
On March 3rd, I'm giving away 10 download cards for my sexy thriller Sugar Babies. If you are one of the 10 to win this raffle, I'll send you a card you can redeem for an ebook. You can pick the format you prefer: PDF, ePub, mobi. I love these cards so I bought a bunch of them to share.
Enter (now) on my website www.mickeyjcorrigan.com
or here to win:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
February 5, 2014
Old Men, Young Women--Is this Sexism?
Is it off-putting to see a sixty year old man with a twenty-five year old chick on his arm? Is it morally wrong for a grey-haired guy to partner with a bouncy millennial? Or is May-December romance just normal animal behavior?
Philip Roth addresses this hot button subject with great lyricism, deep intensity and in-your-face honesty in his short novel, The Dying Animal. The film version, Elegy, starring Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz, does not deviate from the book. Both are worth your time.
Bur first, read the reviews for the book on Goodreads. Wow. The author is a sexist pig? He's disgusting? His story is just an old goat's fantasy? The protagonist is not believable because he sexualizes a gorgeous younger woman (duh) and successfully takes advantage of her youth (huh?)? There are plenty of five star reviews too, but the haters sure are vehement. Surprisingly so.
Where I live, rich old men are often accompanied around town by much younger arm candy. Maybe some of these men are paying for their escorts. Some are married—and paying in other ways. But the fact is, plenty of older, wealthier, and more successful men take up with young, lovely women. Men are sexual beasts, they're animals, yes, but so are women. The male animal seeks an attractive and willing, fertile partner; the female animal seeks a good provider with good genes. All this is for reproduction purposes, but it's hardwired into us. So most males don't stop looking for sexual partners just because they're…old. And young females don't all say no to attractive, wealthy, and interested potential partners just because they're…decades older.
This natural but uncomfortable biological truth is at the root of many divorces, break-ups, and other heartbreaks. It's a hard truth, and I think Roth presents the male side of this old story with unusual sensitivity and surprising candor. Read The Dying Animal (or watch the film) and see what you think of the aging male character at the end of his tale. I understood more clearly how the male animal thinks. And that could only be a good thing, right?
Philip Roth addresses this hot button subject with great lyricism, deep intensity and in-your-face honesty in his short novel, The Dying Animal. The film version, Elegy, starring Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz, does not deviate from the book. Both are worth your time.
Bur first, read the reviews for the book on Goodreads. Wow. The author is a sexist pig? He's disgusting? His story is just an old goat's fantasy? The protagonist is not believable because he sexualizes a gorgeous younger woman (duh) and successfully takes advantage of her youth (huh?)? There are plenty of five star reviews too, but the haters sure are vehement. Surprisingly so.
Where I live, rich old men are often accompanied around town by much younger arm candy. Maybe some of these men are paying for their escorts. Some are married—and paying in other ways. But the fact is, plenty of older, wealthier, and more successful men take up with young, lovely women. Men are sexual beasts, they're animals, yes, but so are women. The male animal seeks an attractive and willing, fertile partner; the female animal seeks a good provider with good genes. All this is for reproduction purposes, but it's hardwired into us. So most males don't stop looking for sexual partners just because they're…old. And young females don't all say no to attractive, wealthy, and interested potential partners just because they're…decades older.
This natural but uncomfortable biological truth is at the root of many divorces, break-ups, and other heartbreaks. It's a hard truth, and I think Roth presents the male side of this old story with unusual sensitivity and surprising candor. Read The Dying Animal (or watch the film) and see what you think of the aging male character at the end of his tale. I understood more clearly how the male animal thinks. And that could only be a good thing, right?
January 17, 2014
A Little Problem with Ritalin
This woman should win the crappy mother of the year award.
Class Two
We’re in the elevator and Jancy is climbing up the metal wall, using my knee as a stepladder. “Look Mom, I’m rappelling,” she says, bouncing up and down on my thigh.
I want to yell at her but I need her like this.
“Be sure to do that when we get to the doctor’s office,” I tell her. “Climb up the white coat’s leg and jump off.”
She leaps down. “Rappel, you mean.”
We smile at one another. She has vanilla cookie crumbs on her lips and between her crooked teeth. When I straighten her tangled auburn braid, which has loosened so much it looks more like a tassel, she pulls away. The elevator stops and we get out. Jancy skips down the sand-colored hall. She pirouettes, tumbles forward into a handstand, then drops, her face pressed to the dirty floor.
