Deanndra Hall's Blog, page 6
August 30, 2014
Judgment day
Well, folks, Monday morning I got an email from my baby. Bless his heart, he passes enough stuff on to me to keep me busy for several months. This, however, was something he was pretty sure I'd be interested in and this time, he was more than right.
So here's my disclaimer: If you have a problem with "swear words," you might just want to back out of this right now because it's fixin' to get all crazy up in here. I read this "study" and just about shoved my fist through my computer screen.
I've debated whether to put the link in this post or actually dump the text. I've decided I'll give you the text because, quite frankly, I want to go back and reference comments from it.
So read this. Some of you will need inhalers. I know I almost did. The actual link is http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/artic.... Oh, and note the graphic lurking over there to the right in my sidebar. Seems some other people found this to be useless too.
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Women who read Fifty Shades 'more likely to have unhealthy behaviors'Monday 25 August 2014 - 12am PST
Women's Health / GynecologyEating DisordersAlcohol / Addiction / Illegal DrugsPsychology / Psychiatryadd your opinionemailMNT FeaturedAcademic JournalRatings for this article (click to rate)
Public / Patient:
15 ratingsHealth Professionals: 6 ratings
"Mr. Grey will see you now." Just these words are likely to send many women into a frenzy. The Fifty Shades novels by British author E.L. James have been a global phenomenon, selling more than 100 million copies worldwide. But although reading a book may seem harmless, a new study suggests young adult women who read these erotic novels are more likely to engage in unhealthy behaviors that are risk factors for abusive relationships.
Women who read Fifty Shades are more likely to have unhealthy behaviors that are risk factors for abusive relationships, according to new research.For those of you who are unfamiliar with Fifty Shades, the story revolves around the sexual endeavors of two characters: Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey.In the first of the series - Fifty Shades of Grey - Steele, a literature student described as "unworldly" and "innocent," meets Grey, a man who is charming, intelligent, but who has a dark, controlling side.They then embark in a "daring, passionately physical" affair, or as lead study author Amy Bonomi of Michigan State University deems it, an abusive relationship. This continues throughout the subsequent two novels - Fifty Shades Darker andFifty Shades Freed.According to the researchers, the erotic series "depicts pervasive violence against women, perpetuating a broader social narrative that normalizes these types of risks and behaviors in women's lives."Is there a relationship between reading these books and unhealthy behaviors in real life? Bonomi and colleagues from The Ohio State University wanted to find out.Fifty Shades fans 'more likely to binge drink, have abusive partners and eating disorders'For their study, recently published in the Journal of Women's Health, the team analyzed 655 women between the ages of 18 and 24 - a time in women's lives when they are most likely to explore greater sexual intimacy in relationships, according to Bonomi.Of these women, 122 had read all three Fifty Shades novels, 97 had read at least the first novel but not all three, and 436 had not read any part of the novels.The team found that, compared with women who had not read any of the books, the women who had read the first novel were 25% more likely to have a partner who verbally abused them, 34% more likely to have a partner who showed stalking tendencies, and 75% more likely to have starved themselves for more than 24 hours or to have used dieting aids.Furthermore, women who had read all three books were 65% more likely to engage in binge drinking - defined as drinking five or more drinks in one sitting on 6 days or more every month - and were 63% more likely to have had five or more sexual partners in their lifetime, compared with those who had not read any of the books.Bonomi admits that one limitation of this study is that they were not able to determine whether these behaviors were already pre-existing among the women. But she says that even if they were, reading the books may still pose problems.She explains:
I posed some interesting questions on Facebook this week in preparation for this post. One was how abuse is defined; another was how much countrol should the government have over what goes on in our bedrooms; from a male Dominant/female submissive standpoint, is BDSM degrading to women; and how much credence is given to research. I thought those were relevant to the article above, and I got some surprising answers.
Most of those who thought BDSM was degrading to women were abuse victims themselves. Pretty much no one thought the government had any business trying to regulate what happens in the privacy of a person's bedroom. Defining abuse was a little harder, and I, along with others, leaned toward the legal aspect, although what is illegal is often not truly abuse. As for the research, well, one only has to look above to see the flaws there.
The first thing I did when I read this was try to find out who funded this so-called research. The lead study author was from Michigan State University, with the balance from The Ohio State University. There was no indication regarding funding, so I'm left to guess that perhaps Bonomi is working on a thesis for some level of graduate degree. I also checked Medical News Today, the organization that published this, and found that it's independently funded. So my reasoning that perhaps it was funded by some über-conservative group fell flat.
Before I go any farther, let me explain to you that, regardless what you or I think, FSOG is indeed about a physically abusive relationship. The things depicted in those books are NOT what BDSM is about, not at all. In the books, we see a damaged, sexually abused man trying to transfer enough pain to get to a breakthrough, and a young woman who's determined to see him through. And let me tell you, if a guy with a multi-million-dollar corporation and a helicopter wanted to cane me, I'd probably let him. I can do anything if I know it will eventually come to an end.
In light of the knowledge that FSOG really is abusive, I also realize that a lot of readers are reading for the titillation and don't get the implications. They want the rumpus in the sack. Many of them started out with FSOG and then moved on to works like mine, Kallypso Master, Red Phoenix, Lexie Blake, Shayla Black, and many others too numerous to mention. The difference in our works is that the BDSM is far more true to life (although there is no real submissive training school, but I wish there were, Red). Sure, sometimes they supposedly occur in exotic locations, but the message is the same: Mutual satisfaction, a deep level of caring, and even love.
And there's the kicker. True BDSM is all about trust, respect, and communication. It's why I keep telling women that if they're married and find a Dom who'll work with them without their husband's knowledge or consent, they should RUN LIKE HELL! That's neither honorable nor trustworthy. And if they do not inform said Dom and he finds out, well, I wouldn't want to be her, no I would not. With that in mind, the BDSM depicted in FSOG is nowhere near the real thing, at least not as practiced by responsible individuals.
But knowing what I know, this article made me bristle big time. I was tee-totally fucking pissed that all BDSM works were lumped into the same category with FSOG. While I read and liked the books, they in no way represent the entire genre. With my pissed-offedness in mind, I started to parse out the article. And here's what I found.
They claim that the 219 out of 655 women in this study, ages 18-24, who read at least the first book, if not all three, were more likely to have partners who verbally abused them, stalked them, or they were more apt to use diet aids or starve themselves. So I have a question for them: Could it be that these young women were looking for a way to understand how they got themselves into that predicament? Or could they possibly just be more sexually open, and thereby attract the wrong men who would gravitate to women in that age group? Let me be clear here: Women ages 18-24 are higher on the risk-taking scale for EVERYTHING, not just behaviors that lead to abusive relationships. It's part of being young and seemingly invincible.
Nowhere in this study did it mention the socio-economic standings of the women in the study. Could that by any chance have an effect? It most certainly does. If the 219 women in the study were economically underprivileged, they would be more likely to engage in risky behavior in their search for some relief from their financial impoverishment. Didn't the researchers think that might be important?
As for the binge drinking data, we are talking about young women of college age. Ditto for the numerous sexual partners. It stands to reason that if they're reading books like FSOG, they're likely more sexually open and, therefore, have probably experimented sexually more than their counterparts. And at that age, that's all BDSM really is - sexual experimentation. Listen, if you haven't figured out that NO ONE in that age range is a sexual expert or BDSM master, then you've got a double load of shit for brains. The entire idea of someone below thirty being experienced enough to be a sexpert is ludicrous. There may be the one lone individual who's old beyond their years, but just one. Really. I'm not kidding. Otherwise, they aren't out there, folks.
And did it ever occur to these researchers that the ones who said they didn't drink or have multiple sex partners might be lying? I think that's entirely probable. I mean, if you ask females in that age range those kinds of questions, do you really think all of them are going to be truthful? Hey, I raised a girl. I know what they do and don't want people to know. Good luck with that.
The study goes on to state that if one had an eating disorder before, the books might glorify that, and even suggested that the books might be the cause of the onset of these behaviors. Really? Wow. Those are some pretty powerful books E.L.'s got there. They must be magic. I'll have to remember that. But toward the end of the article, they acquiesce in that books depicting violence against women aren't inherently bad if they're used to shed light on the problem, but are dangerous if they're to be taken as the norm. Again, I do believe most people, even younger people, know that the behaviors in FSOG are not considered normal in any context. Not only that, but I think most people know that the scenario in the books is totally fantasy. My baby has a helicopter too - he got it last year for the holidays from one of the kids, and it takes four AA batteries. He's run that thing into the curtains so many times that I want to snap it in half.
But here's the part I loved. Bonomi admits that the data leaves out whether or not these behaviors and problems existed before the women read the books.
Whoa. Here's my question: How the HELL can you make the correlation between the books and the aforementioned problems if you don't know whether or not these young women were partaking in these behaviors BEFORE the study? Listen, I don't know a lot about studies - didn't think I'd ever be doing one, so my brain kinda slipped into neutral during that part of statistics class - but even I know that studies must have controls, and that would definitely be one of the most important controls they could have. How can you infer a correlation between an increase in one thing juxtaposed with another if you have no idea of its levels beforehand? Without that simple information, how can you even call this research data?
In short, how irresponsible could they be for publishing this? Pretty damned irresponsible, I'd say. So irresponsible that it irked me right down to my pedicured toenails.
So I want to go on record as saying this:
I'm insulted. I'm insulted regarding the way this study was done and the assumption that my view of FSOG could be changed by incomplete data. I'm insulted for all of the responsible, safe, sane, consensual, and conscientious BDSM practitioners out there and what this study attempted to say about them, their kink, and their partners. I'm insulted that it's assumed that reading a book could cause a person to binge drink, starve themselves, and sleep around. Crapola, I say. This study smacks of bigotry, ignorance, and sexual frigidity. Matter of fact, I'm more than insulted - I'm downright incensed.
Let me do a study like this. I guaran-damn-tee you the results would be different, and I'd do it the right way, with the correct controls and all of the data. I'm tired of talking heads pontificating regarding things about which they know absolutely nothing. Stop picking on peoples' lifestyles. Stop trying to make sex the devil. Go to the adult store, get yourself a dildo, and get laid. Because with your attitudes about sex and kink, you're going to have a hard time finding a real person who'll want you. And leave the rest of us alone.
Damn it, break out the wrist restraints and my Lelo flogger. I feel a heavy-duty session coming on.
