R.J. Blain's Blog, page 73

Methods of Novel Writing: A Detailed Look at Process

Yesterday, I wrote about how two of my novel projects differed in process method. I’m going to take this a bit further and show you some more of the specifics of my novel writing process. I’m going to use Project Zeta, one of the science fiction novels I’m planning on finishing this year, and Blood Diamond.

Project Zeta is a bit over halfway written in a Moleskine journal. Fun Fact: My dream job would involve testing all of the Moleskine journals.

Blood Diamond is also being written in a Moleskine journal–the same model and color as Project Zeta, actually.

To get this party started, I’m going to show you a photograph of Project Zeta’s first page in journal and then I will share the unedited transcription with you.

While you’re reading the transcription, you will notice a lot of substantial changes between what I wrote by hand and what ended up on the computer. I cut out things, I added new things, I changed up some other things, and generally mashed up what I had on the page and what was in my head.

Chapter One

Athene wished her mother had named her Phoenix so she might rise from Earth’s ashes and be reborn among the stars. Of the fifty geologists and volcanologists ‘recruited’ to plant sensors on the edge of the world’s most dangerous volcano, she was the only one there by choice. She could hear the other scientists whisper about their cursed fortune and how they’d been robbed of their chance to board one of the twenty-four colony ships preparing to venture into the vast unknowns of space.

It was hard not to voice her disgust at their laments. If they had been worthy of the Project ships, they would be training for life in space and exploring new words. But like her, they weren’t.

Unlike them, however, she would face off against Yellowstone, and no matter what the costs were, she would win. She would find proof that the volcano was going to erupt again, and she’d do so in time to save the shuttles destined for space. If she didn’t, twenty-four dead ships would float in orbit for all eternity, empty of those who were supposed to flee the dying Earth.

Her future, what was left of it, was on Yellowstone, and she would face it with pride and dignity. Athene would die along with the rest of life on Earth, that much she knew for certain. Her dream always ended the same way, with her watching as the shuttles attempting to escape the atmosphere were destroyed by ejecta. Yellowstone’s eruption would only signal the end of Earth. One by one, Earth’s weakened plates would break apart. It would begin with the charred ruins of North America, rippling to the rest of the planet, until Sumatra’s fault ripped open, unleashing the world’s most dangerous beast. It would be Toba’s fury that would steal the lives of her mother and sister, unless Athene definitively proved eruption was eminent.

Her dreams always came true, and that frightened her far more than the inevitability of her death.

Lifting her chin, Athene awaited her fate in cold and proud silence. The other scientists prattled, fluttering about in their fear. They were older; they should have been the ones standing still, preserving their dignity. As the youngest, and as the only woman in the room, she shouldn’t have been the one setting an example. Maybe in a few years, if she hadn’t already been blacklisted, she would have been good enough to ensure placement on a ship, but time had run out.

In her dreams, she’d always, always been fifteen, and her dreams always came true. In less than twenty-four hours, Earth would die.

Athene drew a deep breath. The gray-tinged lounge, which smelled of smoke and ash, was her battlefield. Her opponents were men, all of them older than her, but she would win the war. She wouldn’t draw the cursed short straw, she’d claim it and make it her own. She’d prove being small, agile, and fit was more than sufficient compensation for her age.

Then again, Athene doubted the washed-out failures with her had any real experience at all. She’d been the first to dare approach the newly awakened Pilanesberg to watch it burn. When Antarctica had melted away to reveal a writhing mass of lava, she’d walked across the hardening caps and lived to tell the tale.

On her back, an oxygen tank lasted longer. Under her feet, the cooling lava flows were less likely to break. Her hands wouldn’t shake when she set the meters and checked the readings. Her courage wouldn’t fail under the weight of her inevitable death. She’d already been forged in the flames of other volcanoes. Yellowstone was bigger, but with her skills and her experience, she would reach the caldera and prove, once and for all, it stirred and would soon erupt.

And unlike the hundred or more before her, she wouldn’t fail. She wouldn’t make it back, but even if she had to send false readings from the heart of the best, the shuttles would escape Earth, carrying her mother and sister to safety. If her dream came true, it’d be her fault, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.

Athene swallowed, balling her hands into fists. Failure wasn’t an option. The escape shuttles wouldn’t fly until the ignorant bureaucrats were satisfied that either Toba or Yellowstone would erupt. Toba slept, of that she was certain; she’d been in charge of the surveying crew stationed at the dormant volcano’s caldera.

It’s also worth noting that I have made notes in the margins with my thoughts on the story, where I wanted to go with some elements, and what I think needed expansion.

This is supposed to be a science fiction, but being perfectly honest, it’s an exploratory Space Opera. Facts are present–and quite a few of them–but there is liberal amounts of bullshitting. I wanted to tell a fun story. If you’re looking for hard science fiction, I recommend looking the other direction now.

So, how did the hand written piece become what was transcribed?

Draft Zero to Draft One Process

My handwriting is typically what I refer to as my draft zero. It’s when I take my thoughts and try to turn them into something coherent. When I write free form, or pantsing to those who prefer that term, I vomit out whatever thoughts are in my head. The result is the sort of thing you see above.

When I take what I have written by hand and put it into the computer, I think about what my goal may have been when I was handwriting and I apply it to what I think my goals for the scene should have been. That’s how I roll. When I plot, rework characters, or otherwise try to improve a story, I am taking what I already have and trying to make it better.

Making changes for the sake of making changes isn’t an improvement–if I’m making a change, I need to justify it to myself.

It’s the same basic thought process I use when I recommend changes for a client. A change for the sake of change isn’t a good change; substantial improvement needs to support the necessity of a change.

Editing While Drafting

When I’m writing by hand, I limit how much I edit. I take notes in margins, or I take notes on a sheet of paper and slip it into the journal. I make a change moving forward, jotting down when that change needs to start in the book.

During transcription, I fix all of those little things that bothered me when I was drafting.

This is something I do regardless of whether I’m pantsing or plotting. Plotting doesn’t prevent this from happening. All plotting does is cut out a draft for me, essentially.

Blood Diamond’s Process

Blood Diamond was plotted almost a year ago. Project Zeta is completely pantsed, including the research, which has been done completely on a ‘as needed’ basis.

To begin, here is an image of the first page of Blood Diamond’s outline. It’s worth noting that substantial changes have been made to this. To illustrate what stayed and what was changed, I’m highlighting this. Green means stayed, Orange means gone/changed.

The green post it notes are covering some major spoilers.

After the outline, you’ll find the handwritten page, followed by the equivalent page transcribed into the computer.

Chapter One

The world was full of corpses, and I, Emmett Jackson, knew them by name. Unfortunately for me, my brother knew I knew.

That’d teach me to tell my twin any of my secrets.

When he had asked for my help, waiting on my doorstep when I had gotten home from work, I hadn’t expected him to call me in to be the getaway driver of an Inquisition field operation—let alone one dangerous enough to warrant my brother’s armored truck. He’d been spinning the keys around his finger with a smug smile, knowing he had me dead to rights when he told me I’d be driving. I doubted the red-painted, tempting seductress of a monstrosity could be eliminated by anything short of a missile or a tank. Even if someone wanted to blast their way in, they’d need a ladder to reach the door. I wasn’t small, not at six foot three, and I had needed the step rail and the roll bar to climb in. The rest of the team had needed me to give them a hand.

Maybe my brother hadn’t wanted me to play getaway driver, but as a way to make certain the Inquisitors could get into the Red Beast without needing a ladder.

I drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. I should have refused him and the lure of driving his absurd, stupid truck. I should have told him I’d do a stint in the Inquisition headquarters shuffling papers and naming dead people instead of pretending I was trained for field operations.

Drumming my hands against the leather wheel—probably the only normal thing in the truck—I waited. The manila envelope on the dashboard mocked me, reflecting in the windshield as I watched the darkening forest for any signs of the team’s return. Once I opened it, I’d know more about the operation and its Inquisitors than I wanted. I’d know the names and faces of the dead, and if my bad luck held, I’d get a glimpse of their last moments.

The remnants of spirits were vindictive like that.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the top of the wheel. My brother had been in enough of a hurry to get me into his truck and onto the road that I hadn’t had time to change out of my suit. Combat boots, fatigues, and Kevlar protected them. I wore a silk dress shirt and an equally thin jacket a bullet would ignore before tearing a hole through me.

Clenching my teeth, I bumped my brow against the wheel a few times as I muttered curses at my idiocy.

A smart man would’ve put the idling engine into gear and left. If I did that, I’d be the target of my very own Inquisition field operation, and I doubted even the Red Beast could withstand a pack of angry Fenerec armed with more firepower than the military. They had missiles—I had supplied all six of them to them. If they launched it at the truck, they’d smash the vehicle into teeny tiny bits.

I turned my head to check the clock. In ten minutes, it’d be time to rip open the envelope and find out how the operation was going. If things went well, the photographs would tell a story where the Inquisition’s victims would be dead and my team would still be nameless faces. My brother had been adamant about the next part of my directions: if half of my team was dead by sunset, I was to take the Red Beast and get out of the area as fast as the big diesel engine could go.

I’d clocked it at a hair over one hundred miles per hour over the rabbit trail of a road leading into the forest, much to the dismay of the nine passengers crammed into the cab.

 

The Differences in the Final Method

The main, critical difference for me between Project Zeta and Blood Diamond is really simple: I fix everything as I write while working on Blood Diamond. Ultimately, this takes a great deal more discipline (but I want to write now!!) but means I have less work to do as I edit.

Project Zeta will be substantially more difficult to edit because I wrote so much without going back and really fixing anything.

I’d love to pinpoint specific scenes or passages where the differences truly shine on the page, but the simple truth is this: I don’t think either way makes that much of a difference on the quality of the story.

At the end of the day, the words are mine, the editing is done by me (at the guidance of my editors), and the storytelling is mine. What I find differentiates between the stories, in terms of quality, is how much time I have to play with it, how picky I get about the editing (more picky is lower quality, as I edit the life right out of the story…), and whether or not my editor needed to beat me into submission to get off my ass and finish the novel.

That hasn’t been a problem lately. (To my relief and my editor’s whip budget.)

I also write differently between first and third person. My editor is convinced that my third person is far superior to my first person. This is an ongoing debate.