I should run over, see if she’s okay. My hands are sweating, my throat is dry. “Be sure to do that in the white coat’s office,” I tell my daughter when I catch up. I’m standing over her and she’s pretending to breaststroke across the tile. “And show him your awesome backflip, if there’s room.”
She pops up, crawls on all fours for a minute, then jumps to her feet and runs ahead. I feel lightheaded, like I’ve dreamed this before. Jancy darts around, calling over her shoulder, “What’s his name? Which door is it?”
In the indoor-outdoor carpeted waiting room, she builds a tottering Lego tower and hums loudly, tunelessly, aggressively. The other kids shy away from the toy pile, cowering near their smooth-skirted mothers who sit stiffly, skimming old magazines. I chew the insides of my cheeks, taste blood. My fingernails are dirty, gnawed to the quick. I tuck them between my jittering knees.
When the nurse calls us into the inner sanctum, Jancy races ahead, jostling past the doctor’s office staff as she bounces from room to room. She peeks into cubicles, says hello and hiya.
“Please collect your child,” the office manager tells me. She peers at Jancy over the tops of her half-glasses. “Somebody needs her Ritalin.”
My heart leaps and twirls, a ballerina trapped in the rib cage of a liar. “She’s out. That’s why we’re here,” I manage to say, my voice warbling.
To my surprise, Dr. Abal Mendahun is a young woman. She’s pretty, fresh-looking with clean, milk chocolate skin. Her dark hair is wrapped around her head in a thick cord. Jancy says, “Wow. Is your hair down to your butt? Can I see it?”
Dr. Mendahun laughs. “Not today, sweet girl. Now, what is our visit for? School records? Flu shot?”
I give Jancy the slightest chin and she launches into her gymnastics routine, vaulting over a padded stool to lie facedown on the exam table. When the doctor looks at me, I frown, say, “Jancy, please control yourself. Sit up and talk to the doctor.”
Jancy worm-wriggles to the edge of the table, rolls off. On the floor, she assumes the lotus position. Her skinny legs look like folded chopsticks. “We are all one,” she says. “We should look at ourselves outside the drama of our lives.”
“She heard that on Dr. Oz,” I tell the doctor.
Actually, I’m not sure this is true. I’m sweating and the room spins, so I sit down in the folding chair in the corner. Usually I stand throughout these visits, nervous, waiting to get caught, accused, arrested, and outed for what I am. But it never happens.
“What is she taking?” Dr. Mendahun asks.
I rattle off today’s cover story. “When we lived in Dayton, her pediatrician put her on Adderall. We moved to Boston and they gave her Quillivant XR. We’ve been in Miami for almost a year, and it’s been a while since I filled the prescription. We ran out weeks ago, and her father . . . Well, we have no health insurance.” My voice shakes. I want to scream, Just write out the fucking prescription, bitch. I hold my breath.
The doctor lifts one smooth eyebrow, nods. A cool customer. She’s seen it all before. She pets Jancy’s head and asks her to disrobe. There will be a physical exam, some lab tests, then I will get my Ritalin.
Soon I will feel so much better. I’ll be calm, filled with serene energy. I will be the kind of mother my daughter deserves.
***
Originally published as part of the series Thursdaze, online stories about drug use from the daring independent publisher Akashic Press. Read the other interesting stories in the series here:
http://www.akashicbooks.com/category/...
Class Two
We’re in the elevator and Jancy is climbing up the metal wall, using my knee as a stepladder. “Look Mom, I’m rappelling,” she says, bouncing up and down on my thigh.
I want to yell at her but I need her like this.
“Be sure to do that when we get to the doctor’s office,” I tell her. “Climb up the white coat’s leg and jump off.”
She leaps down. “Rappel, you mean.”
We smile at one another. She has vanilla cookie crumbs on her lips and between her crooked teeth. When I straighten her tangled auburn braid, which has loosened so much it looks more like a tassel, she pulls away. The elevator stops and we get out. Jancy skips down the sand-colored hall. She pirouettes, tumbles forward into a handstand, then drops, her face pressed to the dirty floor.
I should run over, see if she’s okay. My hands are sweating, my throat is dry. “Be sure to do that in the white coat’s office,” I tell my daughter when I catch up. I’m standing over her and she’s pretending to breaststroke across the tile. “And show him your awesome backflip, if there’s room.”
She pops up, crawls on all fours for a minute, then jumps to her feet and runs ahead. I feel lightheaded, like I’ve dreamed this before. Jancy darts around, calling over her shoulder, “What’s his name? Which door is it?”