So here's my disclaimer: If you have a problem with "swear words," you might just want to back out of this right now because it's fixin' to get all crazy up in here. I read this "study" and just about shoved my fist through my computer screen.
I've debated whether to put the link in this post or actually dump the text. I've decided I'll give you the text because, quite frankly, I want to go back and reference comments from it.
So read this. Some of you will need inhalers. I know I almost did. The actual link is http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/artic.... Oh, and note the graphic lurking over there to the right in my sidebar. Seems some other people found this to be useless too.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Women who read Fifty Shades 'more likely to have unhealthy behaviors'Monday 25 August 2014 - 12am PST
Women's Health / GynecologyEating DisordersAlcohol / Addiction / Illegal DrugsPsychology / Psychiatryadd your opinionemailMNT FeaturedAcademic JournalRatings for this article (click to rate)
Public / Patient:
15 ratingsHealth Professionals: 6 ratings"Mr. Grey will see you now." Just these words are likely to send many women into a frenzy. The Fifty Shades novels by British author E.L. James have been a global phenomenon, selling more than 100 million copies worldwide. But although reading a book may seem harmless, a new study suggests young adult women who read these erotic novels are more likely to engage in unhealthy behaviors that are risk factors for abusive relationships.
Women who read Fifty Shades are more likely to have unhealthy behaviors that are risk factors for abusive relationships, according to new research.For those of you who are unfamiliar with Fifty Shades, the story revolves around the sexual endeavors of two characters: Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey.In the first of the series - Fifty Shades of Grey - Steele, a literature student described as "unworldly" and "innocent," meets Grey, a man who is charming, intelligent, but who has a dark, controlling side.They then embark in a "daring, passionately physical" affair, or as lead study author Amy Bonomi of Michigan State University deems it, an abusive relationship. This continues throughout the subsequent two novels - Fifty Shades Darker andFifty Shades Freed.According to the researchers, the erotic series "depicts pervasive violence against women, perpetuating a broader social narrative that normalizes these types of risks and behaviors in women's lives."Is there a relationship between reading these books and unhealthy behaviors in real life? Bonomi and colleagues from The Ohio State University wanted to find out.Fifty Shades fans 'more likely to binge drink, have abusive partners and eating disorders'For their study, recently published in the Journal of Women's Health, the team analyzed 655 women between the ages of 18 and 24 - a time in women's lives when they are most likely to explore greater sexual intimacy in relationships, according to Bonomi.Of these women, 122 had read all three Fifty Shades novels, 97 had read at least the first novel but not all three, and 436 had not read any part of the novels.The team found that, compared with women who had not read any of the books, the women who had read the first novel were 25% more likely to have a partner who verbally abused them, 34% more likely to have a partner who showed stalking tendencies, and 75% more likely to have starved themselves for more than 24 hours or to have used dieting aids.Furthermore, women who had read all three books were 65% more likely to engage in binge drinking - defined as drinking five or more drinks in one sitting on 6 days or more every month - and were 63% more likely to have had five or more sexual partners in their lifetime, compared with those who had not read any of the books.Bonomi admits that one limitation of this study is that they were not able to determine whether these behaviors were already pre-existing among the women. But she says that even if they were, reading the books may still pose problems.She explains:
"If women experienced adverse health behaviors such as disordered eating first, reading Fifty Shades might reaffirm those experiences and potentially aggravate related trauma.Likewise, if they read Fifty Shades before experiencing the health behaviors seen in our study, it's possible the books influenced the onset of these behaviors."Unhealthy behaviors 'risk factors for abusive relationships'Bonomi notes that she is not recommending that the book should be banned, nor is she trying to dictate what books women should or should not read.But she says it is important that women understand that the unhealthy behaviors linked to reading Fifty Shades demonstrated in this study are risk factors for engaging in violent relationships.In an attempt to reduce these risks, Bonomi says that parents and teachers should have conversations with children from a young age about sexuality and expectations of body image and gender roles.In addition, she believes children and young adults should be taught to be critical when it comes to watching movies, reading books or consuming other media that demonstrates violence."We recognize that the depiction of violence against women in and of itself is not problematic, especially if the depiction attempts to shed serious light on the problem," Bonomi adds. "The problem comes when the depiction reinforces the acceptance of the status quo, rather than challenging it."Last year, Medical News Today reported on a study published in the journal JAMA Pediatrics, revealing that almost 10% of youths under the age of 21 have instigated sexual violence.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I posed some interesting questions on Facebook this week in preparation for this post. One was how abuse is defined; another was how much countrol should the government have over what goes on in our bedrooms; from a male Dominant/female submissive standpoint, is BDSM degrading to women; and how much credence is given to research. I thought those were relevant to the article above, and I got some surprising answers.
Most of those who thought BDSM was degrading to women were abuse victims themselves. Pretty much no one thought the government had any business trying to regulate what happens in the privacy of a person's bedroom. Defining abuse was a little harder, and I, along with others, leaned toward the legal aspect, although what is illegal is often not truly abuse. As for the research, well, one only has to look above to see the flaws there.
The first thing I did when I read this was try to find out who funded this so-called research. The lead study author was from Michigan State University, with the balance from The Ohio State University. There was no indication regarding funding, so I'm left to guess that perhaps Bonomi is working on a thesis for some level of graduate degree. I also checked Medical News Today, the organization that published this, and found that it's independently funded. So my reasoning that perhaps it was funded by some über-conservative group fell flat.
Before I go any farther, let me explain to you that, regardless what you or I think, FSOG is indeed about a physically abusive relationship. The things depicted in those books are NOT what BDSM is about, not at all. In the books, we see a damaged, sexually abused man trying to transfer enough pain to get to a breakthrough, and a young woman who's determined to see him through. And let me tell you, if a guy with a multi-million-dollar corporation and a helicopter wanted to cane me, I'd probably let him. I can do anything if I know it will eventually come to an end.
In light of the knowledge that FSOG really is abusive, I also realize that a lot of readers are reading for the titillation and don't get the implications. They want the rumpus in the sack. Many of them started out with FSOG and then moved on to works like mine, Kallypso Master, Red Phoenix, Lexie Blake, Shayla Black, and many others too numerous to mention. The difference in our works is that the BDSM is far more true to life (although there is no real submissive training school, but I wish there were, Red). Sure, sometimes they supposedly occur in exotic locations, but the message is the same: Mutual satisfaction, a deep level of caring, and even love.
And there's the kicker. True BDSM is all about trust, respect, and communication. It's why I keep telling women that if they're married and find a Dom who'll work with them without their husband's knowledge or consent, they should RUN LIKE HELL! That's neither honorable nor trustworthy. And if they do not inform said Dom and he finds out, well, I wouldn't want to be her, no I would not. With that in mind, the BDSM depicted in FSOG is nowhere near the real thing, at least not as practiced by responsible individuals.
But knowing what I know, this article made me bristle big time. I was tee-totally fucking pissed that all BDSM works were lumped into the same category with FSOG. While I read and liked the books, they in no way represent the entire genre. With my pissed-offedness in mind, I started to parse out the article. And here's what I found.
They claim that the 219 out of 655 women in this study, ages 18-24, who read at least the first book, if not all three, were more likely to have partners who verbally abused them, stalked them, or they were more apt to use diet aids or starve themselves. So I have a question for them: Could it be that these young women were looking for a way to understand how they got themselves into that predicament? Or could they possibly just be more sexually open, and thereby attract the wrong men who would gravitate to women in that age group? Let me be clear here: Women ages 18-24 are higher on the risk-taking scale for EVERYTHING, not just behaviors that lead to abusive relationships. It's part of being young and seemingly invincible.
Nowhere in this study did it mention the socio-economic standings of the women in the study. Could that by any chance have an effect? It most certainly does. If the 219 women in the study were economically underprivileged, they would be more likely to engage in risky behavior in their search for some relief from their financial impoverishment. Didn't the researchers think that might be important?
As for the binge drinking data, we are talking about young women of college age. Ditto for the numerous sexual partners. It stands to reason that if they're reading books like FSOG, they're likely more sexually open and, therefore, have probably experimented sexually more than their counterparts. And at that age, that's all BDSM really is - sexual experimentation. Listen, if you haven't figured out that NO ONE in that age range is a sexual expert or BDSM master, then you've got a double load of shit for brains. The entire idea of someone below thirty being experienced enough to be a sexpert is ludicrous. There may be the one lone individual who's old beyond their years, but just one. Really. I'm not kidding. Otherwise, they aren't out there, folks.
And did it ever occur to these researchers that the ones who said they didn't drink or have multiple sex partners might be lying? I think that's entirely probable. I mean, if you ask females in that age range those kinds of questions, do you really think all of them are going to be truthful? Hey, I raised a girl. I know what they do and don't want people to know. Good luck with that.
The study goes on to state that if one had an eating disorder before, the books might glorify that, and even suggested that the books might be the cause of the onset of these behaviors. Really? Wow. Those are some pretty powerful books E.L.'s got there. They must be magic. I'll have to remember that. But toward the end of the article, they acquiesce in that books depicting violence against women aren't inherently bad if they're used to shed light on the problem, but are dangerous if they're to be taken as the norm. Again, I do believe most people, even younger people, know that the behaviors in FSOG are not considered normal in any context. Not only that, but I think most people know that the scenario in the books is totally fantasy. My baby has a helicopter too - he got it last year for the holidays from one of the kids, and it takes four AA batteries. He's run that thing into the curtains so many times that I want to snap it in half.
But here's the part I loved. Bonomi admits that the data leaves out whether or not these behaviors and problems existed before the women read the books.
Whoa. Here's my question: How the HELL can you make the correlation between the books and the aforementioned problems if you don't know whether or not these young women were partaking in these behaviors BEFORE the study? Listen, I don't know a lot about studies - didn't think I'd ever be doing one, so my brain kinda slipped into neutral during that part of statistics class - but even I know that studies must have controls, and that would definitely be one of the most important controls they could have. How can you infer a correlation between an increase in one thing juxtaposed with another if you have no idea of its levels beforehand? Without that simple information, how can you even call this research data?
In short, how irresponsible could they be for publishing this? Pretty damned irresponsible, I'd say. So irresponsible that it irked me right down to my pedicured toenails.