I will say this much: third person is typically much easier for me to write and edit. First person is often a struggle, which makes the Witch & Wolf series a lesson in self-abuse. I really like Blood Diamond, though–far more than I liked writing either Inquisitor or Winter Wolf. (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but Jackson’s just so much fun…)

I’ve also been told I write men so much better than women despite being a woman. Sigh. I just write the people I want to write, damn it! Gender issues kind of comes as they come.

Anyway, every novel is different for me. Sometimes I pants, sometimes I pants while I hand write, but sometimes I pants while drafting directly to the computer. Sometimes I outline, but sometimes I outline without writing it down. Sometimes I write it down and immediately discard all of my notes and do a do over. Sometimes I stick to the outline. Sometimes I add things, more often than not, I cut a lot of things.

Sometimes I change things, sometimes I don’t.

Every book is different. When you’re picking which method works best for you, embrace those irregularities. They are what help you grow and develop as a writer. It’s how, I feel, authors learn as they progress from amateur to professional.

This is merely scratching at the surface of how I write. I could write a novel on the subject and never really delve to the bottom of how I really make a novel come to life.

I’ll leave you with this thought, however: there really is no right or wrong way to write a story. The right or wrong about novel writing comes into play for the finished product. Spelling errors, grammatical mistakes (not done on purpose for impact), and other actual problems are things to be avoided, and, well, may be considered a wrong approach. The right approach?

It’s writing the best story that you absolutely can.

(Mistakes happen, by the way. Winter Wolf has 125,000 words, which equals 676,183 characters. Out of those 676,000 keystrokes, there are bound to be mistakes. Accept it… but fix it whenever you find them. That’s what I do. Because I’ve learned that no matter how many eyes go over a book, no matter how skilled the editor is, it is human to make mistakes.)

And yes, I’ve found mistakes in novels with some of the industry’s best editors looking over the books. It happens.

What separates the professional and the amateur is what the author/publisher decides to do about it when they discover out it has happened. Me? I fix the file and upload a new copy to Amazon. Sometimes, all I hear is that ‘there were mistakes,’ which is very frustrating, since I know there are mistakes (676,000 keystrokes has a lot of room for errors after all.)

When that happens, I just make the time to read over the book and fix the errors I do find as I find them. It’s just another part of the writing process for me.

Methods of Novel Writing: One Author, Two Books

I’m working on several projects at the moment. Actually, more than several. In order to keep myself working as efficiently as possible, I’ve given up on working on one project at a time. I’ve developed enough as a writer to be able to handle switching back and forth between projects.

When I get tired of working on a project for the day, I take a break and shift gears to a different project. This, honestly, lets me get twice as much done in a day. Just because I tire of working on one novel doesn’t mean my creativity has curled up and died. All it means is that I simply can’t continue working on one specific piece anymore for that day.

Working on something new (for the day) lets me overcome my natural boundaries and make the most of my time.

That said, I’ve noticed something very interesting about how I’m working on two of my novels.

Exhibit One: Storm Surge.

This novel releases in mid April. Editorial is already going fast and furious on the book. I’m also working on the climax arc of the novel, changing things up, expanding, and otherwise improving the story. I’m also fixing the things that my editor tosses to me as I’m working on the ending of the book.

I like working this way because I know that if she spots something that impacts the ending of the book, it’s significantly less work for me. So far, there hasn’t been anything of that nature yet–thank goodness!

Storm Surge has been a fun but difficult novel–but not difficult in the same way Winter Wolf was difficult. It’s difficult because I’m having to rearrange and correct a lot of arcs.

I made a substantial change early in the novel. I had to correct everything from chapter four onward, roughly. This was a lot of work, and boy, do I mean a lot of work. I’d probably already be finished this book if it hadn’t been for this alteration.

I’ll be done on time, of that I have no doubts. Now that I’m beyond the major alterations point, the novel is a lot of fun to work on. I’m really enjoying the continuation of Requiem for the Rift King.

I know this series isn’t going to be a huge money maker for me, but damn, I love telling this story–even if I break all of the rules for the sake of telling the story I want to tell. I don’t know how much of an audience I have for this oddball epic fantasy, but I really love telling the story of these characters, exploring their relationships, and delving into what makes these people tick.

It appeals to my love of a slow burn and characters living in the moment. The plot arcs aren’t what people expect–sometimes, I choose to end a novel because it’s a place where they have a chance to catch their breaths, not because ‘this is the end of an actual story.’

Often, the ending of the novels in this series is really just the beginning of another story. Ideally, I would have written the entire ‘series’ as one gigantic novel, but that’s a bit beyond my current abilities and scope. So, as a result, while I try to give as much of a proper ending to the novels I can, this series is the lives of the characters dealing with ever-worsening problems.

I had to compromise in a lot of ways on Storm Without End (Book 1), and I opted for the more open end leading into the second book rather than tying every loose end up and making it feel like the novel was really one story, when it’s really a catalyst for the rest of the series.

Hopefully those who enjoyed Storm Without End will come back for Storm Surge. Even if they don’t, I’m finishing this series because it’s my baby. So there.

Back on subject: I wrote this book by writing it by hand first. (Yes, I need a mental examination, how did you guess?) So far, Requiem for the Rift King has filled two moleskine journals and a cute little Italian leather journal. I’ve already started book three, which is in a Hobbit special edition Moleskine.

Once I finish handwriting the novel, I transcribe it, doing all of the edits as I input it into the computer. This is a long and often tedious process, as I’m doing a lot more editing than I am writing.

Enter Exhibit Two: Blood Diamond

Blood Diamond is book three of the Witch & Wolf series. (Seriously, if you want to support this novel, go buy Inquisitor and Winter Wolf–or Storm Without End / Storm Surge. More books happen when fans speak out by buying books.)

I am writing this book scene by scene in a Moleskine. It’s a large, soft-covered one, and I love it to bits. After I write out the scene by hand, I go and immediately transcribe it. I do my editing, I fix things earlier, and handle the input into the computer before I start the next scene.

This is proving to be a much faster way of writing. I’m catching problems and plot issues as I transcribe and edit right away. There’s very little adjustment to the overalls, because I’m doing those changes as I write. So, this novel is taking far less time than any of my other books.

At the rate I’m going, I will finish Blood Diamond far, far in advance. This is bitter and sweet–sweet that I’ll have the book in the wings waiting for its turn to be published, but bitter that I have a pretty set publishing schedule at the moment and simply can’t afford to push it ahead right now.

But I’m writing what really interests me right this moment, which is Storm Surge and Blood Diamond. I’m also throwing in some Project Zeta love, too. Zero will be my main publishing project after Storm Surge, which will be my debut into Science Fiction.

I’m looking forward to it.

But, back to the point again–two books are taking two totally different routes from concept to finish.

I didn’t outline Storm Surge. I wrote it freestyle/pantsing. I outlined Blood Diamond aggressively. The outline is approximately 17,000 words. I’ve changed substantial parts of the introduction, but the key components are still present.

I wrote all of Storm Surge before transcribing. I’m writing Blood Diamond and transcribing on a scene-to-scene basis.

I didn’t really use a beta reader for Storm Surge. I have one, but she’s there to enjoy the story, not spank me into writing better. (Hi, Sue! I love you!) For Blood Diamond, I have a very aggressive beta reader who is also scolding me each and every time I make even a single spelling error. (Bite me, Beta Reader. I hate you… sorta. Okay, I both love and hate you, but you keep making me fix my spelling errors while transcribing. It’s not fair!!)

Hey, even I need pats on the head and told I’m doing a good job. I’m fragile, okay?

Why are you choking on your beverage? Hey, don’t laugh… that’s not nice! I’m a delicate and fragile flower, didn’t you know this?

Maybe I should stop handwriting all of the novels I’m working on and haul ass on transcribing them, thereafter adopting Blood Diamond’s method… because holy shit, it’s working. It’s really, really working.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Nine

This entry is part 9 of 10 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

I’ve been trying to avoid sugary beverages. I failed at this yesterday. I went out with a friend and indulged in a Dr. Pepper with dinner.

It was freaking glorious. I also had a sorbet for dessert. Yep, it was glorious too. Don’t ask why we went to Baskin Robbins when it was far below freezing out. We live in Canada. We can handle it, okay?!

I tried to make up for it by eating healthy rabbit foods today, but I undid my efforts by smothering the greens in garlic Caesar dressing. Yes, yes it was also glorious. I even added spicy Portuguese chicken to it.

That means the only thing that’s helping me get through Fifty Shades of Grey today is a cup of Earl Grey tea.

This is not going to end well.

Yesterday, we endured Ana losing her virginity to Christian Grey. As far as losing virginity fantasies go, Ana made out pretty well. And now I feel really dirty and want a bath.

I just realized there is an entire bag of cookies next to me.

This is not going to end well.

I’ll limit to three cookies, okay? Just three. I’m taking them out and I’m setting them next to my tea. I am moving the bag of cookies far out of my reach. In the kitchen. Because if it’s in the same room with me during this, I will lose my dignity and eat them all.

Okay, the cookies are safe in the kitchen. I might need to rethink the title of the book. “Fifty Ways RJ Lost all Self-Respect and Dignity.”

Fifty Shades, Fifty Ways… close enough, right?

Anyway, Ana has identified that Christian is domineering and sad. I guess there are two elements of his personality? This makes me wonder if Ana is establishing what Christian’s characteristics are because she doesn’t have any of her own…

Chapter Nine

The writing in this book is so terrible. I’ve already nibbled at a cookie in order to get through the first paragraph.

Share in my misery, those of you who are reading this in order to spare yourselves from some of the more frightening elements of this book:

Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness. I stretch out and open my eyes. It’s a beautiful May morning, Seattle at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside me, Christian Grey is fast asleep. Wow, what a view.

Dear fans,

If I ever write a book at this level, please take measures to ensure better quality. Draw pictures of me covered in gasoline and lit on fire. (Please do not cover me in gasoline or light me on fire, whether or not I have been doused in flammable liquids first.)

Then again, I do not write erotica. I often avoid romance in my stories, too… although Blood Diamond has romance. And things like kissing characters. May I suffer spontaneous combustion if I do not earn a ‘Still a Better Love Story than Fifty shades’ badge.

Ana is now worried about Kate, because she hasn’t checked in.

Ana, you dipshit, you are an adult. If you want to fly to Seattle and be bed buddies with someone, you don’t need to check in. Really, you don’t. Free country and all. Be bed buddies with whomever you want. I mean, you spent the past few chapters plotting and scheming to get into his pants no matter what.