In the indoor-outdoor carpeted waiting room, she builds a tottering Lego tower and hums loudly, tunelessly, aggressively. The other kids shy away from the toy pile, cowering near their smooth-skirted mothers who sit stiffly, skimming old magazines. I chew the insides of my cheeks, taste blood. My fingernails are dirty, gnawed to the quick. I tuck them between my jittering knees.
When the nurse calls us into the inner sanctum, Jancy races ahead, jostling past the doctor’s office staff as she bounces from room to room. She peeks into cubicles, says hello and hiya.
“Please collect your child,” the office manager tells me. She peers at Jancy over the tops of her half-glasses. “Somebody needs her Ritalin.”
My heart leaps and twirls, a ballerina trapped in the rib cage of a liar. “She’s out. That’s why we’re here,” I manage to say, my voice warbling.
To my surprise, Dr. Abal Mendahun is a young woman. She’s pretty, fresh-looking with clean, milk chocolate skin. Her dark hair is wrapped around her head in a thick cord. Jancy says, “Wow. Is your hair down to your butt? Can I see it?”
Dr. Mendahun laughs. “Not today, sweet girl. Now, what is our visit for? School records? Flu shot?”
I give Jancy the slightest chin and she launches into her gymnastics routine, vaulting over a padded stool to lie facedown on the exam table. When the doctor looks at me, I frown, say, “Jancy, please control yourself. Sit up and talk to the doctor.”
Jancy worm-wriggles to the edge of the table, rolls off. On the floor, she assumes the lotus position. Her skinny legs look like folded chopsticks. “We are all one,” she says. “We should look at ourselves outside the drama of our lives.”
“She heard that on Dr. Oz,” I tell the doctor.
Actually, I’m not sure this is true. I’m sweating and the room spins, so I sit down in the folding chair in the corner. Usually I stand throughout these visits, nervous, waiting to get caught, accused, arrested, and outed for what I am. But it never happens.
“What is she taking?” Dr. Mendahun asks.
I rattle off today’s cover story. “When we lived in Dayton, her pediatrician put her on Adderall. We moved to Boston and they gave her Quillivant XR. We’ve been in Miami for almost a year, and it’s been a while since I filled the prescription. We ran out weeks ago, and her father . . . Well, we have no health insurance.” My voice shakes. I want to scream, Just write out the fucking prescription, bitch. I hold my breath.
The doctor lifts one smooth eyebrow, nods. A cool customer. She’s seen it all before. She pets Jancy’s head and asks her to disrobe. There will be a physical exam, some lab tests, then I will get my Ritalin.
Soon I will feel so much better. I’ll be calm, filled with serene energy. I will be the kind of mother my daughter deserves.
***
Originally published as part of the series Thursdaze, online stories about drug use from the daring independent publisher Akashic Press. Read the other interesting stories in the series here:
http://www.akashicbooks.com/category/...
December 11, 2013
What about the All-American Anti-heroine?
Am I the only one who likes super bad girls in fiction and film?
My stories tend to feature protagonists who are not upstanding citizens. Usually, my heroines are badly behaved with loose, if any, morals and callously self-interested agendas. They are out for themselves and will do what is necessary to get what they want.
You don’t have to like them. But you might admire their gutsy approach to life. I do.
Why? Because they dare to behave in ways I can only imagine (and do imagine when I am writing about them). These are women who behave like men. They are ruthless, they take risks, they indulge in postmodern sexual abandon, they are flawlessly tough. No hiding out, no wimping out, these chicks are super bitches.
I only wish I could be so hardboiled.
Not all the time. I like having a heart. But sometimes. Especially when it would work in my favor to think of me first, me second, me me me. We women are raised to put everyone else’s needs first. But what if we didn’t choose to behave this way? What might our lives be like?
This is why I am fascinated by such iconic characters as the brilliantly crazy CIA agent Carrie Mathison (Claire Danes) in "Homeland" and the caustic and dangerous lawyer Patty Hewes (Glenn Close) in "Damages." Uma Thurman’s role in Kill Bill. Jackie Brown. And who doesn't admire the sizzling and seductive liar played by a sultry Kathleen Turner in Body Heat?
But the ultimate bad news bitch is Linda Fiorentino’s character in The Last Seduction. She’s the best female sociopath I’ve ever seen on screen. No conscience, no nice girl attributes, no compunctions, no guilt. Sexy, mean, and totally, mindblowingly irresistible, she can get any man to do anything she desires. She makes her unbound smolder and cold heart work for her.
And only for her.