So I want to go on record as saying this:
I'm insulted. I'm insulted regarding the way this study was done and the assumption that my view of FSOG could be changed by incomplete data. I'm insulted for all of the responsible, safe, sane, consensual, and conscientious BDSM practitioners out there and what this study attempted to say about them, their kink, and their partners. I'm insulted that it's assumed that reading a book could cause a person to binge drink, starve themselves, and sleep around. Crapola, I say. This study smacks of bigotry, ignorance, and sexual frigidity. Matter of fact, I'm more than insulted - I'm downright incensed.
Let me do a study like this. I guaran-damn-tee you the results would be different, and I'd do it the right way, with the correct controls and all of the data. I'm tired of talking heads pontificating regarding things about which they know absolutely nothing. Stop picking on peoples' lifestyles. Stop trying to make sex the devil. Go to the adult store, get yourself a dildo, and get laid. Because with your attitudes about sex and kink, you're going to have a hard time finding a real person who'll want you. And leave the rest of us alone.
Damn it, break out the wrist restraints and my Lelo flogger. I feel a heavy-duty session coming on.
August 27, 2014
My Reads: Story of O by Pauline Réage
I know I usually feature contemporary writes in this space, but this is a read with which you should be familiar if you're at all interested in BDSM, more specificially Dominant/submissive and/or Master/slave relationships. It's not a new book by any means; written in 1954, it has piqued the interest of readers for years now. Along with the subject matter, the mystery surrounding the book has kept it in the minds of not only readers but also writers in the erotic romance and erotica genres over the decades. This week's feature is the infamous Story of O.
I'd like to be able to give you a spectacular graphic, but I can't. You can't buy this book from Amazon, Matter of fact, it's hard to get anywhere, but I do have a source. If you can't find a copy, well, I'd say let me know and I'll help you, but there are a finite number of copies still in circulation, so go on a hunt and see if you can find it.
This is a book that doesn't have spoilers because it really doesn't have a plot. Well, it kind of does, but not really. The plot is the sexual acts that take place within the book and, with that in mind, it qualifies as pure erotica. And there are lots of sexual acts, plenty. The protagonist of the book, a Parisian photographer in the fashion industry, is known only as "O" throughout the book.
She is taken into the world of willing sexual slavery by her lover, René. He takes her to Roissy to an exclusive club where her training to service all of the members at their discretion begins. Later, she is passed by René to his stepbrother, Sir Stephen. René's goal in this is to teach her to serve those with whom she's not in love. During this time period, she undergoes body modification, including branding and labial piercing.
Along the way, she's instructed to lure a beautiful model, Jacqueline, to Roissy. Jacqueline is curious and agrees to go only for that reason, to see what it's about, but later she is unwillingly enslaved there and forced to serve as O does, although this isn't detailed.
In the end, O is used in a most public fashion at a party. And this is the part that I refuse to reveal: The epilogue of the book hints at what becomes of O, and it's not pretty. Not pretty at all. I remember being more than mildly shocked but, given the slave mentality, it's not at all surprising, since O had fallen in love with Sir Stephen, although he didn't return her feelings.
Story of O is a classic in the genre. The author was actually Anne Desclos, but no one knew that for forty years after the book was published. She had a lover who was enamoured with the work of the Marquis de Sade, and she wrote this novel for him.
I liked Story of O because it took me into a world where few novels dare to tread. If you want to understand the dynamic between a Master and a sexual slave, this book is the ultimate resource. Being written in the 50s, the language is a bit stiff compared to what we now see, and yet the meanings come through loud and clear. It's almost lyrical. I'm not sure if anyone would find it titillating as much as horrifying, but I found it to be both. And if you're an erotic romance or erotica writer and you have not read this book, I feel as though it should be made mandatory reading for the genre. Within its pages you will find the basis for Dominant/submissive relationships, and then discover what happens when they're taken much, much farther and into a completely different realm. It's truly frightening, until you realize that through this particular lifestyle, O gained true freedom and, in the end, the ultimate freedom.
I would note that there is a particular Master/Dominant whose writings I follow, and while he is the consummate Master with a more-than-willing slave, this book goes much farther than the relationship he has or that others I've known have. It's a tale of true obsession with submission to the point of utter destruction. Read it at your own risk, but don't be surprised if you see something of yourself, even a little hint, within its lines.
And good luck finding a copy. If you find a source, please share in the comments below so others who might be interested can look for themselves. And thanks for that in advance.
I'd like to be able to give you a spectacular graphic, but I can't. You can't buy this book from Amazon, Matter of fact, it's hard to get anywhere, but I do have a source. If you can't find a copy, well, I'd say let me know and I'll help you, but there are a finite number of copies still in circulation, so go on a hunt and see if you can find it.
This is a book that doesn't have spoilers because it really doesn't have a plot. Well, it kind of does, but not really. The plot is the sexual acts that take place within the book and, with that in mind, it qualifies as pure erotica. And there are lots of sexual acts, plenty. The protagonist of the book, a Parisian photographer in the fashion industry, is known only as "O" throughout the book.
She is taken into the world of willing sexual slavery by her lover, René. He takes her to Roissy to an exclusive club where her training to service all of the members at their discretion begins. Later, she is passed by René to his stepbrother, Sir Stephen. René's goal in this is to teach her to serve those with whom she's not in love. During this time period, she undergoes body modification, including branding and labial piercing.
Along the way, she's instructed to lure a beautiful model, Jacqueline, to Roissy. Jacqueline is curious and agrees to go only for that reason, to see what it's about, but later she is unwillingly enslaved there and forced to serve as O does, although this isn't detailed.
In the end, O is used in a most public fashion at a party. And this is the part that I refuse to reveal: The epilogue of the book hints at what becomes of O, and it's not pretty. Not pretty at all. I remember being more than mildly shocked but, given the slave mentality, it's not at all surprising, since O had fallen in love with Sir Stephen, although he didn't return her feelings.
Story of O is a classic in the genre. The author was actually Anne Desclos, but no one knew that for forty years after the book was published. She had a lover who was enamoured with the work of the Marquis de Sade, and she wrote this novel for him.
I liked Story of O because it took me into a world where few novels dare to tread. If you want to understand the dynamic between a Master and a sexual slave, this book is the ultimate resource. Being written in the 50s, the language is a bit stiff compared to what we now see, and yet the meanings come through loud and clear. It's almost lyrical. I'm not sure if anyone would find it titillating as much as horrifying, but I found it to be both. And if you're an erotic romance or erotica writer and you have not read this book, I feel as though it should be made mandatory reading for the genre. Within its pages you will find the basis for Dominant/submissive relationships, and then discover what happens when they're taken much, much farther and into a completely different realm. It's truly frightening, until you realize that through this particular lifestyle, O gained true freedom and, in the end, the ultimate freedom.
I would note that there is a particular Master/Dominant whose writings I follow, and while he is the consummate Master with a more-than-willing slave, this book goes much farther than the relationship he has or that others I've known have. It's a tale of true obsession with submission to the point of utter destruction. Read it at your own risk, but don't be surprised if you see something of yourself, even a little hint, within its lines.
And good luck finding a copy. If you find a source, please share in the comments below so others who might be interested can look for themselves. And thanks for that in advance.
August 23, 2014
What I Know About Broken Hearts
I'm a romance writer. One of the things romance writers peddle is broken hearts. In almost every book, if a heart isn't broken, someone isn't satisfied with the story. Isn't that what it's about? Broken hearts being mended? Unrequited love being satisfied? Those ties severed by illness, injury, death, infidelity, apathy, and neglect being repaired.
People look at me and think the same thing I used to think. I'm deep into a love of a lifetime. I've got two super-smart, well-educated kids who've done well for themselves. Nice cars, nice house, nice clothes, nice life. What could someone like me possibly know about broken hearts?
Turns out I know plenty.
My heart was broken a couple of times a week as I was growing up by kids who told me how ugly I was and didn't want me around. To make matters worse, I was painfully shy, still am, and I had trouble making friends. Part of that was due to the fact that my parents didn't have friends, so I had no social skills. Add to this the fact that every time I asked my mother, "Am I pretty?" her answer was, "There's nothing wrong with the way you look." Does that sound the same as "yes" to you? No, it didn't to me either. I headed into my teens already pretty brokenhearted and very alone.
And then I met my future husband. He didn't want me. I was convenient and I hung on him, did anything he wanted, went anywhere he wanted. I was fifteen. What did I know? Nothing, really. I drank my way through the last three years of high school. The guidance counselor called me in to talk to me about college - I was an honor grad - but my parents had made it clear that they wouldn't help me at all. With no idea how things worked in the real world, school seemed impossible. I told the guidance counselor that I'd be getting married.
I signed the papers on my first home the day after I graduated from high school, courtesy of a downpayment my parents gave him if he'd marry me and take me out of their household. Literally. I'm not kidding. We worked on it from sun up until sundown, trying to get it livable. And then the unthinkable happened.
My fifteen-year-old sister died. She died on Thursday, we buried her on Saturday, and I got married on Sunday. And through everything, my parents, my mother in particular, told me how I wasn't grieving correctly, corrected me every time I opened my mouth, and generally pushed me to the side. In reality, they were disappointed. The daughter they thought would finish college and marry a doctor or lawyer was dead. And they were stuck with the consolation prize. I was heartbroken because I had no sibling and my parents didn't want me.
My new husband treated me like shit. I was told that none of his friends wanted me around because I thought I was too good for them, so I learned to say "ain't" and use double negatives and redneck terms that made me sound more like them. Didn't matter. They still didn't want me around. Neither did he. And I got my heart broken a couple of times a week. I spent most of my time crying myself to sleep.
We finally divorced, but not before we'd had a child that he and his family would torment for years. I met a man who was completely different from him, and we married. We had a child. He spent years breaking my heart over and over, acting like he was twelve, and just generally being a pain in the ass. And he was gone most of the time, so I was alone. I held jobs where people misused me and mistreated me and said things to me that I'd now punch them in the face for. But I was young and I didn't think I had an option. So I got my heart broken at least once a week, more often if someone could manage.
My mother's house flooded and she, as usual, cleaned it out into mine because she couldn't bring herself to throw anything away. And in the rubble and detritus in the boxes she handed over, I found something: A certificate for a scholarship to a college. I'd never known that it existed. It came to my home and no one ever told me. I'd had a chance to go to college, me, the girl with an I.Q. of 151 whose parents had told her she'd never make it in college, and no one had even bothered to tell me. To this day, I feel the pain in my chest that I felt the day I pulled out that certificate and saw that. No one knows what that felt like. You can't even imagine. Their lack of love and care changed the course of my life.