Enter really long and tedious section where nothing happens. She explores Christian’s space while he is sleeping, and decides her next big thing in life is to make breakfast.

At this point in time, her subconscious is having a conversation with her, and I’m seriously wondering whether or not it might be time for one of those responsible people in her life (wait, there aren’t any) to make a phone call to a good shrink.

I mean, this woman has an Inner Goddess, after all–there’s obviously something not right going on. Maybe she started with four brain cells, and the other three got together and committed murder, leaving her sanity permanently checked out of residence…

Why are there only two cookies left?

Apparently at some point Ana started dancing in the kitchen while wearing one of Christian’s shirts, and thus gives him an ass wiggling show, but I somehow missed it amid the lifeless descriptions of the state of the art kitchen. Which is described, simply, as a state of the art this and that, leaving me to mourn for the injustice done to this kitchen.

At least use an induction range–or something. Something. Come on already. I feel like I’ve been robbed, and I’ve spent some two pages reading about her making pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

Christian is awake by the time she’s done doing some of the things she’s doing in the kitchen. I’m suitably impressed that she isn’t numbering among the things being done in the kitchen at this point, frankly.

Ana, of course, wants more sex. I’m sighing over here.

And there goes another cookie. Damn you, book. Look what I’ve done, I’ve devoured that defenseless but delicious cookie. But hey, you didn’t make me do it, I chose to do it–and that’s the difference between fantasy and reality. Things in one’s head versus being done.

Don’t devour defenseless but delicious cookies without their consent. (It consented the instant it came home with me. And I paid, fair and square! These cookies are proper prostitutes. Don’t judge us!)

Christian, apparently, jumped right into dominance without a single instance of vanilla sex. I have one cookie left. I’m deliberating whether or not I want to eat it or throw it across the room in general frustration.

This is just a fantasy, this is just a fantasy…

I want to light all of the characters in this novel on fire. Does this make me a bad person?

Ana wants to talk to Kate about sex, Kate is screwing Christian’s brother, so Christian isn’t exactly cozy with the idea of that. I can’t blame him. He doesn’t want his family to know he’s into bondage, apparently–real issues, yo. Because how awkward?

Note to self: Leave the fuzzy cuffs and leather straps out where my mother can find them next time she’s over. Plant a camera, wait for the fun. I bet her expression will be priceless.

(Hi, Mom!)

Anastasia, you’re a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and gaze at you.”

This is one of the saddest things I’ve read in this book, because it’s so true to life. How many women do you know who really just want someone to tell her that she’s beautiful? This is the sort of fantasy that should be a reality–and people are so stuck up on their fucking media perceptions and stereotypes that pretty girls are told they’re ugly because they don’t wear a 34 B bra, fit into a size zero pair of jeans, and have a body fat score over zero.

How many of us ladies and men hang our heads because we are ashamed we don’t fit the perfect image society demands we fit?

Yeah, I understand that one–and people tell me I’m pretty fairly often, but I can’t see it.

All I see is my chubby little belly and my big butt. (My husband, however, disagrees with my personal assessment. I’m also fortunate enough he’s fairly frequent in his disagreements, even when I’m complaining that I might need to get new jeans soon…)

I’d like to make a note that I’m actually complaining about needing new jeans because they’re developing holes in inappropriate places. He doesn’t mind.

I wonder why.

Note to self: I need a bath like Christian Grey.

At this point, they’re taking a bath together because Ana decides she wants to go forward with basic training. Christian decides to take it easy on her because she’s probably sore. There’s sex. I’m cherry picking a few interesting tidbits for presentation to my spouse… if we ever end up in a bathtub large enough to accommodate such deliciousness.

What? Did you seriously think I wouldn’t be snapping up the few good ideas from this book? You’ve got to be kidding me.

GAH, the inner goddess is back, and she really enjoys oral. I did not, ever in a million years, want to read that. I need brain bleach, and I need it right now.

And of course, being an erotic fantasy, Ana is apparently good at her basics. Personally, I was waiting for her to get startled and take a bite, but I guess that’s not really all that sexy, is it?

At this point, Christian has asked her again to be his and agree to the contract. At this point, she has nodded to his inquiry with an added ‘trust me’ attached.

They have sex (of course)–Christian states it’s her reward for her taking such good care of him…

… and then his mother decides to visit.

Of course.

Because the super millionaire Christian Grey can’t manage to keep his mother out of his house. Sigh.

There is a reason you shouldn’t give your mother your house keys. This is one of those reasons. That, plus once you let them in with their own set of keys, they will never leave.

I love my mother dearly, but I’m not giving her my house keys. Sorry, Mom!

The erotic is, as expected, poorly written. There are some cute things I might be interested in trying, so I’m not walking away completely traumatized. That’s something, right?

Also, this is a fantasy, and please do not judge any of the bondage (or light bondage, as the case currently is) by this book. It’s pretty wrong.

Also, Ana’s a terrible submissive. I can’t tell this now. (That’s part of the Dom / Sub thing, if you’re wondering–there can be terrible doms, but there can be terrible subs, too… and outside of negotiations for a scenario, submissives who don’t do what they’re supposed to are… not good submissives. The whole point of being the submissive is to be obedient to the dominant. Ana’s already shown she’s going to have problems with this element of the relationship in their opening. She gets excused this time, though… because she’s still learning. For some reason, I don’t expect her to fulfill the submissive’s part of the relationship.)

But, this is Ana I’m talking about here… I shouldn’t have any expectations at all. Geeze, stupid me.

I ran out of cookies halfway through the chapter, by the way. My tea has seen better days, too.

I’m going to go mourn for my emotional purity, which has been thoroughly violated by this book.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Eight

This entry is part 8 of 8 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

We meet again, Fifty Shades of Grey. Yesterday, you won, forcing me into consuming enough ice cream to kill a horse. I’m determined to make it through without a single bite of sweet, frozen goodness. I have a bowl of soup instead, serving as both my lunch and comfort food.

Last night, I decided to descend into the dark depths of the movie trailer for the book. It was a compilation of all of the various trailers.

I have nothing against the actor playing Christian Grey, but I do not find him at all attractive. I wanted to reach through my monitor and rip his hair out. I hate his hair. I hate his hair.

The lady who plays Ana is really pretty, though–and she seems really nice from the few interviews I’ve watched of her. Also, she has gorgeous, sultry voice. Ten out of ten for her casting. That said, I won’t see the film. Christian Grey is supposed to be smoking hot, and I just didn’t view him as smoking hot.

He just doesn’t wear a suit as well as other men… and I love men in suits.

Oh well.

When I last left off, Christian Grey was rather annoyed that Ana was a virgin, slipping rather dramatically out of character. I mean, really? Really? It’s like all of the characters in this book are incapable of using their heads, ever.

I have lost all hope.

I’m rather sad, right now, that I do not have any Triple Chocolate Drama left. I have a feeling that I might need something a little stronger to get me through this.

As usual, there is discussion of trigger subjects in this review.

Chapter Eight

Ah, Christian Grey. You’re something, aren’t you? And Ana… we aren’t on speaking terms right now. Go away. I’m still mad you haven’t died in the hardware store. I’m also wishing the bicyclist had squished you.

“May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?”

“Of course I have.” I try my best to look affronted. Okay… maybe twice.

“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.”

Stop lying, Ana. You haven’t been kissed in your life, except when you avoided being raped thanks to Christian Grey. You hadn’t even held hands. Lying, unreliable, poopy-headed narrator.

Maybe twice? By who? Your mother?

Your mother doesn’t count, sweetheart.

Christian Grey has a habit of running his hands through his hair. I’m running my hands through my hair. Do you want to know why? So I can grab a big handful of it and start yanking. Who needs hair anyway?

Aaarrrrrgh.

So, at this point, Christian Grey offers to take Ana’s virginity. He’s asking her very up front to let him make love to her. Ana states she thought he didn’t do ‘making love.’ He’s, apparently, making an exception.

At this point, he’s said he doesn’t want to enter a contract without her having at least some idea what sex is about.

My brain hurts.

Oh, hey, there’s sex in this chapter. What do you know?! At this point, Ana has made it pretty clear that she came with Christian with the purpose of getting into his pants one way or another. Damn, she’s treating him like he’s some piece of meat. I guess it’s a good thing that he wants her as bad as she wants him.

This is so much a fantasy. Please don’t take this seriously in the real world. They’re different, you know?

(And yes, I’m fully aware of how sensitive those who have been abused will be to this entire sequence. Once again, I’m going to be very direct: This book wasn’t written for you. It was written for those who fantasize about things like this.)

Oh, well, it seems like the entire chapter, save for the first page or so, is dedicated to Christian taking Ana’s virginity. I’m… just going to say this much:

This is erotica on training wheels, driven by a drunk three year old on a sugar high. It’s… I… this…

I’m not seeing the abuse in this story. I’m seeing a stupid young woman who has absolutely no realism to her whatsoever and a male who is used to getting what he wants. It’s perfect fantasy material–since there’s a lot of girls who would love to be taken to bed by a… gifted… man. Let’s face it, I know a lot of ladies who didn’t enjoy themselves once during their first time, let alone Ana’s three times. (Or more? I stopped counting because the writing was so beneath my normal quality standards that I was barely able to get through it.)

In the real life, well… I wouldn’t much care for this, personally. But this isn’t the real life. It’s a freakin’ erotica novel. These sort of fantasies are totally allowed.

I really don’t think most women are like Ana Steele in terms of how easy it is for her to enjoy herself. Yet another fantasy–and that’s fine.

You might be wondering why I didn’t showcase any of the writing from the erotic bits?

Let me tell you why: Drunk three year old riding a bike with training wheels.

It’s probably kinky as hell for those who haven’t read good erotica before. I’m almost tempted to link to a compilation of truly good erotica so there can be some points of comparison. Some of the stuff out there is just amazing.

And the type of thing you might want to print out, take to your bedroom, and whisper sexily in your partner’s ear.

The truly sad part of all of this is the fact that I am only a third or so through the book.

I will promise you this: If I ever get around to writing a book that includes an actual romance arc, it’ll be better than this. It may not include sex (I don’t write it) but it’ll have an actual romance arc.

I don’t even try at romance typically. Blood Diamond has some, though–and I’m determined that it will be far, far better than this.