The movie is a must-see. Darkly comic, steamy, and with a twisting plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat, this 1994 film by John Dahl is a cult classic in an often overlooked genre: chick noir. And Linda Fiorentino is fantastic in the role of dark (dark dark) seductress.
The plot is complicated. A simplified summary would be: Bridget (Fiorentino) convinces her medical resident husband Clay (Bill Pullman) to steal and deal pharmaceuticals. After he almost gets killed, she splits with the money, leaving him to face the angry loan sharks. She hides out in a small town near Buffalo, where she taps gullible local guy (Peter Berg) for her next con.
Best thing about the character: She never says please or thank you. She just doesn’t give a shit what people think of her.
Best line in the movie: when her lawyer (J.T. Walsh) asks, “Anyone check you for a heartbeat lately?”
Please understand: I’m not saying I would want to befriend this character. Women like her are dangerous. They can be lethal. They are relatively rare. Which is a good thing. But you might want to think about this: maybe the gritty girls have a few things to teach us good girls about taking control of our own lives. Going after what we desire. And never, never saying please and thank you. Unless we mean it.
This is a guest post originally featured on Momentum Moonlight: (http://momentummoonlight.com/blog/the...).
My stories tend to feature protagonists who are not upstanding citizens. Usually, my heroines are badly behaved with loose, if any, morals and callously self-interested agendas. They are out for themselves and will do what is necessary to get what they want.
You don’t have to like them. But you might admire their gutsy approach to life. I do.
Why? Because they dare to behave in ways I can only imagine (and do imagine when I am writing about them). These are women who behave like men. They are ruthless, they take risks, they indulge in postmodern sexual abandon, they are flawlessly tough. No hiding out, no wimping out, these chicks are super bitches.
I only wish I could be so hardboiled.
Not all the time. I like having a heart. But sometimes. Especially when it would work in my favor to think of me first, me second, me me me. We women are raised to put everyone else’s needs first. But what if we didn’t choose to behave this way? What might our lives be like?
This is why I am fascinated by such iconic characters as the brilliantly crazy CIA agent Carrie Mathison (Claire Danes) in "Homeland" and the caustic and dangerous lawyer Patty Hewes (Glenn Close) in "Damages." Uma Thurman’s role in Kill Bill. Jackie Brown. And who doesn't admire the sizzling and seductive liar played by a sultry Kathleen Turner in Body Heat?
But the ultimate bad news bitch is Linda Fiorentino’s character in The Last Seduction. She’s the best female sociopath I’ve ever seen on screen. No conscience, no nice girl attributes, no compunctions, no guilt. Sexy, mean, and totally, mindblowingly irresistible, she can get any man to do anything she desires. She makes her unbound smolder and cold heart work for her.
And only for her.
The movie is a must-see. Darkly comic, steamy, and with a twisting plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat, this 1994 film by John Dahl is a cult classic in an often overlooked genre: chick noir. And Linda Fiorentino is fantastic in the role of dark (dark dark) seductress.
The plot is complicated. A simplified summary would be: Bridget (Fiorentino) convinces her medical resident husband Clay (Bill Pullman) to steal and deal pharmaceuticals. After he almost gets killed, she splits with the money, leaving him to face the angry loan sharks. She hides out in a small town near Buffalo, where she taps gullible local guy (Peter Berg) for her next con.
Best thing about the character: She never says please or thank you. She just doesn’t give a shit what people think of her.
Best line in the movie: when her lawyer (J.T. Walsh) asks, “Anyone check you for a heartbeat lately?”
Please understand: I’m not saying I would want to befriend this character. Women like her are dangerous. They can be lethal. They are relatively rare. Which is a good thing. But you might want to think about this: maybe the gritty girls have a few things to teach us good girls about taking control of our own lives. Going after what we desire. And never, never saying please and thank you. Unless we mean it.
This is a guest post originally featured on Momentum Moonlight: (http://momentummoonlight.com/blog/the...).
October 26, 2013
Paying Off College Loans with Sex on a Salary
If the definition of prostitution were as simple as trading sex for payment, then sugar baby/sugar daddy arrangements would be illegal in most of the U. S. However, this is not the case. Cash for sex acts is the active definition, leaving room for other financially motivated sexual relationships. Which is why increasing numbers of college students desperate to pay for tuition and recent grads with low-paying jobs and insurmountable debt are turning to the sugar world for income. Being someone's part-time girlfriend (or boyfriend) for a fee has become an easy, accessible, and financially rewarding option. And legally at least, this kind of employment is not considered prostitution.