Along the way, I was betrayed by more people than I can count. I wound up in a church where I was treated like a second-class citizen because we weren't rich. I studied and worked and volunteered and counseled. I was well-respected. I started a Sunday school class for women whose husbands wouldn't attend with them and built it from three people to about twenty. And just about the time that we were rolling along pretty well, the pastor's wife came along and decided she wanted to take my Sunday school class. And my heart got broken again.
So I went to another church and did the same thing, And once again, when I'd built a class that was good-sized and the women were bonding and having fun and learning to depend on each other, a woman came into the church and pretty much let them know that I was inadequate and she wanted my class. So again, I got my heart broken.
I spent days, weeks, and months working with a volunteer organization and, as soon as they had an opening, they gave it to someone else. Yep, you guessed it - broke my heart. I went back to school to get my degree and was promised a job, only to find out that no one was hiring instructors as anything but adjuncts and, for my money, I'd make about $10K a year. Something about that seemed wrong. And the promise of the job fell away, much to my brokenheartedness.
Then, after four years of dating, my daughter and the young man I'd thought was going to be my son-in-law broke up abruptly. One day they were together and the next day they weren't. They broke up over the phone. He'd been there every birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, every occasion, and suddenly he was just gone. And I never got to say goodbye. I don't know what broke my heart more, never being able to say goodbye to him or no one thinking that my feelings about it mattered. It was painful. To this day, I think about it and cry. I love my son-in-law - he's a wonderful, wonderful man - but I found it difficult after that to connect with the significant others my children brought home because of the horror still in my heart. My son married and I loved his wife, but when they divorced, as painful as it was, I lived through it because I suppose a part of me will always be afraid to really, really love someone that another can decide doesn't belong in my life anymore, and I can be treated as though I don't matter. That's once when my heart was broken and has managed to stay that way.
Within weeks, I moved our daughter four and a half hours away, helped her find an apartment and get her utilities turned on, and drove away. I had to stop on the side of the interstate on my way home and wait until the breakdown I was experiencing calmed enough to let me drive. That was a heartbreak I'll always remember.
My old cat sickened and died. My father-in-law died suddenly. My dad lingered for years and then died. My mother-in-law died with cancer and I was responsible for her care in the end. But a little over a month after she died, our sixteen-year-old dog sickened in a two-day period and we had to make the decision to let her go peacefully. That was worse than any of the parents. My heart is permanently broken over old Fergie Sue, and I've got three more heartbreaks I'll experience when, one by one, the others will leave me. They bring you joy, and they break your heart.
I've had my heart broken a few times since then. There was the woman I thought was my friend and, when three of our four parents died, she never darkened the doors of the funeral home once. One young relative managed to break my heart so badly that our relationship will never be the same, and all because of what I do for a living. That's been horribly painful.
And just this week, someone I'd trusted for years broke that trust by attempting to perpetrate a criminal act in a way that could've hurt me, possibly even destroyed my career, had I not caught it and gone to the authorities. It was frightening. And I was reminded once again of something I've said for years: I can know you, know everything about you, know you inside and out, but when you walk into your home and close that door, I have absolutely no idea what you're doing. No clue. I have to trust that you're who you say you are and you're doing what you say you're doing. I also don't know what my husband is doing when he leaves our home. I want to trust him, but I also know that he could be doing anything and I wouldn't know it. But I've made peace with that, the unknown. Still, that betrayal broke my heart. I was sickened, frightened, and devastated.
And yet, I'll get back up, brush myself off, and keep going. Yeah, my heart's been broken before and it'll be broken again. But remember, the next time you look at someone like me and say to yourself, "What could she possibly know about being brokenhearted?"
Turns out I know a lot.
People look at me and think the same thing I used to think. I'm deep into a love of a lifetime. I've got two super-smart, well-educated kids who've done well for themselves. Nice cars, nice house, nice clothes, nice life. What could someone like me possibly know about broken hearts?
Turns out I know plenty.
My heart was broken a couple of times a week as I was growing up by kids who told me how ugly I was and didn't want me around. To make matters worse, I was painfully shy, still am, and I had trouble making friends. Part of that was due to the fact that my parents didn't have friends, so I had no social skills. Add to this the fact that every time I asked my mother, "Am I pretty?" her answer was, "There's nothing wrong with the way you look." Does that sound the same as "yes" to you? No, it didn't to me either. I headed into my teens already pretty brokenhearted and very alone.
And then I met my future husband. He didn't want me. I was convenient and I hung on him, did anything he wanted, went anywhere he wanted. I was fifteen. What did I know? Nothing, really. I drank my way through the last three years of high school. The guidance counselor called me in to talk to me about college - I was an honor grad - but my parents had made it clear that they wouldn't help me at all. With no idea how things worked in the real world, school seemed impossible. I told the guidance counselor that I'd be getting married.
I signed the papers on my first home the day after I graduated from high school, courtesy of a downpayment my parents gave him if he'd marry me and take me out of their household. Literally. I'm not kidding. We worked on it from sun up until sundown, trying to get it livable. And then the unthinkable happened.
My fifteen-year-old sister died. She died on Thursday, we buried her on Saturday, and I got married on Sunday. And through everything, my parents, my mother in particular, told me how I wasn't grieving correctly, corrected me every time I opened my mouth, and generally pushed me to the side. In reality, they were disappointed. The daughter they thought would finish college and marry a doctor or lawyer was dead. And they were stuck with the consolation prize. I was heartbroken because I had no sibling and my parents didn't want me.
My new husband treated me like shit. I was told that none of his friends wanted me around because I thought I was too good for them, so I learned to say "ain't" and use double negatives and redneck terms that made me sound more like them. Didn't matter. They still didn't want me around. Neither did he. And I got my heart broken a couple of times a week. I spent most of my time crying myself to sleep.
We finally divorced, but not before we'd had a child that he and his family would torment for years. I met a man who was completely different from him, and we married. We had a child. He spent years breaking my heart over and over, acting like he was twelve, and just generally being a pain in the ass. And he was gone most of the time, so I was alone. I held jobs where people misused me and mistreated me and said things to me that I'd now punch them in the face for. But I was young and I didn't think I had an option. So I got my heart broken at least once a week, more often if someone could manage.
My mother's house flooded and she, as usual, cleaned it out into mine because she couldn't bring herself to throw anything away. And in the rubble and detritus in the boxes she handed over, I found something: A certificate for a scholarship to a college. I'd never known that it existed. It came to my home and no one ever told me. I'd had a chance to go to college, me, the girl with an I.Q. of 151 whose parents had told her she'd never make it in college, and no one had even bothered to tell me. To this day, I feel the pain in my chest that I felt the day I pulled out that certificate and saw that. No one knows what that felt like. You can't even imagine. Their lack of love and care changed the course of my life.
Along the way, I was betrayed by more people than I can count. I wound up in a church where I was treated like a second-class citizen because we weren't rich. I studied and worked and volunteered and counseled. I was well-respected. I started a Sunday school class for women whose husbands wouldn't attend with them and built it from three people to about twenty. And just about the time that we were rolling along pretty well, the pastor's wife came along and decided she wanted to take my Sunday school class. And my heart got broken again.
So I went to another church and did the same thing, And once again, when I'd built a class that was good-sized and the women were bonding and having fun and learning to depend on each other, a woman came into the church and pretty much let them know that I was inadequate and she wanted my class. So again, I got my heart broken.
I spent days, weeks, and months working with a volunteer organization and, as soon as they had an opening, they gave it to someone else. Yep, you guessed it - broke my heart. I went back to school to get my degree and was promised a job, only to find out that no one was hiring instructors as anything but adjuncts and, for my money, I'd make about $10K a year. Something about that seemed wrong. And the promise of the job fell away, much to my brokenheartedness.
Then, after four years of dating, my daughter and the young man I'd thought was going to be my son-in-law broke up abruptly. One day they were together and the next day they weren't. They broke up over the phone. He'd been there every birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, every occasion, and suddenly he was just gone. And I never got to say goodbye. I don't know what broke my heart more, never being able to say goodbye to him or no one thinking that my feelings about it mattered. It was painful. To this day, I think about it and cry. I love my son-in-law - he's a wonderful, wonderful man - but I found it difficult after that to connect with the significant others my children brought home because of the horror still in my heart. My son married and I loved his wife, but when they divorced, as painful as it was, I lived through it because I suppose a part of me will always be afraid to really, really love someone that another can decide doesn't belong in my life anymore, and I can be treated as though I don't matter. That's once when my heart was broken and has managed to stay that way.
Within weeks, I moved our daughter four and a half hours away, helped her find an apartment and get her utilities turned on, and drove away. I had to stop on the side of the interstate on my way home and wait until the breakdown I was experiencing calmed enough to let me drive. That was a heartbreak I'll always remember.
My old cat sickened and died. My father-in-law died suddenly. My dad lingered for years and then died. My mother-in-law died with cancer and I was responsible for her care in the end. But a little over a month after she died, our sixteen-year-old dog sickened in a two-day period and we had to make the decision to let her go peacefully. That was worse than any of the parents. My heart is permanently broken over old Fergie Sue, and I've got three more heartbreaks I'll experience when, one by one, the others will leave me. They bring you joy, and they break your heart.
I've had my heart broken a few times since then. There was the woman I thought was my friend and, when three of our four parents died, she never darkened the doors of the funeral home once. One young relative managed to break my heart so badly that our relationship will never be the same, and all because of what I do for a living. That's been horribly painful.
And just this week, someone I'd trusted for years broke that trust by attempting to perpetrate a criminal act in a way that could've hurt me, possibly even destroyed my career, had I not caught it and gone to the authorities. It was frightening. And I was reminded once again of something I've said for years: I can know you, know everything about you, know you inside and out, but when you walk into your home and close that door, I have absolutely no idea what you're doing. No clue. I have to trust that you're who you say you are and you're doing what you say you're doing. I also don't know what my husband is doing when he leaves our home. I want to trust him, but I also know that he could be doing anything and I wouldn't know it. But I've made peace with that, the unknown. Still, that betrayal broke my heart. I was sickened, frightened, and devastated.