I will earn my ‘Still a better Love Story than Fifty Shades/Twilight’ badge, okay?

If you like this sort of thing, carry on, carry on. The only thing I can say is that I have read worse, which honestly disturbs me on many different levels.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Seven

This entry is part 7 of 8 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

Ah, Monday. We meet again. I see you have already started your shenanigans, presenting me with Chapter Seven of Fifty Shades of Grey. Well, I’m countering your lack of storytelling prowess and broken plot devices with a bowl of rice, pea, and lentil soup.

Yeah, just go suck on some of that, Fifty Shades of Grey.

I’m on day two of cutting out sugary things from my diet. I’m pretty sure this is going to result in me spewing rude things at this novel as I go to read it.

For those just joining me on this horror show thinly disguised as erotic literature, Ana is on a quest to get into Christian Grey’s pants as quickly as possible, after having recently lost her hand holding virginity and dodging a rape by one of her friends, who I’ve taken to calling Scum Sucker.

So far, the only thing abused has been my intellect and self dignity.

We aren’t going to talk about what I did to that tub of ice cream yesterday, okay? It’ll never be the same, especially not after I dig it out of the freezer promptly after I finish this bowl of soup. That’s approximately a minute and a half from now.

Mr. Triple Chocolate Drama will see you now, Mrs. Blain.

As always, this post will be full of rude things, potential trigger subjects, and so on. Read at your own discretion.

Chapter Seven

Previously in Chapter Doesn’t-Include-Sex, we were treated to descriptions… terribly boring and mind-numbing descriptions. I’m now being treated to a wall of text about the description of this room. I hate you, Ana. You can use fancy words to describe things, but you can’t manage to walk without trying to kill yourself. Why aren’t you dead? Why couldn’t the hardware store have finished you off?

It’s suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small plastic beads on the end.

There are six massive paragraphs with descriptions like this, although this one is the one I’m showcasing, as I had a big spoonful of Triple Chocolate Drama in my mouth, which I promptly choked on.

I read it as “It’s suede and smelled of cat piss.” I think this is due to my brain announcing, rather authoritatively, that this is a pretty pissy way to describe a flogger.

Cats of nine tails are not bushy. They’re not… I mean… Damn. There’s nothing at all bushy about a cat of nine tails. They’re often pretty sleek and not much more dense than a whip.

Maybe she meant feather duster? Maybe?

And Christian has just made the offer to make Ana his bitch. I’m not going to sugar coat this in the slightest. And of course, Ana being Ana, has already decided she’s going to say yes, despite the hundred and ten alarm bells going off in her head. I think she had to rub together two of her three active brain cells to pull that one off.

The only things offensive I am finding in this book so far include Ana’s lack of self preservation, her downright blatant stupidity, and the quality of the writing.

I don’t feel Christian manipulated this stupid woman at all. She’s been trying to get in his pants quite actively for two chapters. No one deserves to be a victim. Let me state that right here and now–no one, no matter how stupid their behavior is.

But damn, right now… this is a guide of what NOT to do when picking your new male companion.

No, Richard, you may not read over Mommy’s shoulder right now. And no, you may not have a single bite of my Triple Chocolate Drama. It’s all mine.

“Eat!”

“No. I haven’t signed anything yet, so I think I’ll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”

His eyes soften, and his lips turn up in a smile.

“As you wish, Miss Steele.”

Ana’s two brain cells are putting overtime, I see–probably trying to make up for the third one, which has taken up residence somewhere between her legs.

At this stage in the chapter, Ana is grilling Mr. Grey about his love life, particularly in regards to the number of women he has had prior, whether or not he has hurt any of them (a rather direct yes being the answer), and things of this nature.

He even states, as he’s showing her the contract, that the rules are subject to change.

I don’t believe this is manipulative. I believe Ana is too stupid to figure out what sort of situation she’s gotten herself into. This is a fantasy, this is a fantasy, but in my fantasies, I practice the art of defenestration, targeting those who lower the global IQ average by several points.

I am now out of Triple Chocolate Drama. Fuck. Look what you made me do, Fifty Shades of Grey. You made me consume just over 400 ml of chocolate ice cream death.

Repeat after me: This is a fantasy. This is a fantasy. It is not real. That is why it is a fantasy.

In short, don’t do this shit in real life, folks–not unless you’re actually aware of what you’re getting into, and that you and your partner fully agree to it.

This is where they are verbally discussing the agreement and making changes to the terms of said agreement.

Ana informs Christian Grey that she is, indeed, a virgin. He seems quite put out with this fact. This is the first time I’ve seen Christian Grey step quite so out of character. Apparently he prefers his women well used before he gets them?

Christian, Christian, Christian, it should be pretty obvious that she’s never been with someone before. This is Ana. You’re smart. Act like it. Of course she’s a virgin.

The chapter ended with the revelation that Ana is a virgin.

This has been the shortest chapter to date, and I needed half a tub of ice cream to get through it. At least there was discussion of sex between them? And these contracts are absolutely ridiculous and hilarious.

While there are some cultures of bondage that do this sort of thing, please don’t believe all bondage is like this. It really isn’t.

The only problem I’m really having with this book so far is Ana. Seriously. That, and the terrible writing.

Dear Hardware Store,

Stop goofing around already, and do something about this! So many chances, and you’ve let them all escape from you.

Love,

Me.

I want more ice cream.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Six

This entry is part 6 of 6 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

Normal people would be spending their Sunday evenings relaxing. I can’t do things the easy way, can I? As I’ve finished torturing myself (and triggering my allergies) and I’m not quite ready to get back to real work, it’s time for a play by play of Fifty Shades of Grey.

As always, there will likely be offensive or triggering things in this post. I’m not going to pull punches over what I think. That’d defeat the whole purpose of doing this little exercise, right? Right.

So, before I begin actually reading, I was thinking. I know, I know–dangerous stuff, thinking.

I have a lot of feminist friends. Some of them are men, most of them are women. Some of them I get along with, in terms of world views, many of them I do not get along with. It’s not a subject I’ll talk to many about, as my views often do not coincide well with the views of others.

That’s okay–really, it is. Every generation has a different opinion on gender equality, be it in the workplace or at home.

I’m going to be very upfront about this: I do not view myself as a feminist. I don’t view myself as misogynistic either. I’d rather just head for cover when the two groups clash. If I had to put a label on myself, it’s as an egalitarian. This is not feminism, by the way. It differs. It can differ significantly, especially as a broad group of feminists support women being brought up at the same time men are brought down. I don’t agree with that at all.

Groups should never be brought down, in my opinion.

But anyway, back to Fifty Shades of Grey.

Here is a recap of the story for those who are just joining me on this… adventure.

Ana Steele, the main character, is a clumsy lady who had never held hands, let alone been kissed. She’s recruited to go interview Christian Grey, the sexy rich powerhouse of a man from the next city over, all thanks to her ultra rich friend Kate, who got sick right before the interview.

I don’t know how Ana hasn’t died from tripping and falling into things at this point.

Anyway, her interview with Christian Grey is a horror show, but this sophisticate decides he wants to get into Ana’s pants, and heads all the way up to where Ana lives to do a photo shoot. He also buys her three gloriously expensive first edition classic novels. (Christian Grey, you can do better than Ana. Come visit me, and bring those books with you when you come.)

At this point, she has several men wanting to also get into her pants. Jose, who is currently nicknamed Scum Sucker, attempts to rape her the first time that Ana gets drunk. She hadn’t had any alcohol ever in her life before this point, too.

She faints in Mr. Grey’s arms. He takes her back to his hotel and buys her new clothes and panties and bra and things like this. He gets her into an elevator and gives her quite the kissing. It’s technically her second kiss now, since Scum Sucker was trying to violate her at the bar. (P.S.: If it hadn’t been for Mr. Grey, she would’ve been in Scum Sucker’s bed.)

Ana has no self preservation. She needed Mr. Grey to save her from a bicyclist, since she was so distracted by having her hand-holding virginity taken that she couldn’t walk straight.

Anyway, Ana is about to move to Seattle, and Mr. Grey has invited her for an evening to show her what being involved with him curtails.

She accepts his offer.

And thus begins…

Chapter Six

I typed chapter six as chapter sex originally. I almost kept it. The closest thing we’ve gotten to erotica was when Ana wanted to be kissed, and Christian hesitated before they got into the elevator, where he decided to give her what she wanted, albeit rather roughly.

Come ooon, chapter sex. You can do it!

He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator.

This sounds horribly messy. The passion exploded! This is the sort of wince-worthy writing that makes me wonder what possessed me to do this to myself.

That’s sentence three of this chapter, in case you’re curious.

Reading, reading… sighing, and shaking my head over the things the other characters are having in the background, and that we haven’t gotten yet in this book: sex, and apparently, lots of it.

Kate’s got a new name: Bunny.

Yes, for that reason.

For the record, I really don’t care who sleeps with who when and where, but at this point, if I were reading this for kinky funtimes, I would have curled in the fetal position and fallen asleep.

Maybe I should rename this to Chapter Sex People Other That Ana Are Getting. No? D’oh.

I read my way through a bit, until I get to this…:

“Anastasia,” he muses. I scowl at him, but he ignores my expression. “What happened in the elevator – it won’t happen again, well, not unless it’s premeditated.”

If I’m hit on the head with a “this is how we’re showing it’s consented instead of rape’ stick again, I am going to take this book and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m undecided if Rabbit or Ana will get the book. I’d give it to Scum Sucker, but he’d probably like it.

In short, writing skill seems to be optional in this novel, relying on telling, telling, and telling in order to do the job of showing and maintaining suspension of disbelief.

We’re meant to believe that Christian Grey is doing things to Ana she wants. Words are supposed to speak louder than actions in this case. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.

“Christian is taking me to Seattle this evening.”

“Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you will then?”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“You like him then?”

“Yes.”

“Like him enough to… ?”

“Yes.”

Damn, woman. I could have sworn you had just graduated from hand holding this week. Now you’re all ready to go all the way, aren’t you?

I have a healthy respect for people who are either too shy or whatever to not get involved sexually with people. I’m totally cool with it. Ana has thrown down the gauntlet here. She’s telling her friend how much she wants to get into his pants.

This is why you should already be dead, Ana. You lack common sense and self-preservation skills. You also are so unreliable as a narrator that I want you to shut up. Please?