These days, the average college grad finishes school with more than $25,000 of unpaid debt. Saddled with loans and unable to find jobs that pay a decent wage, college kids are finding creative ways to deal with their financial burdens. Some young people are becoming sugar babies to avoid moving back in with their parents, to help support the single lifestyle, and to supplement low income positions. Heavy debt is at the root of the problem as morality is replaced with practicality.
Entering the sugar-sweet world of professional dating is easy. The combination of high college tuition, low employment for twenty-somethings, and modern technology has resulted in a plethora of websites that promise to help students looking for wealthy benefactors. The combination of young female (or male) and rich older man is nothing new. What is new is the ease of making this happen due to the ready accessibility of digital opportunities. The anonymity provided by online matchmaking makes the process of becoming a paid companion less threatening and, for some, fun and exciting.
One of the top sugar baby hookup sites has more than 800,000 members, and those numbers are rising rapidly. Most members are young women looking for economic aid from high net-worth men. College students are given extra assistance and are deemed more desirable by potential sugar daddies. This is because coeds are assumed to be intelligent and innocent, in need of guidance as well as financial support. Sugar daddies may think they are helping young women to make the most of themselves, viewing the arrangement as a kind of My Fair Lady relationship. Some men prefer college girls because they are looking for an intellectual as well as a sexual arrangement, but if they go to bars and parties seeking coeds, they are dismissed as dirty old men. In the sugar world, the dirty geezer is magically transformed into a desirable business partner.
Why would a pretty, bright, educated girl (or boy) become a paid date? Because the pay is good. Very good. And the hours are short. Very short. And the rules are agreed upon in advance. In a professional arrangement, sugar babies can state their demands (how much money is required per week for how much time spent together, what sexual acts will and will not be included). Then, unless the potential sugar daddy agrees to the sugar baby's requirements, there is no sex, no date, no relationship. No need to go out several times to figure out that it won't work. Everything is on the table at the first meeting. If it's a no go, the sugar baby moves on to the next wealthy man looking for companionship. In cities like New York, L.A., and Miami, the opportunities are vast. Some sugar daddies will fly their babies into town, or send them around to various cities for romantic meetings. No need to date local.
A recent grad from a top Ivy League unversity told me she knew girls funding their education this way. These coeds worked with more than one sugar daddy at a time, and they were using the extra income for clothing, spa treatments, and travel. The attitude was, why give it away for free to college boys when a gentleman with money is willing to pay for it?
Morality has shifted. A job is a job, and the best ones pay well for easy work.
So, are sugar babies sex workers? Most college coeds are not drug addicts who walk dark streets in search of a quick exchange of cash for sex. They do not work for pimps, they are not oppressed and are free to break off any arrangement that does not suit their personal needs. Still, the work is sex and the pay depends on it. Even though the arrangement is legal because payment is not direct and immediate (most sugar babies receive weekly "allowances"), the work may be closer to prostitution than sugar babies like to think. And if the arrangement allows them to lead a lavish lifestyle without much nose to the grindstone, the long-term effect on a young person's attitude toward work and career can be significant. Also worth considering is the psychological effect of leading a double life. After all, who do sugar babies tell about their unusual source of income? Do parents know? Friends? Lovers? The excitement and novelty can be addicting, but distancing. It can change a young person's self-image, their future plans, their views on life.
"We are what we pretend to be," Kurt Vonnegut declared. This may be the biggest, darkest danger of the sugar baby lifestyle. A college student participates for some quick money, or on a lark, or out of sheer desperation. The role defines her, and it becomes harder and harder to step away. By the time she (or he) nears thirty, however, the work dwindles. Opportunities fade. Then what?
Trading sex for a salary may seem like a convenient way to pay your way through the lean times, but the long-term ramifications can be life changing. We need to question a culture that promises a college education to every student, only to leave young people weighted down with debt they cannot pay off. There must be a better way for young people who are working to better themselves and their future prospects.
This is, of course, just my opinion. But the subculture is fascinating, which is why I explored the sugar world in my new novel Sugar Babies (Champagne Books, November 4, 2013). I'd love to hear what you think about the subject.
These days, the average college grad finishes school with more than $25,000 of unpaid debt. Saddled with loans and unable to find jobs that pay a decent wage, college kids are finding creative ways to deal with their financial burdens. Some young people are becoming sugar babies to avoid moving back in with their parents, to help support the single lifestyle, and to supplement low income positions. Heavy debt is at the root of the problem as morality is replaced with practicality.