And yet, I'll get back up, brush myself off, and keep going. Yeah, my heart's been broken before and it'll be broken again. But remember, the next time you look at someone like me and say to yourself, "What could she possibly know about being brokenhearted?"
Turns out I know a lot.
August 20, 2014
My Reads: Seeing Red by Olivia Howe
I don’t read vampire books. I think I told all of you that before. I’m not a Twihard. I’m not even a Twicare. Sparkly vampires make me giggle, and not in a good way. So when I started this series, I was a little skeptical. You’ve heard from me on the first in this series, but now you can hear from me on the second. It’s Seeing Red, Olivia Howe’s sophomore offering in the Dark Love series. (Did you see how I worked in that high school reference? Pretty smooth, huh?)
This is one of those books that I have to be careful with, because just about anything I say will be a spoiler. And as you know, I don’t do spoilers. So let me see if I can bring you up to speed.
At the end of the first book, Nina’s sister has disappeared. I can’t say why, but know that Nina’s learned a lot of things about herself and her family, and really important things at that. When we pick up in Seeing Red, the vampires in Nina’s world are trying to protect her from the Sulivic brothers, another group of vampires who want to kill her. Why? Because she’s a healer and, to them, healing a vampire from being undead is tantamount to killing them. If they become human again, they’ll eventually die. That’s contrary to everything about being a vampire.
As time goes by, someone new is introduced – matter of fact, an entire family, and they are special in their abilities. I can’t say any more than that. Anyway, in the course of this book, the new family and their abilities are explored, someone shows up and pulls a terrible stunt, someone dies (I mean really, really dies, for good), someone returns, someone turns traitor, someone makes a surprise reappearance, and then something terrible happens to the heroine. Oh, she’s still there, but it’s . . . well, you’ll just have to read it. Frankly, the ending made me absolutely want to read the next book.
While the characters are all teenagers and the story centers around a high school, as in the first book, that didn’t turn me off at all. I think I would’ve liked it far more if it had been college, but that’s just me. I’m very curious about how all of the characters who were introduced in this book are going to play a role in the next one. And I want to know how the heroine’s “situation” gets resolved.
So what did I like about this book? I like Andrew, the male protagonist. He’s so gentlemanly and sweet. I like the complication for the female protagonist; it’s reminiscent of something caused by vampires’ abilities in True Blood, but I still liked it. And I like where the story is going. The last book has great potential if Miss Howe can pull it all together, and I have no doubt that she can.
If you’re sitting there and wishing you had something a little different to read, you might want to give Seeing Red a try. Get busy on the next book, Olivia – I’m waiting!
This is one of those books that I have to be careful with, because just about anything I say will be a spoiler. And as you know, I don’t do spoilers. So let me see if I can bring you up to speed.
At the end of the first book, Nina’s sister has disappeared. I can’t say why, but know that Nina’s learned a lot of things about herself and her family, and really important things at that. When we pick up in Seeing Red, the vampires in Nina’s world are trying to protect her from the Sulivic brothers, another group of vampires who want to kill her. Why? Because she’s a healer and, to them, healing a vampire from being undead is tantamount to killing them. If they become human again, they’ll eventually die. That’s contrary to everything about being a vampire.
As time goes by, someone new is introduced – matter of fact, an entire family, and they are special in their abilities. I can’t say any more than that. Anyway, in the course of this book, the new family and their abilities are explored, someone shows up and pulls a terrible stunt, someone dies (I mean really, really dies, for good), someone returns, someone turns traitor, someone makes a surprise reappearance, and then something terrible happens to the heroine. Oh, she’s still there, but it’s . . . well, you’ll just have to read it. Frankly, the ending made me absolutely want to read the next book.
While the characters are all teenagers and the story centers around a high school, as in the first book, that didn’t turn me off at all. I think I would’ve liked it far more if it had been college, but that’s just me. I’m very curious about how all of the characters who were introduced in this book are going to play a role in the next one. And I want to know how the heroine’s “situation” gets resolved.
So what did I like about this book? I like Andrew, the male protagonist. He’s so gentlemanly and sweet. I like the complication for the female protagonist; it’s reminiscent of something caused by vampires’ abilities in True Blood, but I still liked it. And I like where the story is going. The last book has great potential if Miss Howe can pull it all together, and I have no doubt that she can.
If you’re sitting there and wishing you had something a little different to read, you might want to give Seeing Red a try. Get busy on the next book, Olivia – I’m waiting!
August 16, 2014
My Publishing Top Ten Wish List
Everyone has their own wish list. It’s no different in the indie publishing industry. We all have things we want to see come about, and I’m no exception.
Somewhere in my forays I read an article, and in it, the writer spoke a profound truth. He said something to the effect of the fact that everyone wants a blockbuster bestseller, but that’s not common. Even if you manage that, when the dust settles, what’s your long-term goal, your five-year goal, followed by your ten-year goal? Most indie writers don’t even think about that. Instead, they write a book, slap a cover on it, and hit “publish” on Amazon without thinking any farther than that, except, of course, about the vacations to Cancun and brand-new Jaguars they'll buy with that fortune they're going to make.
Gotta admit, the guy had a point.
I have my own wish list. Call it my “Top Ten” if you’d like. Let me share it with you. As I do, I hope you’ll give it some thought.
#10I want to make a living at this crazy vocation. It’s unlikely that I will, but I’d love to be able to, or at least supplement our income. Right now, I’d take making enough money to cover the book covers, formatting, proof copies from Createspace, swag, banners, mileage and gasoline, all of that. It’s a dream, I know, but I’d love to be able to do that.
I know you're thinking, "Wait! Making a living as an author is her number ten? Seriously?" Yeah. Serious as a heart attack. Read on.
#9I want to wake up every day happy that I’m a writer. I’m not talking about being an author; I’m talking about being a writer. I am an author, but before, during, and after being an author, I was, am, and will be a writer. I want to remember why I’m doing this in the first place and fall in love every day with the freedom of expression that I have. If I get too lost in the commercial side, I’ll forget all that. I don’t want to do that – ever.
We've got a lot of frickin' "authors" out there, people. We need some writers.
#8I want my family to finally be proud of me. I know that’s asking a lot – what kid wants their friends to know their mom writes “porn?” – but it would be nice. I’m not expecting them to like my books, but I would like for them to acknowledge how hard I’m working.
#7I’d like to meet more interesting people, talk to them, get to know them. I love doing that. Yeah, I’m scared shitless, but I’d still like to do it. I get really, really nervous when I’m in a crowd, and especially a crowd of people I don’t know, but I like to laugh and smile. I’d like to share that with others.
#6I’d like to find a way to really help other authors who are just getting started. I’m no expert, but I share anything I can with anyone who asks. I’m just that way. Sometimes I get taken advantage of, true (someone always tells me I’m too nice, and I’m sure she’s right). But I still will help if I’m asked. And, for the record, I’m not talking about these airheads who have glaring grammatical errors in their book titles, for the love of god, or the ones who think the past tense of lie (as in recline) is lied. I don’t have time for that – at all. I’m working here. Stop being sloppy and lazy or don’t expect my help. I’ll help anyone, but I want to know they’re helping themselves.
And by the way, that old saying that everyone has a book in them? Not true. And even if they do, perhaps for some of them it would be better if they kept that to themselves.
#5I’d like to be recognized as an author. I’m not talking about winning all kinds of awards, or being on magazine covers, or any of that stuff. One of the most thrilling things that happened to me lately was when I posted a picture of my family and me at a local winery and had someone on Facebook say, “I thought you looked familiar! We were sitting at the table on the other end!” I told her she should’ve come on down and had a seat with us. We were acting stupid and having a good time. We always do. And the more, the merrier. Plus if they recognize me, I want to be approachable and to show them that we’re not “rockstars,” as so many people have said. We’re just people who want to share a few good stories with the world. That’s all
#4I want sales, but not in the way most of my peers think. Sure, I like a high sales day. Who doesn’t? That’s nice occasionally. But actually, I’d rather have something that builds and grows steadily, not something that comes in a rush and then dies down. I’d rather sell ten books a day than fifty in one day and then only one or two, sometimes none, the other days of the month. Why? Because I know that once I’ve sold ten books a day, it’ll go up to eleven, then to fifteen, then to twenty, and after a while I’m doing very well. I want sales that are sustainable. That’s what I’m patiently working toward.
#3I want to surround myself with creative people. I hate Facebook, but that’s the one thing I love about it. So many of the people I know on there are ridiculously talented, and I love that. Creative people need to be with other creative people. There aren’t very many other authors around here, so being in an environment, even a virtual one, with so many more is a dream come true. A writer’s life can be pretty solitary, but now it doesn’t have to be.
#2I want to craft the absolute best stories I can and make them the absolute best finished product anyone could manage. I agonize over every word, edit until my eyes bleed, and even read them out loud to myself at least three times to make sure I did my best. So far, I’m told I do an excellent job of it. I’d like to think so. I strive for quality, and I hope it shows. When people read my work, I want them to laugh and cry and maybe even want to slap their mama sometimes. I want the characters to leap off the page for them. Mostly, I want them to enjoy themselves with my work. That’s why I’m doing it.
#1The thing I want most is . . . well, let me explain like this.
I was having a conversation in a private message with a member of my street team; for the record, she’s someone I highly respect. Here’s what she said to me, as I recall. She told me she couldn’t understand why my books weren’t flying “off the shelves” because they’re good. She said I was the hardest-working author she knew. And she said that, because of me, she had faith in the industry, and that if I ever gave up and quit, she’d completely lose faith. I should just tell you, when the conversation was over, I sat and wept.
So here’s my promise: I will never quit unless finances or health require me to do so. I have a team behind me and they believe in me. And I would never, never dishonor their faith in me by being a flake or a quitter. Never. If they’ll hang in there with me, I’ll most definitely hang in there. Thanks, Construction Crew. You’re my lifeline. You keep me humble by not treating me like I’m anyone special, and you keep me going with your encouragement. Sometimes I want to quit, but I won’t. So thank you. And thanks to the best promo person in the whole word over at DRC Promotions. She’s outrageously talented, spectacularly organized (which is a really, really good thing for me), and supremely efficient. I’m in awe, and I can’t thank her enough. And her sidekick is pretty damn special too.