Chapter Sex, you’re failing me, come on. At least try to give me something by the time this is done, okay?

P.S.: Ana told Christian, quite directly, that she was into being roughly taken, per the elevator scene from Chapter Five.

At this point, I went to my freezer, grabbed a tub of ice cream, and also acquired a spoon. I think I’m going to need this to get through this chapter.

“We need to make sure you’re simply irresistible for this evening,” she says with determination.

Oh no… this sounds like it will be time consuming, humiliating, and painful.

“I have to be at work in an hour.”

Sure enough, Bunny dresses Ana up for her job at the hardware store.

Yo, saw blades, lumber piles, and miscellaneous assortment of dangerous doodads and doohickeys, I’m paying well for an ‘accident.’

Apparently Bunny can perfectly shave another woman, do her eyebrows, and a fully exfoliating buff treatment within one hour–all to perfection. I cry bullshit.

That sort of pretty is time consuming–very, very time consuming.

I guess this is why it’s a fantasy.

I also have the José issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell. He’s also called home twice. Kate has been very vague as to where I am. He’ll know she’s covering for me. Kate doesn’t do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I’m still too angry with him.

Wait, you’re angry with him? You’re actually angry with Scum Sucker? You, Little Miss Should Be Dead From Stupidity, haven’t so much as paid an iota of attention to Scum Sucker. Even when Christian Grey pointed out Scum Sucker’s sins, you were too busy wondering what it would take to get him to kiss you–or wonder how to get your hands in his hair.

:attacks her ice cream rather viciously.:

I hope the helicopter crashes, you stupid woman.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am of the opinion that this book is actually a subtle set of guidelines on what not to do as a woman in the real world.

My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently.

Your what is doing what? I can’t even believe this. Since when did you, utterly innocent, intensely stupid, and master-level clumsy so-and-so develop a serious case of narcissism?

Death by crashing helicopter is now too good for you.

Well, you know what my inner Goddess demands?

More fucking ice cream.

I’m not even thinking about bringing Richard in on this. It might lower his IQ, and he’s a freaking stuffed animal.

400 ml of ice cream later, I put the tub away. I might get diabetes if I try to read this book with ice cream readily available.

At this point, Christian Grey is showing off is night-time flying skills. I’m already ready to be out of the helicopter, as the cabin gibberish is exactly that: gibberish.

I’ve been in a privately-owned helicopter, with a pilot who has the night time flying license. I’ve also flown in a helicopter taking off from a proper airport. I was seated directly next to the pilot, and pilots use a different channel in their headset for communicating with the tower.

There is zero way Ana could have heard this chatter unless her headset was configured incorrectly. This is done specifically to prevent unnecessary chatter from passengers on the important channels–the ones used to clear flights for take off, for example.

I hate this book. I hate this book so hard.

Chapter Sex, you’re a failure. All I got out of this was Christian Grey’s requirement to sign an NDA to keep his sexual life private and his confession of having a playroom–and that he won’t sleep with her until she’s informed what she’s getting into. Once again, informing the readers via telling that this is all done with Ana’s consent.

I think the rest of the planet, excepting Ana and Christian, got laid in this chapter.

Oh, by the way. That NDA she signed? She didn’t even bother reading it. Christian asked her to read it. She refused, saying she wasn’t going to talk anyway.

He could have written “I, Anastasia Steele, do hereby agree to be the toy of Christian Grey, from now until my death” and she would’ve been happy to sign it.

Can this woman possibly get any stupider? Christian even asked her to read it. He made a point of this.

:Sighs:

The only good thing about “We wish this was accurately named Chapter Sex” is the fact that it is now over.

P.S.: I was ready to eat the novel if I had to put up with so much as one more word about the helicopter flight. Which, by the way, involved Ana undressing Christian Grey with the powers of her mind, pretty much.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Five

This entry is part 5 of 5 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

So we meet again, Christian Grey. I’m returning to Fifty Shades of Grey with a lot of mixed feelings. Most of them involve wondering if Richard will be able to save me from my ultimate demise, or if I’m going to need to rely on Wishful and Magic (new names required…) to assist me in overcoming the latest attack on my sanity.

In my review of Chapter Four, I blew my top over several things. I’m really trying not to hold high hopes for five–or any hopes for five. I’ve come to the grudging acceptance that I simply won’t find good writing within the pages of this book.

I’m tempted to rename this series “Fifty Shades of Grey Matter” as a reflection of the number of times I’ve hit my head against my desk. For sake of convenience, today I will be hitting my head against a stack of Moleskine journals lined up on the shelf beside me.

I have a cup of tea–this is my second cup of the day, actually–and I’ve just finished working on a scene of Storm Surge. Hopefully this is a better set up than yesterday, when I foolishly decided to start my day with reading this book.

I have plans to work on Blood Diamond after I’m done with this chapter–a reward for surviving this endeavor. I’m making an assumption I will survive.

Richard, Wishful, and Magic are watching me rather intently as I settle down to see if this book actually contains erotica.

This is my most serious review of this book so far. While there is some humor, there isn’t much. Don’t worry, I expect my sense of humor will be restored in time for Chapter Six. There’s so much material available thanks to this story’s terrible writing quality.

But, I felt it was important to cover the serious things in this chapter. They’re, well, more important.

Warning: Trigger Subjects in High Quantity Present In This Review
Chapter Five

I have chosen… poorly.

It’s very quiet. The light is muted. I am comfortable and warm, in this bed.

I just wasted the past two minutes of my life dramatically reading the above line. It went something like this, by the time I was finished:

It’s very quiet.

The light is muted.

I am comfortable and warm…

IN THIS BED.

Yep. Welcome to my brain space. Have a pleasant stay.

I’ll try to take this a little more seriously now, promise.

Okay, that took me all of two sentences to turn me into a liar. Well shit. Following the above example text, our lady protagonist opens her eyes, feeling quite good about being in a place she does not recognize–and she’s totally happy like that.

The delayed reaction takes a bit to kick in, but at this point, I’ve lost all hope.

If I woke up somewhere I did not expect, panic is the first thing to happen. By panic, I mean, leap out of bed with no regard for whether or not I have clothes on, squealing, and probably grabbing something like a sheet should I discover an unclothed state.

This typically means I fell asleep on the couch, and I had launched myself halfway across the den before realizing I had been reading a book and nodded off.

Way to go, Ana. You have bottomed out your self-preservation meter. I didn’t think it could go any lower.

This woman should be a case study of everything not to do in order to survive.

Okay, so, to address something in the book that’ll likely trigger folks. In this scene, after Ana throws up, and has been kneeling outside, probably in her own vomit, Christian Grey takes her back to his hotel room after she faints in his arms.

I’m going to point out some things here: First, one of Ana’s friends tried to rape her in the previous chapter. There is now an established cause for concern–and a reason not to leave her with her so-called friends. Yes, Kate included.

Christian has no idea if they’ll take care of her–or if she’ll become a real victim of rape–a rape he had just spared her from.

So, he ends up taking off her jeans and socks (because who wants potential vomit in their bed?)

When Ana asks if they did anything, this is Christian’s reply:

“Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive,” he says dryly.

Ladies and gentleman, this is the exact opposite of abuse. It’s respect for a woman’s body when she has no conscious control and is beyond the point of decision making, which at that point, Ana is beyond.

I have no idea of the circumstances of later in the novel, so I won’t comment there… but frankly, if all men were like Christian Grey in this specific situation, rape levels would be sufficiently lower.

Removal of the pants, in this situation, I do not classify as rape or abuse. I consider it a preservation of sheets. Sleeping in anything that may have even remotely come into contact with vomit sucks.

And he left her shirt as is proper. And the things beneath the shirt and jeans.

:quiet claps:

Oooh, oooh, I’ve seen this line from like every single rant about the abuse of Fifty Shades of Grey I’ve read. Trust me, it’s a lot of them.

“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” He closes his eyes, dread etched on his lovely face, and he shudders slightly. When he opens his eyes, he glares at me. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”

Christian Grey, in this same chapter, in this same scene, has stated, “I like my women sentient and receptive.”

While he’s possessive–and in certain doses, totally a legitimate thing to desire in a fantasy (which this is)–he’s alrady stated he wants consenting females.

That’s the distinguishing point here: Consenting females. Consenting. To agree to.

Willing. Receptive.

Partnered together… it’s pretty obvious to me that the lady about to get a spanking for having no self-preservation skills is in a consenting relationship.

This just doesn’t hold water for me.

And frankly, she’s so freaking helpless I hope that Christian can spank some self-preservation into her. How is she not dead?

This is the pursuing of a very common fantasy–one where the woman is cherished, protected–and yes, spanked when she does something pretty fucking stupid.

I stepped out in front of a porsche when drunk once. I scared the daylights out of my husband and his cousin. (I obviously did not get squished.)

If he had wanted to spank me for that, I would have allowed it–heaven knows I deserved it for nearly getting myself turned into a pancake. (But, here’s the thing: Consenting.)

This is a fantasy. Maybe you would not consent to this, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with women or men being turned on by this sort of thing.

Are people reading this like they do the bible, picking and choosing the paragraphs that best suit their needs without keeping in mind the context of the scene these paragraphs are in?

And why aren’t people complaining about every Harlequin novel ever? I mean, there’s almost always a scene where the male hero ‘takes’ the female despite her protestations and lamentations. Like Conan the Barbarian, except written for women.

Richard, Mommy needs a hug.

“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”

I called it. I totally called it. Eat that, book!

Just don’t eat vomit, that’s just yicky.

Unless you’re into that, but hey, I won’t judge–just don’t do it around me, please?

Oh, hey, Ana is starting to have kinky thoughts. What do you know? There might be some erotica in this book after all…

I’m going to point out, at this point in time, that Ana is so unrealistic as to be laughable, and that this is so obviously playing to every fantasy ever that this book should not be taken seriously.

It should be taken as a steamy romp–a terribly written one, and thus far not at all arousing for me–but an indulgence. Something meant to tease at fantasies.

In the real world, after narrowly dodging a rape, most women are not going to react be being omg get in bed with me right now despite having only graduated from hand holding very, very recently.

were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Christian,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”

I’m going to point this out right here: Christian Grey is the most honest man I’ve ever read about in this regards. He’s driving around in a blunt mobile. This is playing to lots of fantasies, but you know what?