Entering the sugar-sweet world of professional dating is easy. The combination of high college tuition, low employment for twenty-somethings, and modern technology has resulted in a plethora of websites that promise to help students looking for wealthy benefactors. The combination of young female (or male) and rich older man is nothing new. What is new is the ease of making this happen due to the ready accessibility of digital opportunities. The anonymity provided by online matchmaking makes the process of becoming a paid companion less threatening and, for some, fun and exciting.
One of the top sugar baby hookup sites has more than 800,000 members, and those numbers are rising rapidly. Most members are young women looking for economic aid from high net-worth men. College students are given extra assistance and are deemed more desirable by potential sugar daddies. This is because coeds are assumed to be intelligent and innocent, in need of guidance as well as financial support. Sugar daddies may think they are helping young women to make the most of themselves, viewing the arrangement as a kind of My Fair Lady relationship. Some men prefer college girls because they are looking for an intellectual as well as a sexual arrangement, but if they go to bars and parties seeking coeds, they are dismissed as dirty old men. In the sugar world, the dirty geezer is magically transformed into a desirable business partner.
Why would a pretty, bright, educated girl (or boy) become a paid date? Because the pay is good. Very good. And the hours are short. Very short. And the rules are agreed upon in advance. In a professional arrangement, sugar babies can state their demands (how much money is required per week for how much time spent together, what sexual acts will and will not be included). Then, unless the potential sugar daddy agrees to the sugar baby's requirements, there is no sex, no date, no relationship. No need to go out several times to figure out that it won't work. Everything is on the table at the first meeting. If it's a no go, the sugar baby moves on to the next wealthy man looking for companionship. In cities like New York, L.A., and Miami, the opportunities are vast. Some sugar daddies will fly their babies into town, or send them around to various cities for romantic meetings. No need to date local.
A recent grad from a top Ivy League unversity told me she knew girls funding their education this way. These coeds worked with more than one sugar daddy at a time, and they were using the extra income for clothing, spa treatments, and travel. The attitude was, why give it away for free to college boys when a gentleman with money is willing to pay for it?
Morality has shifted. A job is a job, and the best ones pay well for easy work.
So, are sugar babies sex workers? Most college coeds are not drug addicts who walk dark streets in search of a quick exchange of cash for sex. They do not work for pimps, they are not oppressed and are free to break off any arrangement that does not suit their personal needs. Still, the work is sex and the pay depends on it. Even though the arrangement is legal because payment is not direct and immediate (most sugar babies receive weekly "allowances"), the work may be closer to prostitution than sugar babies like to think. And if the arrangement allows them to lead a lavish lifestyle without much nose to the grindstone, the long-term effect on a young person's attitude toward work and career can be significant. Also worth considering is the psychological effect of leading a double life. After all, who do sugar babies tell about their unusual source of income? Do parents know? Friends? Lovers? The excitement and novelty can be addicting, but distancing. It can change a young person's self-image, their future plans, their views on life.
"We are what we pretend to be," Kurt Vonnegut declared. This may be the biggest, darkest danger of the sugar baby lifestyle. A college student participates for some quick money, or on a lark, or out of sheer desperation. The role defines her, and it becomes harder and harder to step away. By the time she (or he) nears thirty, however, the work dwindles. Opportunities fade. Then what?
Trading sex for a salary may seem like a convenient way to pay your way through the lean times, but the long-term ramifications can be life changing. We need to question a culture that promises a college education to every student, only to leave young people weighted down with debt they cannot pay off. There must be a better way for young people who are working to better themselves and their future prospects.
This is, of course, just my opinion. But the subculture is fascinating, which is why I explored the sugar world in my new novel Sugar Babies (Champagne Books, November 4, 2013). I'd love to hear what you think about the subject.
October 6, 2013
What about Romance for Older Adults?
In the new movie Enough Said, a middle-aged masseuse whose daughter is about to go off to college falls for an overweight single dad. Their love affair is rocky, fun and so human, full of humor and tender moments as well as screw ups and awkwardness. He's too fat, her feet are ugly. She's not that attracted to him, he's hurt when she teases. Their dialogue is hilarious, and so real—including when they talk about being older adults facing the empty nest and a potentially loveless home. "We'll need to take up hobbies," they tell one another, with knowing smirks.
Right. Hobbies.
I'm a huge fan of director Nicole Holofcener because she likes to explore girly terrain without being either militant in her feminism or angry at the masculine. And she likes middle-aged characters. Who love one another. And are sexy about it--without the wild gymnastics typical of Hollywood romance.