So what’s my number one thing? I want to last. I want to be here when the rest have given up, become disillusioned, and finally admitted it’s not an easy way to make a buck. In ten years, when you come here and check on me, I’ll still be doing this, and I’ll still be loving it and having fun. I'm not talking about getting rich; I'm talking about being successful. I want to be successful and to know that my success has helped others become successful too. That’s what I want most of all.
Here’s to ten years. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Somewhere in my forays I read an article, and in it, the writer spoke a profound truth. He said something to the effect of the fact that everyone wants a blockbuster bestseller, but that’s not common. Even if you manage that, when the dust settles, what’s your long-term goal, your five-year goal, followed by your ten-year goal? Most indie writers don’t even think about that. Instead, they write a book, slap a cover on it, and hit “publish” on Amazon without thinking any farther than that, except, of course, about the vacations to Cancun and brand-new Jaguars they'll buy with that fortune they're going to make.
Gotta admit, the guy had a point.
I have my own wish list. Call it my “Top Ten” if you’d like. Let me share it with you. As I do, I hope you’ll give it some thought.
#10I want to make a living at this crazy vocation. It’s unlikely that I will, but I’d love to be able to, or at least supplement our income. Right now, I’d take making enough money to cover the book covers, formatting, proof copies from Createspace, swag, banners, mileage and gasoline, all of that. It’s a dream, I know, but I’d love to be able to do that.I know you're thinking, "Wait! Making a living as an author is her number ten? Seriously?" Yeah. Serious as a heart attack. Read on.
#9I want to wake up every day happy that I’m a writer. I’m not talking about being an author; I’m talking about being a writer. I am an author, but before, during, and after being an author, I was, am, and will be a writer. I want to remember why I’m doing this in the first place and fall in love every day with the freedom of expression that I have. If I get too lost in the commercial side, I’ll forget all that. I don’t want to do that – ever.
We've got a lot of frickin' "authors" out there, people. We need some writers.
#8I want my family to finally be proud of me. I know that’s asking a lot – what kid wants their friends to know their mom writes “porn?” – but it would be nice. I’m not expecting them to like my books, but I would like for them to acknowledge how hard I’m working.
#7I’d like to meet more interesting people, talk to them, get to know them. I love doing that. Yeah, I’m scared shitless, but I’d still like to do it. I get really, really nervous when I’m in a crowd, and especially a crowd of people I don’t know, but I like to laugh and smile. I’d like to share that with others.
#6I’d like to find a way to really help other authors who are just getting started. I’m no expert, but I share anything I can with anyone who asks. I’m just that way. Sometimes I get taken advantage of, true (someone always tells me I’m too nice, and I’m sure she’s right). But I still will help if I’m asked. And, for the record, I’m not talking about these airheads who have glaring grammatical errors in their book titles, for the love of god, or the ones who think the past tense of lie (as in recline) is lied. I don’t have time for that – at all. I’m working here. Stop being sloppy and lazy or don’t expect my help. I’ll help anyone, but I want to know they’re helping themselves.
And by the way, that old saying that everyone has a book in them? Not true. And even if they do, perhaps for some of them it would be better if they kept that to themselves.
#5I’d like to be recognized as an author. I’m not talking about winning all kinds of awards, or being on magazine covers, or any of that stuff. One of the most thrilling things that happened to me lately was when I posted a picture of my family and me at a local winery and had someone on Facebook say, “I thought you looked familiar! We were sitting at the table on the other end!” I told her she should’ve come on down and had a seat with us. We were acting stupid and having a good time. We always do. And the more, the merrier. Plus if they recognize me, I want to be approachable and to show them that we’re not “rockstars,” as so many people have said. We’re just people who want to share a few good stories with the world. That’s all
#4I want sales, but not in the way most of my peers think. Sure, I like a high sales day. Who doesn’t? That’s nice occasionally. But actually, I’d rather have something that builds and grows steadily, not something that comes in a rush and then dies down. I’d rather sell ten books a day than fifty in one day and then only one or two, sometimes none, the other days of the month. Why? Because I know that once I’ve sold ten books a day, it’ll go up to eleven, then to fifteen, then to twenty, and after a while I’m doing very well. I want sales that are sustainable. That’s what I’m patiently working toward.
#3I want to surround myself with creative people. I hate Facebook, but that’s the one thing I love about it. So many of the people I know on there are ridiculously talented, and I love that. Creative people need to be with other creative people. There aren’t very many other authors around here, so being in an environment, even a virtual one, with so many more is a dream come true. A writer’s life can be pretty solitary, but now it doesn’t have to be.
#2I want to craft the absolute best stories I can and make them the absolute best finished product anyone could manage. I agonize over every word, edit until my eyes bleed, and even read them out loud to myself at least three times to make sure I did my best. So far, I’m told I do an excellent job of it. I’d like to think so. I strive for quality, and I hope it shows. When people read my work, I want them to laugh and cry and maybe even want to slap their mama sometimes. I want the characters to leap off the page for them. Mostly, I want them to enjoy themselves with my work. That’s why I’m doing it.
#1The thing I want most is . . . well, let me explain like this.
I was having a conversation in a private message with a member of my street team; for the record, she’s someone I highly respect. Here’s what she said to me, as I recall. She told me she couldn’t understand why my books weren’t flying “off the shelves” because they’re good. She said I was the hardest-working author she knew. And she said that, because of me, she had faith in the industry, and that if I ever gave up and quit, she’d completely lose faith. I should just tell you, when the conversation was over, I sat and wept.
So here’s my promise: I will never quit unless finances or health require me to do so. I have a team behind me and they believe in me. And I would never, never dishonor their faith in me by being a flake or a quitter. Never. If they’ll hang in there with me, I’ll most definitely hang in there. Thanks, Construction Crew. You’re my lifeline. You keep me humble by not treating me like I’m anyone special, and you keep me going with your encouragement. Sometimes I want to quit, but I won’t. So thank you. And thanks to the best promo person in the whole word over at DRC Promotions. She’s outrageously talented, spectacularly organized (which is a really, really good thing for me), and supremely efficient. I’m in awe, and I can’t thank her enough. And her sidekick is pretty damn special too.
So what’s my number one thing? I want to last. I want to be here when the rest have given up, become disillusioned, and finally admitted it’s not an easy way to make a buck. In ten years, when you come here and check on me, I’ll still be doing this, and I’ll still be loving it and having fun. I'm not talking about getting rich; I'm talking about being successful. I want to be successful and to know that my success has helped others become successful too. That’s what I want most of all.
Here’s to ten years. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
August 13, 2014
My Reads: Been Loving You Too Long by Seraphina Donavan
I made an executive decision this morning as I lay in bed, upset that I had no book to feature this time. It is this: I will no longer be asking authors for their blessing in featuring their books. I’m trying to do something that will help my readers possibly branch out in their reading repertoire, and I’m trying to help the authors whose work I feature, primarily because I like their books. As I’ve said so many times before, THESE ARE NOT REVIEWS. If I don’t like a book, I won’t even give it a place on this blog because, whether I liked it or not, that’s still free advertising. I know, as usually happens to me, that I'm going to run into some jackass who's upset that their book is on a blog without their authorization. Just remember: Anyone can say anything about your book on Amazon and you have no recourse, so if you throw a little pissy hissy fit with me, I'll make sure everyone knows about your lack of gratitude. Everyone. Everyone.
With that said, I have a book that surprised me when I read it. I received it from the author as a giveaway at a conference last year. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to it, but I saw it there one day, beckoning to me, so I picked it up to give it a try, and I’m certainly glad I did. Today on the blog I’m featuring Been Loving You Too Long by Seraphina Donavan.
As it started out, I was a little worried about whether I’d finish the book or not. It’s a familiar trope: Rich guy who’s about to come into some money (or not) falls for the hired help. Along the way some other familiar tropes fall into the story but, as always, no spoilers here for me. So let me tell you what I liked about this book.
First off, it wasn’t rife with mistakes. Sure, there were some punctuation issues that I would change personally, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t correct, just my personal preferences (and yes, there is more than one way to punctuate a great many things, and none are necessarily incorrect). The rest of the mechanical stuff, grammar, punctuation, spelling, missing/extra words – this was a very clean text. That alone is enough to make me clap.
My biggest selling point on the book was that I found both of the main characters, Vincent and Ophelia, to be extremely likeable. Yeah, there was angst, of course there was angst, but it was realistic and palatable. But what I usually hate about these kinds of storylines is that the leading man is usually a real douchebag. This story wasn’t that way at all. I found Vincent, the main character, to be tragic in his reactions and my heart broke for him and the way he couldn’t bring himself to accept his own feelings. I also loved the fact that, while she had every right to be, Ophelia never turned into a four-door, brass-plated bitch, but instead just tried her hardest to keep her heart and self-esteem intact.
But I also liked the supporting characters. Thomas was likeable, as was Justin, but Kaitlyn was just a scream – I love her. Ophelia’s friend, Brenna, is a hoot too. And the “bad guys,” Claude and his daughter, Melina, are just about as sour and unlikeable as any pair I’ve ever seen. And you know how I feel about characters. If I can’t like them or hate them, if it’s a take them or leave them, I’ll leave the book. This book delivered characters I loved.
I have a rule that no word is too dirty to use in my books. With that in mind, I found Been Loving You Too Long to be a softer read; not cooler, just softer. It’s still plenty steamy. You’ll enjoy that factor. Overall, the writing lent the book a vintage feel, and I loved that about it, especially given the setting (not telling you; you’ll have to read it).
The ending is, as with all tropes, predictable, but there was still a feeling of complete satisfaction. I don’t get that with many device-laden reads, but this one did it for me. I was impressed. If I understand correctly, there will be more books in this series. I’ll be looking for them, and I certainly hope one of them is Kaitlyn’s. I’d love to hear more from her! If you get a chance, buy a copy of Been Loving You Too Long and enjoy it, because I know you will.
With that said, I have a book that surprised me when I read it. I received it from the author as a giveaway at a conference last year. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to it, but I saw it there one day, beckoning to me, so I picked it up to give it a try, and I’m certainly glad I did. Today on the blog I’m featuring Been Loving You Too Long by Seraphina Donavan.
As it started out, I was a little worried about whether I’d finish the book or not. It’s a familiar trope: Rich guy who’s about to come into some money (or not) falls for the hired help. Along the way some other familiar tropes fall into the story but, as always, no spoilers here for me. So let me tell you what I liked about this book.