This is giving it straight up. Those who have suffered through abuse are very probably going to cry foul and manipulation. But, I’m going to say this in Christian Grey’s favor.

I’ve had run ins with abusers, usually from the perspective of one of those fighting to help the abused escape…

… and not a single one of them has warned their victims of what is to come. Why, they’re hearts and flowers kind of men, often portraying the perfect relationship, trapping their victims in satin, lace, sugar and spice and everything nice. This doesn’t describe every abuser, but it’s a stereotype for a reason.

Christian Grey is giving Ana the option to consent or not. It’s her choice.

The girl is an idiot and has no sense of self preservation. I mean, she’s stupid. She’s a waste of air. I hate this woman with the burning passion of a thousand suns. She represents a lot about society I can’t stand.

But, you know what? James does a very good job of hitting in and honing in on a lot of very, very common fantasies–especially among women. (I do not know enough about men’s fantasies to make any judgement in that regard. I do not have the appropriate equipment.)

It’s poorly written, yes–very much so. But it really touches down on common fantasies.

Think about it, there’s a reason why Harlequin novels almost always include at least one scene where the man takes the woman–typically using some form of force or coercion to do it. These books are written for a very common fantasy interest among women.

Just because you may not approve of it doesn’t mean it’s not there. So long as it remains a fantasy (or consented to), what’s the problem? The people who assume that a woman’s inner fantasies match what she wants in the real life need to suffer my mental imagining of Scum Sucker’s fate–gender appropriate.

Consent, folks. That’s the name of the game. Consent.

In fantasies, consent is sometimes optional. That’s why it’s a fantasy.

In reality, it should be the case, always.

Okay, here we go! I made it to the end of the chapter!

Quick recap before I make some comments. The whole chapter takes place in Christian’s bedroom in his hotel. He proposes to show her his little kinky world. She asks him to kiss her. Scene set up. He doesn’t want to, not without educating her first. She’s upset.

In the elevator (revisiting a few chapters ago when a couple was making out in the elevator) Christian then decides to take Ana up on her offer and kisses her. He’s a bit rough…

… and she likes it.

She gave consent, yo, about the time she dared him to kiss her. Yeah, he picked the timing around the same time he said fuck the paperwork.

Kinda kinky. Not erotica yet, but definitely kinda kinky.

This is one horribly written book. This is really not my sort of erotica. I mean, yeah, dude, I’ve read it. This is about as far from good erotica as it gets. But, yeah–totally plays into some kinky fantasies.

And I’ll be taking some notes for later–who knows, maybe I’ll find something I do like. The husband probably will not mind some… research.

And I think that about covers this novel’s popularity. It’s kinky. It offers women (and men) ideas for their consenting relationships. It lets people delve deeper into their sexuality. Because it’s so damned popular, already established norms in fantasies are just coming to the surface.

Fifty Shades of Grey isn’t popular because it’s bringing anything new to the table.

Fifty Shades of Grey is popular because it’s saying it’s okay to be aroused by these sort of things.

And it is. It really is.

If you’ve been abused, please avoid this book. This is not for you. This is not written for you. It’s written for wo/men who want to imagine this sort of thing in their head in a safe zone–in their head.

It’s written for wo/men who might want to bring this sort of thing into their consenting relationship.

The world can’t be sterilized, and that includes fiction–and in that, I fully throw my support behind Fifty Shades of Grey.

Carry on, new readers of erotica. This is not the real life.

This is just fantasy.

I say enjoy. I haven’t seen anything yet that constitutes as abuse in the context this book was meant to be taken.

Except for one thing: Scum Sucker’s attempt at raping Ana. Because you know? Christian had it right.

If he hadn’t come to her rescue, she would have been in his bed, and Ana had said no.

That’s rape.

(And while rape fantasies are legitimate as a fantasy source, this is being written under the assumption that all readers understand that this does not condone rape in any stretch of the imagination. Whatever you want to fantasize about is your business, but it should stay a fantasy.)

Random Rambles: Author Finances Really Suck

Investment. Business. Writing. Money.

This stuff sucks. Being a professional, at times, likewise sucks. Trying to produce a good product, a product I can be really proud of–and a book that people enjoy reading–is bloody difficult. It’s tiring, too. It’s hard.

Writing is hard, damn it. It’s hard, and I want to survive and thrive at it.

Surviving and thriving are two totally different concepts. Survival, meeting the very minimum requirements to keep moving forward, is hard enough. Thriving, having the ability to survive plus do things like pay for food, still feels like some far off dream.

I’m barely able to survive, and it’s enough to drive me up a wall. If you’re looking for me, I’m perched up on the ceiling somewhere, or clinging to an overpass, kind of like one of the unfortunate characters from the original Blood Diamond cover concept.

Yeah, that concept picture. Let’s take a good, close look at it. I wasn’t supposed to start working on Blood Diamond until early 2016. Yet here I am, probably 10% into the book–maybe less, depending on how long it works out to be. But either way, this book is getting a lot more of my time than it should. At the rate I’m going, I’ll finish it in the next few months.

I have no way to pay for this. It’s entirely possible that Blood Diamond will sit in the shadows, completed and awaiting final editorial, without me being able to pay for it until its original planned publication date. That’s the problem with just surviving.

I can’t just slide in a project willy nilly. My editorial staff and cover artist could fit it in, but I have earmarked the funds to pay them for other work first. I have to plan how I spend my royalties carefully, because I use those to pay for things. I’ve already talked to my editorial staff. I have a ‘floating’ slot available, just in case I could afford to slip in that beloved play project.

I planned around my love of working on side projects and my ability to finish what I start.

That doesn’t mean I have the money to pay for it. Ah, poor pride, it’s crying in a corner.

When surviving, I don’t have the flexibility to slide in an extra project–and I made a promise. I promised I would finish other books first. Storm Surge releases April 14. The royalties I make from it will pay for Zero, Project Zeta, and Rider of the Sun Horse. Rider of the Sun Horse will be my next released title. The royalties from that will pay for Zero and Project Zeta.

It’s a vicious circle; I can’t earmark funds for Blood Diamond until I have made enough money to cover Rider of the Sun Horse, and so on.

This is an important part of business and planning, actually. It’s how to stay in the black.

You do not spend money you do not have. I do not have the money for Blood Diamond. This means I shouldn’t be working on it, but let’s face facts here: I work best when I can reward myself working on a project I want to work on. I use these projects to reward myself for working on what I need to work on. Writing a novel is hard work. The final editing and transcription phases of the process is very hard on me. It’s frustrating. So, when I have a project I simply love working on, it makes my job a lot easier.

Writing isn’t easy–it never was. I love it, but it’s a lot of hard work, and working on a project I really enjoy makes the work go by faster, easier, and ultimately better.

When I’m happy or excited to work on the play project, which I don’t allow myself to work on until the necessary work is done, I end up doing a better job on my necessary work.

It works out really well for me.

But it leaves me in a bad place. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have Blood Diamond ready for editorial around the same time that Storm Surge releases. In theory, I could have it edited and ready for release by May or June.

I simply can’t afford to do it. I made promises I intend to keep. I’m not against adding the extra hours to the day to make Blood Diamond happen, but I can’t–not without the sales on other books to make it work out.

I can already hear people asking why I can’t do this–why can’t I just shunt a project aside for Blood Diamond? Witch & Wolf is my better selling series. Why can’t I just use the money from the other projects to support Blood Diamond?

That’s not how life works. That’s not how I choose to run my business.

I can’t spend money I don’t have. Here’s a breakdown of the big costs–the things I can’t live without when producing a novel:

$700, approximate, for editorial
$200+ for cover art
$100 general other expenses

It’s about $1,000 on the nose to produce a novel, excluding any promotion, which I’ve mostly cut from my budget altogether to allow me to funnel all of my royalties to paying for my expenses.

Surviving, not thriving.

So, I did some math. In order to pay for Rider of the Sun Horse, I need approximately $800 in royalties (I’ve already paid some) from my novels. I started my marker with my February sales–when Storm Surge became available for preorder. Once Rider of the Sun Horse is paid for, I can use the royalties for other things. Half of what is earned beyond my basic expenses goes to the household. Frankly, I’ll be astonished if I earn out the $800 in three or four months of sales at my current sales rate.

That hurts, but there’s nothing I can do about it, beyond hope that I somehow manage to get a boost from somewhere. I’m going to be doing a March promotion to see if I can revitalize my novels while I’m waiting for Storm Surge’s release.

I’ve already paid for Storm Surge, so I’m currently banking to pay for Rider of the Sun Horse. I’m paying my staff in advance as I have the money. So, as soon as it hits my bank account, it goes to them. We track how much I’ve prepaid so we know if I can keep my publication schedule on track.

Once Rider of the Sun Horse is available for sale or preorder, the royalty counter starts again. I pool all of my titles together to ensure that I can pay for the next title.

If I were thriving, all I would have to do is route half of the excess earnings to Blood Diamond. Unfortunately, I’m at the stage where all of my royalties are going to pay for my production costs. Right now, I’m not even able to contribute to the household. I’m surviving, not thriving.

I knew this would be a real risk of writing full time. My husband is also aware of this. We’re both hoping and praying one of my novels takes off and gives us both a much-needed boost.

Winter Wolf didn’t get the boost we were hoping for. It hurt–it didn’t have the success of Inquisitor. It hasn’t done badly, but it wasn’t done well either. That’s a painful admission for me.

Someone on facebook suggested that I use a crowdfund to pay for Blood Diamond. I already did that; I had a campaign specifically for the Witch & Wolf novels. It paid for Winter Wolf in full. It paid for the cover art for Blood Diamond and Silver Bullet. That’s it. The rest is on me. I’m really grateful for the help, but it doesn’t change facts:

Unless my books sell, I simply can’t do it. I can’t funnel $700 out of my household expenses to pay for it.

It’s frustrating, but this is the business of writing. So, it’s entirely possible I’ll end up sitting on Blood Diamond unless Inquisitor and/or Winter Wolf have a sudden surge of sales. (I do tend to ear mark funds for a series by the earnings of the series–so if Inquisitor or Winter Wolf had a huge surge in sales, I would detour/earmark funds from that surge of sales to Blood Diamond–I acknowledge when fans speak out by buying a title.)

It’s just frustrating, so terribly frustrating, because I have so much I want to do, but it’s going to be difficult at best to accomplish it all.