What about watching James Gandolfini get it on with Julia Louis-Dreyfus? Is that a turn on or are they not the sort of lovers we want to watch onscreen? Maybe because I'm over…forty, I found their bed scenes hot and sweet. Like a perfectly baked apple. Tasteful, but not sickening, not overdone.
So, what about romance novels in which the protagonists are over forty? Over fifty-five? Over sixty-five? Maybe this is a bad subject for a blog post. Possibly you're thinking you don't want to read the rest. Ick, who wants to read about golden oldies having sex? Gag.
But wait. Most of us have read or read about New Adult fiction, right? You know, those books for readers who were hooked on YA fiction but are older now, yet still buying novels with characters their own age. Many kids who grew up reading Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket still want to feel the captivating love for a series and its characters. Only they are adults now so they want some lust, some sex, maybe a lot of lusty sex, and a plot that resonates for them. New Adult readers are no longer under eighteen, dealing with high school bullies or mean girls. Instead, these twenty-somethings are focused on getting jobs, trying to pay the rent, and finding love. They read books about characters facing these same hurdles.
So here's my question: what about the other end of the spectrum? What about those of us who are past the young adult stage, past the new adult stage, maybe even past the adult stage and too rapidly approaching the older adult phase of life? Our own kids are leaving or they're already out of the house and our marriages are still solid. Or not. Maybe we're looking for love, or recovering from a bad one. Mourning the loss of a lover or spouse. Whatever our circumstances, whatever our age, hey: we need romance too. Maybe we'd like to read romances featuring heroes and heroines over the age of twenty-nine. Or sixty-nine.
I've written a couple of romance novellas like this. Professional Grievers and Me Go Mango. I will be honest here and say: sales are not brisk. I think it's a shame because personally? I do like to read about people over forty falling in love. I'm curious to know what it's like to be a fifty-something year old guy who has lost the love of his life. Or a woman with grown kids who has a wild fling with a middle-aged stranger. And I enjoy reading about characters older than my kids.
I loved Enough Said. James Gandolfini? Yum.
What about you? Let me know what you think on the subject. I'd love to hear your opinion.
Right. Hobbies.
I'm a huge fan of director Nicole Holofcener because she likes to explore girly terrain without being either militant in her feminism or angry at the masculine. And she likes middle-aged characters. Who love one another. And are sexy about it--without the wild gymnastics typical of Hollywood romance.
What about watching James Gandolfini get it on with Julia Louis-Dreyfus? Is that a turn on or are they not the sort of lovers we want to watch onscreen? Maybe because I'm over…forty, I found their bed scenes hot and sweet. Like a perfectly baked apple. Tasteful, but not sickening, not overdone.
So, what about romance novels in which the protagonists are over forty? Over fifty-five? Over sixty-five? Maybe this is a bad subject for a blog post. Possibly you're thinking you don't want to read the rest. Ick, who wants to read about golden oldies having sex? Gag.
But wait. Most of us have read or read about New Adult fiction, right? You know, those books for readers who were hooked on YA fiction but are older now, yet still buying novels with characters their own age. Many kids who grew up reading Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket still want to feel the captivating love for a series and its characters. Only they are adults now so they want some lust, some sex, maybe a lot of lusty sex, and a plot that resonates for them. New Adult readers are no longer under eighteen, dealing with high school bullies or mean girls. Instead, these twenty-somethings are focused on getting jobs, trying to pay the rent, and finding love. They read books about characters facing these same hurdles.
So here's my question: what about the other end of the spectrum? What about those of us who are past the young adult stage, past the new adult stage, maybe even past the adult stage and too rapidly approaching the older adult phase of life? Our own kids are leaving or they're already out of the house and our marriages are still solid. Or not. Maybe we're looking for love, or recovering from a bad one. Mourning the loss of a lover or spouse. Whatever our circumstances, whatever our age, hey: we need romance too. Maybe we'd like to read romances featuring heroes and heroines over the age of twenty-nine. Or sixty-nine.
I've written a couple of romance novellas like this. Professional Grievers and Me Go Mango. I will be honest here and say: sales are not brisk. I think it's a shame because personally? I do like to read about people over forty falling in love. I'm curious to know what it's like to be a fifty-something year old guy who has lost the love of his life. Or a woman with grown kids who has a wild fling with a middle-aged stranger. And I enjoy reading about characters older than my kids.
I loved Enough Said. James Gandolfini? Yum.
What about you? Let me know what you think on the subject. I'd love to hear your opinion.
September 5, 2013
My publisher went poof...