First off, it wasn’t rife with mistakes. Sure, there were some punctuation issues that I would change personally, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t correct, just my personal preferences (and yes, there is more than one way to punctuate a great many things, and none are necessarily incorrect). The rest of the mechanical stuff, grammar, punctuation, spelling, missing/extra words – this was a very clean text. That alone is enough to make me clap.
My biggest selling point on the book was that I found both of the main characters, Vincent and Ophelia, to be extremely likeable. Yeah, there was angst, of course there was angst, but it was realistic and palatable. But what I usually hate about these kinds of storylines is that the leading man is usually a real douchebag. This story wasn’t that way at all. I found Vincent, the main character, to be tragic in his reactions and my heart broke for him and the way he couldn’t bring himself to accept his own feelings. I also loved the fact that, while she had every right to be, Ophelia never turned into a four-door, brass-plated bitch, but instead just tried her hardest to keep her heart and self-esteem intact.
But I also liked the supporting characters. Thomas was likeable, as was Justin, but Kaitlyn was just a scream – I love her. Ophelia’s friend, Brenna, is a hoot too. And the “bad guys,” Claude and his daughter, Melina, are just about as sour and unlikeable as any pair I’ve ever seen. And you know how I feel about characters. If I can’t like them or hate them, if it’s a take them or leave them, I’ll leave the book. This book delivered characters I loved.
I have a rule that no word is too dirty to use in my books. With that in mind, I found Been Loving You Too Long to be a softer read; not cooler, just softer. It’s still plenty steamy. You’ll enjoy that factor. Overall, the writing lent the book a vintage feel, and I loved that about it, especially given the setting (not telling you; you’ll have to read it).
The ending is, as with all tropes, predictable, but there was still a feeling of complete satisfaction. I don’t get that with many device-laden reads, but this one did it for me. I was impressed. If I understand correctly, there will be more books in this series. I’ll be looking for them, and I certainly hope one of them is Kaitlyn’s. I’d love to hear more from her! If you get a chance, buy a copy of Been Loving You Too Long and enjoy it, because I know you will.
August 9, 2014
Religious erotica (yes, that's what I said)
Wow. Here’s a topic that’s bound to get me into trouble. But you know me, always stepping in it and then trying to get it off my shoes.
So here goes.
Something came up the other day on my Facebook wall, as it is so apt to do, because that’s just how I roll. I made some comment about how I’m forever seeing books featuring Wicca, but never Baptists or Episcopalians. Apparently I left out a plethora of other denominations, which was pointed out to me quickly. Mea culpa. Unfortunately, I didn’t have room in that post to name them all. Matter of fact, I don’t think I could.
What did happen, however, is that it started quite a thread in which angels and Mormons were both mentioned. Oddly, nobody mentioned Judiasm. I was surprised at that. And it was assumed that a book like that would be very boring. It might indeed be, based on what I know. But whatever. So today, in a bold move that’s bound to get me unfriended on Facebook by hundreds of people, I’m diving into this headfirst for a little exposition on religion, sex, and, more specifically, erotica.
First off, let me start by saying that if none of the people in this country who profess to be morally upright and sexually pure had bought Fifty Shades of Gray, EL James would still be standing in her kitchen, baking cupcakes and wondering how she was going to pay her bills. Frankly, I’ve never seen so much sneaking around since my friend V started dating a Black guy (gasp!) in high school. (That was a long time ago, folks, long time.) They went in droves to the bookstores, hid them in the bottoms of baskets covered with Christianity Today magazines, bought them online and waited by the mailbox before anyone could ask what they’d bought, and read them in the shed out behind the garage out behind the neighbor’s house so no one would know. Before you say I’m judging, just let me say I know some of these women, and I’m not making this up, nor have I said they’re wrong for reading it. Sneaking around, wrong; reading it, not wrong. So before you get all up on your high horse about me pointing this out, know that I know first hand that it’s happening. Don’t argue this point with me. Like taking a shower in a raincoat, it’s futile.
Second, before you start spouting all your religious mumbo-jumbo, let me make a confession to all of you: As recently as thirteen years ago, I was estimated to be the best-trained Southern Baptist adult division Sunday school teacher in this area. Conferences. Workshops. Speaking engagements. I did it all. Traveled to St. Louis to train with the premiere speakers bureau in the United States, CLASServices (Christian Leaders, Authors, and Speakers Services), and got my certification, yes I did, in front of at least a thousand people. Worked for a pregnancy care center where I discovered that the other volunteers were putting the hard-sell on pregnant girls to become born-again Christians just so to get diapers and formula (not my style even back then). Yes – I was one of those people. I’m embarrassed now, but back then, I was very, very proud. Know anybody who could use a massive, expensive, comprehensive Judeo-Christian reference library? I’ve got one for sale.
Third, yes, there is religious erotica. Before you say it, I know what the term “religious” means. I’m using it in this for the purpose of this blog entry to reference a belief system, not a practice. Now you’re getting your hackles up; I can see them from here. I’ve got one thing to say about that:Song of Solomon/Songs. Might as well concede now – I just won that argument.
If you argue with me that there is no such thing as religious erotica, you have obviously not read this book in the current version of the Christian Bible. Current version, you ask? Yeah, the one that’s being printed now, you know, the one that numerous books have been taken from and added to over the course of time? Yeah, that alpha and omega, the one that’s constantly in flux since it was compiled.
A lot of theologians will argue that the Song of Songs is merely metaphor. Poppycock. Read it. And before you start reading it again, remember that Solomon, in case you didn’t know, was the biggest, baddest sorcerer who ever lived. That’s also pretty much been proven through ancient texts not included in the Bible. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t accurate; that just means that they haven’t been embraced by a bunch of theologians who typically don’t embrace things they don’t understand.
The Song of Songs is erotica at its finest. If you want to write erotica, read it. Please. It’ll give you a perspective that you won’t get anywhere else, an ancient one. Makes the Kama Sutra look like a new book. And so, let me give you a key verse from that book while I have this Bible lying here on my lap (yes, I still have one and, surprisingly, it has not spontaneously combusted yet) and let you draw your own conclusions. It’s Song of Songs 6:3, New International Version: “I am my lover’s and my lover is mine; he browses among the lilies.”
This supposedly takes place in the Shulammite woman’s garden. I don’t care. He ain’t talkin’ ‘bout no tiger lilies here, no he is not.
Here’s another passage, Song of Songs 4:1-7 (NIV): “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are doves. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn, coming up from the washing. Each has its twin; not one of them is alone. Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, your mouth is lovely. Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate. Your neck is like the tower of David, built with elegance; on it hang a thousand shields, all of them shields of warriors. Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies. Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense. All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”
Somehow, I think if someone told me that my teeth were like a flock of sheep shorn, I might take offense, but somehow apparently that was quite the compliment in those days. But having parts of my body compared to a “mountain of myrrh” and a “hill of incense?” Yeah. I could go with that.But you see what I mean. Metaphor be damned – this is the real deal. And that’s one of the milder passages.
That leaves this question: Why are women all over this country who profess to be devoutly religious hiding to read erotica?
It’s because they’ve been taught that their bodies are shameful. Dirty and smelly. Unpleasant and unattractive. Kate Upton is an exception. And she brings up another question.
What does Victoria’s Secret use as its marketing symbol? Angels. Dream angels. Models with wings, wings of biblical proportions. My sister-in-law just mentioned that she’s reading a book where angels are having sex. My brain just screamed, “Whaaaa?” That was a shocker. But let me tell you that as I was cleaning out the remains of my inlaws’ estate, I went through their shed and what did I find? My sister-in-law’s Victoria’s Secret catalogs, all ferreted away by my father-in-law for his viewing pleasure while he was out in the shed. Made me a little afraid to touch anything else in there. We now call Victoria’s Secret catalogs “Southern Baptist deacon porn.” Makes me giggle.
Of curiosity is the fact that there’s a passage in Genesis where the “sons of God” coming down to mate with “the daughters of men” is mentioned. What does that mean? Angels? Aliens? I have no idea. Supposedly, their mating brought about the Nephilim, a super race of extremely large, strong people, or men at least. The women aren’t mentioned (surprising, right?). And if you question a conservative fundamentalist, they’ll tell you that Adam and Eve’s children obviously mated with each other, given that they were the only people in the world, or there wouldn’t be a human race now. I don’t know what they call that where you live, but in most of the country they call that incest. In Kentucky we still call it marriage, but whatever. You get my point.
And I was at a conference last year where a writer was talking about her books and the fact that she writes Christian romance. If I remember correctly (and she’s a FB friend of mine, so she can correct me if I’m wrong), she has trouble within the genre because, unlike the other Christian romance writers out there, she doesn’t see sex as something dirty, especially between a married couple. She tries to portray it realistically, and she gets into trouble with that sometimes. I think that’s a shame.
So where do I stand on religous erotica? Haven’t seen any except Song of Songs, but I’d love to read some. That would be interesting. I’d like to read some. I’d like to see some bold, brave, risk-taking writer say, “To hell with all of you! I’m writing religious erotica! Religoius people have sex too!” Well, they do. I did. Apparently a lot of religious people have.
Know what I think the problem is? In erotica, women actually enjoy sex. And that’s wrong. Sex is supposed to be for men to enjoy and women to endure. It’s for men to procreate, and for women to be the vessels for their procreation.
And if that’s true, choke on this: The clitoris is the only organ known to man that has no function except to provide pleasure. That’s its only use. So suck on that. No, I mean literally; suck on it. Works every time.
Get on it, writers. I know there are a bunch of you out there wondering what genre isn’t saturated and trying to find something new and creative. This is it. And I want to read it. Get in touch with me and let me take a look. I’ll see if I can crank up my conservative radar and give you a reading on how it’ll be received.
Because if it’s well received, it’ll mean you obviously did it wrong.
So here goes.
Something came up the other day on my Facebook wall, as it is so apt to do, because that’s just how I roll. I made some comment about how I’m forever seeing books featuring Wicca, but never Baptists or Episcopalians. Apparently I left out a plethora of other denominations, which was pointed out to me quickly. Mea culpa. Unfortunately, I didn’t have room in that post to name them all. Matter of fact, I don’t think I could.