And no, I won’t release a novel without paying for proper editorial. I can’t do the work on my own with the quality I need. Been there and done that with The Eye of God. I will never make that same mistake again–I relied too much on myself for The Eye of God, and not nearly enough on the editorial staff that has really, really helped my later books shine.

/End Whine

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Four

This entry is part 4 of 4 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

On some mornings, like this one, the only thing my sleep-muddled brain can handle is reading. While Fifty Shades of Grey isn’t what I’d considered great reading material, it’ll do. I don’t have coffee this morning. I have tea, and since it isn’t the caffeine in coffee that makes coffee so much fun, I expect this is going to be amusing for all parties involved.

If things don’t make sense during this reading, you now know why. But you know what? Bleeeeeep. Let’s have some fun, shall we?

I would like to make a note that I don’t write erotica; I don’t often write anything sexy, either. Last night, I was writing a somewhat sexy scene in Blood Diamond. No sex, but sexy. At least, in some weird and demented Fenerec way.

Long story.

Maybe I just wanted to prove I could write a tasteful, sorta steamy scene that actually made the plot and characters move forward. (But hey, while I’m talking about my books, you should totally go buy one.)

Onward, friends!

I’d like to make a second note that I’m listening to Manners Maketh Man from the Kingsman soundtrack. This could prove interesting.

Warning: This chapter discusses a lot of potential triggers. If you can’t stomach the discussion of the difference between fantasies and reality, abuse, and subjects therein, please skip this review.

Chapter Four

At the end of chapter three, Ana had her hand holding virginity thoroughly eviscerated by Christian Grey. That dastardly man! Dastardly! How dareth he?

When I last left off, she decided that she was all sorts of ready to upgrade her love light from recent hand holding virgin to wanting our love interest, one Christian Grey, to put his mouth all over her.

Cue the last remnants of my sanity going poof. Richard looks a bit worried. He’s an Alpha Fenerec, after all, and I haven’t purchased a Nicole for him yet–so he’s stuck with me. I’m so sorry, Richard.

Here we go. I’m nervous. Hold me.

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him.

Can I go home yet?

Hold your horses, Ana! You’re going to make all the uptight conservatives start squealing about how hand holding is the way to the devil at the rate you’re going. This is why we can’t have nice things.

“Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers. What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him, and my head swims with rejection.

Aaaahahahahahaha… Aaahahaaa. Even Christian Grey knows he’s a bad boy and that Ana’s about two hundred years behind the rest of the world. Is rejection a shark?

I have this figured out! Ana and her rejection are left shark!

“That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?”

Dear Christian Grey,

It is with a heavy heart I write to you today, but I fear that you have been led astray by the doe-eyed Anastasia. Please run the other way as quickly as possible. Please don’t shudder on her behalf, it will simply make what I intend on doing to her far more painful to you.

I have upgraded Ana from a flaming defenestration with a landing in front of a speeding truck to strapping to rocket boosters aimed for space to make certain that future generations are not contaminated by this terrible lack of reality.

Also, here is where descriptions help. Cyclists… typically… are bicycles. You know, common, often seen around Portland area? They have two wheels and are powered by a human. Using their feet, except in some rare circumstances.

Next time, Mr. Grey, just toss her out in front of it. Maybe she’ll learn next time.

Beware of bicycles! They’re kiss me dangerous!

Moving on.

Oh god, so, they’ve gone ways… and oh god, shes crying in the parking garage. She’s crying next to the Mercedes in the parking garage.

I’m the one who did it! In the garage with a lead pipe! In the parking garage with the lead pipe!

Richard…

Mourning something that never was – my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

Ana, if you could read my mind, what a tale my thoughts would tell. Let me give you a clue: It involves fire.

Fluffy pink unicorns dancing on raaaainbows, fluffy pink unicorns dancing on raaaaiiinbows.

RJ SMASH.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field.

Girl, there needs to be an insurance policy specifically catered to you because you are a threat to you and everyone around you. You also are insufferable. You know what? A rocket is too good for you. Die from a thousand paper cuts under you fingernails. I hate you.

Christian Grey, you need rescued. Please follow me if you want to not die.

“Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening.

Are you fucking serious? Are you seriously fucking serious? This Ana, this… utterly incompetent, never-hand-her-hand-held, annoying pain in my ass doesn’t cry? This… female who can’t even handle walking through a door without falling on her face doesn’t cry?

I. Cry. Bullshit.

Someone send me a copy of this novel in paperback so I can light it on fire. Is that too much to ask?

:Insert hair pulling and screaming here.:

“I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him.

“Jeez Ana – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me.

“No. Christian saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”

I’m crying. I’m sipping at my tea, crying. There are legitimate tears stinging in my eyes, all because of the above section of dialogue. If you wanted to know what the sound of someone’s soul breaking is, it’s a mix of a whimper, a whine, and a long exhale–too broken to even count as a sigh.

I was right. It was a bicyclist. All of this… oh my god.

I don’t think even you can help me anymore, Richard. I’m so, so sorry…

“What do you mean?”

“Oh Kate, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.

“Not to me,” she says.

Is it so much to ask for some consistency, Kate? Just a little? Oh, wait, a new chapter must mean a new lease on life.

You just told her in the previous chapter that Christian Grey was bad news, Kate. Have you forgotten? I hadn’t. I was even considering allowing you to live.

In my mind, you are now tied up, attached to a stick, and left dangling over the La Brea Tar Pit. May a chicken peck you to death, slowly.

This is not the worst book I have ever read, but it’s definitely the first book I have read in a long time that has made me consider a career in mad scientist villainy–or applying to become an evil minion.

Is it bad that I wish the erotica had started in chapter one or two? Simply to spare me from how incredibly useless Ana is?

I’m sorry, but no. I’m all for the fantasies of acquiring that super sexy rich badass hunk of a man, but holy crap I do not know a single woman so utterly useless as Anastasia. Not a one.

So, ladies, please fantasize about Christian Grey doing all of the things, including and not limited to holding your hand. But please, you’re so much better than this.

This book hurts me.

I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before.

I thought Ana could not possibly be more sheltered, and then this happens.

For the record, there is nothing wrong with not drinking. I didn’t get drunk until I was 18, the legal drinking age for where I live. There’s also nothing wrong with being chaste or celibate.

But this level of ‘innocence’ without a damned good reason or background–including religion–is just so over the top as to be contrived for the sake of playing out an entirely unrealistic fantasy.

Remaining pure for a partner is one thing, but this is just beyond anything normal or realistic. If there is anything abusive about this story, it is the fact that Ana was created as this clean slate with no life to her whatsoever.

No wonder those who have come from abusive situations are so up in arms over this. Ana is written to be entirely helpless, defensive, and incapable of any form of self defense. She isn’t a person, she’s a vessel for fantasies, and nothing else.

Sigh.

I need Tums.

At this point, Christian Grey has just sent Ana three first edition novels that I’d considering setting cars on fire for–and I don’t even like that branch of literature. Dear sir, they’re wasted on Ana. Send those to me.

Please?

Oh, look. Kate and Ana are moving together to a condo in Seattle. Where Christian Grey lives. How entirely unsurprising. Of course, considering I doubt Ana has any capability of living on her own–let alone surviving for ten minutes without a caretaker–I guess I should be relieved? Ana doesn’t need a degree, she has Kate! Her own personal rich lady version of Christian Grey.

Sigh.

Why isn’t Ana dead? Why has she not died yet?

Drunk Ana calling Christian Grey is fucking hilarious. Seriously, I’m dying. Poor Christian. That poor guy, seriously–poor guy. Sir, you could have just about any woman ever. Why pick Ana?

But I guess that’s maybe wherein the fantasy lies?

Even the should-have-died-at-her-job Ana can land the hunk.

That said, it’s time for serious talk.

“You know I like you Ana, please.” He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy fuck… he’s going to kiss me.

“No José, stop – no.” I push him, but he’s a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into my hair, and he’s holding my head in place.

“Please, Ana, cariña,” he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating.

“José, no,” I plead. I don’t want this. You are my friend, and I think I’m going to throw up.

“I think the lady said no.” A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy shit! Christian Grey, he’s here. How? José releases me.

Thank you, Christian Grey. Thank you.

This, ladies and gentleman, is probably one of the most accurate descriptions of the risks of going to a bar as a college student ever. This is also too damned common, and too damned pervasive in society.

Poorly written, but EL James just got a few points for using a very real and frightening problem in our society.

Good for you, Christian Grey, for reacting as he did–because he knows just what can happen in the big bad world. If this were the real life, I’d probably forgive him for using his rich stalkerly powers to track her cell phone and find her, saving her from the very real risk of rape.

Is his ability to get to her dangerous? Stalkerish? We knew he was in town. We knew he was in town for her, but this is a fantasy, not the real life.

The short answer is yes, it’s dangerous and stalkerish–if this were the real life. It’s not. It’s a play by play of a woman’s sexual fantasy. In this common fantasy, women want saved, rescued, desired–treated like a Princess by the man they lust for–even if that man isn’t necessarily the world’s best Knight in Shining Armor.

Then they want dominated. Because well, it can be really, really hot. There’s a reason people want to be the submissive in a bondage relationship.

Christian Grey fits the role well, I’ll give him that.

This isn’t abuse and it’s not condoning abuse. It’s fantasy, definitely. A bit creepy of a fantasy, in my opinion, but fantasy all the same. In short, Ana was created to be the ultimate Mary Sue–a character so bland many people can imagine fitting in her shoes. She’s a paper doll, someone who can be exchanged for the reader–because let’s face it, most readers are more three dimensional than Ana.

For the record, Nice Guy Jose just got dick punched to death in my head. And he’s no longer Nice Guy. He’s been renamed Scum Sucker. Fuck off and die, Scum Sucker.

I’m going to confess this right now: Of all of the characters in this book, Christian Grey is the only one I have any form of liking for.

If there’s anything abusive about this book so far, it’s Kate and the rest of the people Ana knows, for not being true friends and giving her half a clue on how to survive in the real world. That’s what friends are for, and these folks aren’t it.

Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it’s him, I don’t mind.

And because I can’t leave well enough alone, it’s time for my stalker rant! One of the common things I’ve seen ranting about Fifty Shades of Grey is that it’s all about stalking and manipulation, and that the book is a crime against women.

Ana is a crime against women, but I digress.