What happens if your publisher decides to close up shop?
Ever wonder what you might do if your publisher suddenly took a powder? Well, I just found out the hard way that when you lose a publisher overnight, you end up in a wild scramble to keep your book alive. All those reviews you've worked so hard to get? The nice numbers on Amazon? The gorgeous cover your publisher's art department provided? Monies owed in royalties? Poof. Gone. All gone.
Well, maybe not all the money. In my case, the publisher has promised to pay authors any debts…for a few months. But since third party retailers no longer carry the book, sales numbers are not going to be very good. And when the publisher takes down the website (any day now, for my situation), sales will cease.
What's an author to do? There are several options and I contemplated each carefully. One would have been to reissue the book myself. In order to so that, I would have needed to apply for the ISBN under my name, learn how to self-publish the book, and design a new cover. This would be a whole new process for me, non-geek that I am, and potential sales would slip past while I was fumbling about.
Choice two was to let the book disappear with the idea that I might resuscitate it at a later date. Thinking about doing this just made me sad. People had spent their precious time reading and reviewing the book. It was enjoyed, readers found it to be fun, and funny. I'd even created a kooky book trailer for it. Plus, I liked the story. So I didn’t want to put it on a shelf.
Choice three was to look for a suitable publisher who might scoop up a new title (the book had been released only three months earlier) and offer me a new contract. No harm in looking, right? So I went for door number three, despite being in the middle of editing several other books to be released by publishers over the next few months. Yeah, I was busy. But I wanted to keep my book alive. So I asked one of the publishers I was working with if they might like to consider adopting my little orphan book.
Fortunately, they said sure—and they loved it. They jumped on the project and within a week or so had redesigned the cover, copyedited (to make the text suit their style without changing any content), and prepared for a re-launch. I contacted book bloggers planning to review the original and those who already had. All were wonderful, offering me space for cover reveals, interviews, and new reviews.
Talk about happy endings. HEA for Geekus Interruptus.
So, if your publisher decides to go walkabout, don't freak out. Weigh your options, and look around. Another publisher may snap up your book. And if you have the good fortune I've had, your new cover will be cuter, the text tighter, and the response from readers just as good—or even better.
Check out Geekus Interruptus (Bottom Drawer Publications, September 15, 2013) and let me know what you think.
Ever wonder what you might do if your publisher suddenly took a powder? Well, I just found out the hard way that when you lose a publisher overnight, you end up in a wild scramble to keep your book alive. All those reviews you've worked so hard to get? The nice numbers on Amazon? The gorgeous cover your publisher's art department provided? Monies owed in royalties? Poof. Gone. All gone.
Well, maybe not all the money. In my case, the publisher has promised to pay authors any debts…for a few months. But since third party retailers no longer carry the book, sales numbers are not going to be very good. And when the publisher takes down the website (any day now, for my situation), sales will cease.
What's an author to do? There are several options and I contemplated each carefully. One would have been to reissue the book myself. In order to so that, I would have needed to apply for the ISBN under my name, learn how to self-publish the book, and design a new cover. This would be a whole new process for me, non-geek that I am, and potential sales would slip past while I was fumbling about.
Choice two was to let the book disappear with the idea that I might resuscitate it at a later date. Thinking about doing this just made me sad. People had spent their precious time reading and reviewing the book. It was enjoyed, readers found it to be fun, and funny. I'd even created a kooky book trailer for it. Plus, I liked the story. So I didn’t want to put it on a shelf.
Choice three was to look for a suitable publisher who might scoop up a new title (the book had been released only three months earlier) and offer me a new contract. No harm in looking, right? So I went for door number three, despite being in the middle of editing several other books to be released by publishers over the next few months. Yeah, I was busy. But I wanted to keep my book alive. So I asked one of the publishers I was working with if they might like to consider adopting my little orphan book.
Fortunately, they said sure—and they loved it. They jumped on the project and within a week or so had redesigned the cover, copyedited (to make the text suit their style without changing any content), and prepared for a re-launch. I contacted book bloggers planning to review the original and those who already had. All were wonderful, offering me space for cover reveals, interviews, and new reviews.
Talk about happy endings. HEA for Geekus Interruptus.
So, if your publisher decides to go walkabout, don't freak out. Weigh your options, and look around. Another publisher may snap up your book. And if you have the good fortune I've had, your new cover will be cuter, the text tighter, and the response from readers just as good—or even better.
Check out Geekus Interruptus (Bottom Drawer Publications, September 15, 2013) and let me know what you think.