This is an erotic fantasy fiction. Get over it. Yes, those who have come from abusive situations are going to trigger like fuck all over this.

Abuse is real. Abuse is terrible. It’s demeaning, it’s wretched, and abusers of either gender need to be dealt with.

But there’s nothing wrong about a woman or man wanting to fantasize about being stalked. There’s nothing even wrong about a man or a woman fantasizing about being dominated or taken control of in a fantasy erotic scenario.

It’s only a problem if someone acts on it. Don’t take away another man or woman’s fantasies because you can’t handle what turns him or her on.

It doesn’t mean s/he wants raped or abused. He or she should never be abused.

But there’s nothing wrong with him or her enjoying the fantasy.

Will this chapter ever end? I’m afraid to keep reading. I might suffer an ulcer or an aneurysm at the rate I’m going.

“Drink,” he shouts his order at me.

The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.

“All of it,” he shouts.

This is one of those situations where some are like, he’s so bossy and so and so. Have you ever been this drunk before? He’s doing the exact right thing, in case you’re as sheltered as Ana. If you’re that drunk, water can make a huge, huge difference.

A life-saving difference, actually.

And yes, I have seen articles referencing this as abuse and manipulation. Overreactions. Geeze.

And of course Ana faints at the end of the chapter, where she’s portrayed as being the best drunk dancer ever as she can somehow manage to keep up with Christian Grey.

Wait. I reached the end of the chapter?

Richard, we made it, Richard! We made it!

And there’s no erotica yet.

Sigh.

After all of this, there better be at least some decent erotica in this book somewhere.

A Play by Play Book Review: Fifty Shades of Grey, Chapter Three

This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Fifty Shades of Grey Play by Play

I know I read chapter two earlier today, but I’m taking a most-of-a-day off, so I’m doing things that amuse me–including reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

Despite the painful quality of the writing, I’m actually having fun writing this play by play review. I write exactly what I’m thinking about. I’m not worried about making it pretty, artistic, or useful for readers. It’s not my standard review.

While I was challenged to do it, I’m having fun.

So, for those of you new to this review series, this is meant to be fun and funny–I’ll talk about real issues too, though, as they crop up. I’ll probably pun and make bad jokes, too.

I’ll also make comments on whether or not I feel the story is abusive. Your opinion will not be my opinion.

Chapter Three

The start of chapter three seriously confused me. At the end of chapter two, she mentions needing to phone Kate. The chapter opens up with the phone call, and there are absolutely zero cues on how she’s doing this phone call. It isn’t until later I learn Ana actually has a cell.

Damn it, would it have been so terribly difficult to set up the scene? Gimme a break. I want to know what’s going on, not try to figure out how she’s getting in touch with her roommate.

Things like this annoy me–I like knowing where I’m at in a scene, how characters got there, and so on. This stuff throws me right out of a book. She could’ve been on a pay phone for all I knew, or standing right next to her boss.

Oh, well. Anyway, that is something that always bothers me when I read–when an author skips these little details. I like them, okay?

At this point in the story, there are three contenders for Ana. I guess this is a common enough fantasy, wanting to be the center of a bunch of romantic attention, wanted or otherwise. So far we have Boss Guy, Nice Guy, and Christian Grey. Boss Guy doesn’t seem too bad, pushy, but eh. Whatever. Describes most of the men I’ve known who have flirted with me that I didn’t marry. That is, all of them.

I obviously attract the wrong sort. Good thing I double-dog dared my husband to propose to me. Challenge accepted, right?

Next up is Nice Guy. He was friend zoned not ten words after he showed up in the book, so what can I say? I might attract the wrong sort, but she doesn’t know what the right sort is.

Christian Grey is the stereotypical good catch, except a bit bad boyish and sleazy, which some girls do consider a good catch.

I can’t say I’d want any one of these men, except as potential eye candy.

So, off this crew goes for a photo shoot. I’m just shaking my head. Christian Grey has a press media kit, complete with photos, because mega money. So many plot holes, so little time.

Maybe I should give up trying to make sense of this. Let’s just forget how the real world works! Squee! Bye, real world, bye!

José, Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Kate is in her CLK, since we can’t all fit in my car.

You’re an ass, Kate. I’ve been in a car just like yours, and you can fit five or six damned comfortably, plus fit a pony in the trunk. Why the hell didn’t everyone go in the Mercedes? You know, to impress the must-be-impressed Christian Grey?

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Grey.” She shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid. I remind myself that Kate has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she’s grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn’t take any crap. I am in awe of her.

Duuuuuuhhhh. If she owns an executive’s Mercedes, a $500,000… she came from money. She’s a bossy, rather unlikable so-and-so, who throws the incompetent under a bus. How much more telling must I put up with? Sigh.

RJ, accept it. Accept it, accept it. This is not going to magically change. Pretend you’re not going to be talked down to the entire novel.

Kate, I don’t suppose you can go and maybe get hit by a car on the next page, could you? You could have driven the group to the hotel in your Mercedes instead of making everyone else ride in the Beetle.

I guess not, eh? Damn, just my luck.

“Ana, there’s something about him.” Her tone is full of warning. “He’s gorgeous, I agree, but I think he’s dangerous. Especially to someone like you.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” I demand, affronted.

“An innocent like you, Ana. You know what I mean,” she says a little irritated. I flush.

Okay, Kate. I’m giving you a get out of death free card. You have half a brain. That said… you’ve been stalking this guy for how long to get the funding and interview? And you’re just figuring this out?

Maybe I won’t give you that get out of death free card. You should know better–you should have known better in chapter two.

Come oooooon, is it too much to ask for a consistent character?

You, dear cast, all have more holes than my mesh pot strainer. I think Christian Grey is the only character who is consistent at this point, and he’s arguably the bad guy!

Come here, Richard. Mommy needs you again. Yeah, you’re such a good little Alpha Fenerec. Yes, yes, you are…

Ahem. Excuse me.

I think I have upgraded Kate from being tossed under a bus to hoping for a good defenestration. I will amuse myself by fantasizing how to end their lives in the pages, directly related to how much they annoy me. The more elaborate the plan to kill them, the more annoyed I am with their existence.

Entry level is being tossed under a bus. Defenestration is level two.

A girl’s gotta have fun somehow.

Here is a play by play of my reactions to this text:

He’s still holding my hand. I’m in the street, and Christian Grey is holding my hand. No one has ever held my hand. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over.

Quick inhale.
A quiet, pained groan.
Keyboard is shoved back.
Forehead is smacked into the desk once, twice…
Several long-suffering sighs.

Note to self: Smacking one’s forehead into an Ikea desk with two inch thick wood surface is painful.

Okay. Sigh. She’s how old again and she has never had her hand held? She’s supposed to be in university. This would work if Ana was fourteen. I hate unrealistic things like this. Is she some hardcore religious fanatic? Why has this character never held hands with someone?

Jose and Paul have been hunting her. Men will sometimes take hold of a girl’s hand even when she’s not…

Just like this.

Also, if you’re in the street, maybe you should crawl out of the pavement and get on the street instead. Gaaaah.

This hurt me on some deep level.

Richard, Mommy needs you again…

I have to get away from him. I walk forward, and I trip, stumbling headlong onto the road.

“Shit, Ana!” Grey cries. He tugs the hand that he’s holding so hard that I fall back against him just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me, heading the wrong way up this one-way street.

All I can think is ‘Why aren’t you dead, Ana?’

Defenestration while on fire, to land in front of a speeding bus.

Christian Grey gets points for saving the idiot Ana from herself. Maybe I should start tracking the number of times she should have died from her clumsy ways. Sigh, sigh, sigh.

Being fair, I love when I’m reading a cheesy romance and one of the pairing rescues the other. I really don’t care if the boy rescues the girl or the girl rescues the boy. I eat that stuff right up. I love it. I love the whole cheesy rescuing of damsels and manlings. I love it, precious. I also love when characters rescue themselves.

But this? This stuff just hurts me. At least give me a scenario where ‘I am so incompetent I can’t walk’ isn’t the reason for a rescue being needed.

Why don’t we just put her down on her knees clinging to his leg in the classic romance cover. At least then there’d be some general satisfaction. I love this sort of stuff in a cheesy romance, but this is just a sad, sad example of it. It’s so sad my cheesy-romance-o-meter isn’t even budging from empty. I have a ‘high-pitched squeal’ marker on the cheesy-romance-o-meter. This sort of thing usually triggers it.

Sigh.

Give me a break, book. Just one break. Come on. At least make her need rescued because a drunk driver is weaving all over the road–or someone is so sky high from pot that he can’t control his car. Not because she can’t handle walking.

:Insert heartbroken wailing here.:

And for the first time in twenty-one years, I want to be kissed. I want to feel his mouth on me.

Don’t hurt yourself, little girl. You barely graduated from hand holding. Heaven forbid you upgrade from hand holding to kissing in the same chapter.

Ana, please. Come on.

I understand the lure of wanting to be involved with someone–to be rescued when rescue is needed, to have nice, strong, sheltering arms. Nice, muscular, toned arms… mhmm. Oh husband person! Your wife lady requires your sexy arms~!

Ahem.

But being serious–yeah. This is a common fantasy. Damsel in distress being rescued by someone who wants her? Yeah. I’m in on that. Shamelessly so. I’m especially into when the men need rescued. Because hooooooooooot.

But that’s what this book is about–that’s the appeal. It’s touching bases with very common fantasies. There is nothing wrong with that.

Here’s my Verdict on Chapter Three

No abuse. No stalking. Possessiveness? Sure, it’s there in high amounts. But frankly, he’s your stereotypical bad boy–a bad boy with a taste for bondage.

He’s a fantasy–and he’s a very common one, especially among women who have not come from an abusive relationship. Let’s face facts here. It’s very common for women, especially sheltered ones–or ones who are treated well by their partners–to think about things like this. To be wanted to the point of possessiveness. It can be a turn on, it can be kinky.

In the real world? Not healthy.

But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a BDSM scenario like this. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with a guy or a girl to like reading this material. Will it trigger people who have been in abusive situations?

Definitely.

But does that mean there can’t be an audience who enjoys this sort of thing? Absolutely not.

:Shrug.: Read on, ladies. Christian Grey is a fantasy–and so long as he stays a fantasy and BDSM scenario, carry on. Carry on.

If this were the real life, this would be potentially very, very dangerous. But it’s not.

It’s a fantasy.