What did happen, however, is that it started quite a thread in which angels and Mormons were both mentioned. Oddly, nobody mentioned Judiasm. I was surprised at that. And it was assumed that a book like that would be very boring. It might indeed be, based on what I know. But whatever. So today, in a bold move that’s bound to get me unfriended on Facebook by hundreds of people, I’m diving into this headfirst for a little exposition on religion, sex, and, more specifically, erotica.
First off, let me start by saying that if none of the people in this country who profess to be morally upright and sexually pure had bought Fifty Shades of Gray, EL James would still be standing in her kitchen, baking cupcakes and wondering how she was going to pay her bills. Frankly, I’ve never seen so much sneaking around since my friend V started dating a Black guy (gasp!) in high school. (That was a long time ago, folks, long time.) They went in droves to the bookstores, hid them in the bottoms of baskets covered with Christianity Today magazines, bought them online and waited by the mailbox before anyone could ask what they’d bought, and read them in the shed out behind the garage out behind the neighbor’s house so no one would know. Before you say I’m judging, just let me say I know some of these women, and I’m not making this up, nor have I said they’re wrong for reading it. Sneaking around, wrong; reading it, not wrong. So before you get all up on your high horse about me pointing this out, know that I know first hand that it’s happening. Don’t argue this point with me. Like taking a shower in a raincoat, it’s futile.
Second, before you start spouting all your religious mumbo-jumbo, let me make a confession to all of you: As recently as thirteen years ago, I was estimated to be the best-trained Southern Baptist adult division Sunday school teacher in this area. Conferences. Workshops. Speaking engagements. I did it all. Traveled to St. Louis to train with the premiere speakers bureau in the United States, CLASServices (Christian Leaders, Authors, and Speakers Services), and got my certification, yes I did, in front of at least a thousand people. Worked for a pregnancy care center where I discovered that the other volunteers were putting the hard-sell on pregnant girls to become born-again Christians just so to get diapers and formula (not my style even back then). Yes – I was one of those people. I’m embarrassed now, but back then, I was very, very proud. Know anybody who could use a massive, expensive, comprehensive Judeo-Christian reference library? I’ve got one for sale.
Third, yes, there is religious erotica. Before you say it, I know what the term “religious” means. I’m using it in this for the purpose of this blog entry to reference a belief system, not a practice. Now you’re getting your hackles up; I can see them from here. I’ve got one thing to say about that:Song of Solomon/Songs. Might as well concede now – I just won that argument.
If you argue with me that there is no such thing as religious erotica, you have obviously not read this book in the current version of the Christian Bible. Current version, you ask? Yeah, the one that’s being printed now, you know, the one that numerous books have been taken from and added to over the course of time? Yeah, that alpha and omega, the one that’s constantly in flux since it was compiled.
A lot of theologians will argue that the Song of Songs is merely metaphor. Poppycock. Read it. And before you start reading it again, remember that Solomon, in case you didn’t know, was the biggest, baddest sorcerer who ever lived. That’s also pretty much been proven through ancient texts not included in the Bible. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t accurate; that just means that they haven’t been embraced by a bunch of theologians who typically don’t embrace things they don’t understand.
The Song of Songs is erotica at its finest. If you want to write erotica, read it. Please. It’ll give you a perspective that you won’t get anywhere else, an ancient one. Makes the Kama Sutra look like a new book. And so, let me give you a key verse from that book while I have this Bible lying here on my lap (yes, I still have one and, surprisingly, it has not spontaneously combusted yet) and let you draw your own conclusions. It’s Song of Songs 6:3, New International Version: “I am my lover’s and my lover is mine; he browses among the lilies.”
This supposedly takes place in the Shulammite woman’s garden. I don’t care. He ain’t talkin’ ‘bout no tiger lilies here, no he is not.
Here’s another passage, Song of Songs 4:1-7 (NIV): “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are doves. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn, coming up from the washing. Each has its twin; not one of them is alone. Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, your mouth is lovely. Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate. Your neck is like the tower of David, built with elegance; on it hang a thousand shields, all of them shields of warriors. Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies. Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense. All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”
Somehow, I think if someone told me that my teeth were like a flock of sheep shorn, I might take offense, but somehow apparently that was quite the compliment in those days. But having parts of my body compared to a “mountain of myrrh” and a “hill of incense?” Yeah. I could go with that.But you see what I mean. Metaphor be damned – this is the real deal. And that’s one of the milder passages.
That leaves this question: Why are women all over this country who profess to be devoutly religious hiding to read erotica?
It’s because they’ve been taught that their bodies are shameful. Dirty and smelly. Unpleasant and unattractive. Kate Upton is an exception. And she brings up another question.
What does Victoria’s Secret use as its marketing symbol? Angels. Dream angels. Models with wings, wings of biblical proportions. My sister-in-law just mentioned that she’s reading a book where angels are having sex. My brain just screamed, “Whaaaa?” That was a shocker. But let me tell you that as I was cleaning out the remains of my inlaws’ estate, I went through their shed and what did I find? My sister-in-law’s Victoria’s Secret catalogs, all ferreted away by my father-in-law for his viewing pleasure while he was out in the shed. Made me a little afraid to touch anything else in there. We now call Victoria’s Secret catalogs “Southern Baptist deacon porn.” Makes me giggle.
Of curiosity is the fact that there’s a passage in Genesis where the “sons of God” coming down to mate with “the daughters of men” is mentioned. What does that mean? Angels? Aliens? I have no idea. Supposedly, their mating brought about the Nephilim, a super race of extremely large, strong people, or men at least. The women aren’t mentioned (surprising, right?). And if you question a conservative fundamentalist, they’ll tell you that Adam and Eve’s children obviously mated with each other, given that they were the only people in the world, or there wouldn’t be a human race now. I don’t know what they call that where you live, but in most of the country they call that incest. In Kentucky we still call it marriage, but whatever. You get my point.
And I was at a conference last year where a writer was talking about her books and the fact that she writes Christian romance. If I remember correctly (and she’s a FB friend of mine, so she can correct me if I’m wrong), she has trouble within the genre because, unlike the other Christian romance writers out there, she doesn’t see sex as something dirty, especially between a married couple. She tries to portray it realistically, and she gets into trouble with that sometimes. I think that’s a shame.
So where do I stand on religous erotica? Haven’t seen any except Song of Songs, but I’d love to read some. That would be interesting. I’d like to read some. I’d like to see some bold, brave, risk-taking writer say, “To hell with all of you! I’m writing religious erotica! Religoius people have sex too!” Well, they do. I did. Apparently a lot of religious people have.
Know what I think the problem is? In erotica, women actually enjoy sex. And that’s wrong. Sex is supposed to be for men to enjoy and women to endure. It’s for men to procreate, and for women to be the vessels for their procreation.
And if that’s true, choke on this: The clitoris is the only organ known to man that has no function except to provide pleasure. That’s its only use. So suck on that. No, I mean literally; suck on it. Works every time.
Get on it, writers. I know there are a bunch of you out there wondering what genre isn’t saturated and trying to find something new and creative. This is it. And I want to read it. Get in touch with me and let me take a look. I’ll see if I can crank up my conservative radar and give you a reading on how it’ll be received.
Because if it’s well received, it’ll mean you obviously did it wrong.
August 6, 2014
My Reads: Naked At Our Age by Joan Price
I intentionally didn't put the entire title of this non-fiction book in the title of this blog post. Why? I was afraid some who might possibly benefit from the book would turn away if they read the title and think there was nothing there for them. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
So what's the entire title? This week I'm introducing you to Joan Price, an extraordinary woman, and one of her books, Naked At Our Age: Talking Out Loud About Senior Sex.
Before you recoil in horror, or think This couldn't possibly apply to me, think again and give this book a look. It was eye-opening to me, and I think it could be to you.
Joan Price is elegant in her delivery of the joys and difficulties of sex after a "certain age." When I first bought this book, I did so because it was recommended by Betty Dodson, PhD, one of the premier sexual educators in this country. I'd watched some of Betty's videos with Carlin Ross, another sex educator, and enjoyed them. I looked through the "look inside" feature and liked what I saw.
This book isn't a manual. Instead, it's filled with actual questions and experiences of real people Joan interviewed for this book. And before you decide you don't want to read it, let me make it clear: There's plenty in here from which ANY person could benefit. The book includes chapters on sexless marriages and the dissatisfaction of a partner, bonding in non-sexual ways, using sex toys, surviving divorce and/or betrayal, and finding sexual satisfaction in the interim or aftermath of many diseases and disorders, such as cancer or Alzheimer's. There's talk about talk - specifically, talking about sex, one of my big ticket items. I firmly believe that if you can't talk about sex with your partner, you probably shouldn't have sex until you can talk about it. Communication is key.
So what did I like about this book? Everything. Sure, there was plenty in there that I already knew, but there was also plenty in there that I'd never thought about before. It can give you some ideas, encourage you if you're having problems, and help you find ways to talk to your partner about what you like and what you need.
If you're experiencing any type of difficulty in your sex life, please consider giving this book a try. While it's geared toward the older adult, it would be useful for lovers of any age. If you buy it and read it, I promise you won't be sorry.
Joan's beloved husband, Robert, succumbed to leukemia before this book was finished. Toward the end of the book, she talks about the love they shared and his unwavering support of her and her goals. I was encouraged just by reading about the relationship they shared. If your sex life is in a stall, you're completely dissatisfied, or just tired and want to throw in the towel, give it a read first. You might just decide it's worth the time and effort involved to have a healthy love life again.
So what's the entire title? This week I'm introducing you to Joan Price, an extraordinary woman, and one of her books, Naked At Our Age: Talking Out Loud About Senior Sex.
Before you recoil in horror, or think This couldn't possibly apply to me, think again and give this book a look. It was eye-opening to me, and I think it could be to you.
Joan Price is elegant in her delivery of the joys and difficulties of sex after a "certain age." When I first bought this book, I did so because it was recommended by Betty Dodson, PhD, one of the premier sexual educators in this country. I'd watched some of Betty's videos with Carlin Ross, another sex educator, and enjoyed them. I looked through the "look inside" feature and liked what I saw.
This book isn't a manual. Instead, it's filled with actual questions and experiences of real people Joan interviewed for this book. And before you decide you don't want to read it, let me make it clear: There's plenty in here from which ANY person could benefit. The book includes chapters on sexless marriages and the dissatisfaction of a partner, bonding in non-sexual ways, using sex toys, surviving divorce and/or betrayal, and finding sexual satisfaction in the interim or aftermath of many diseases and disorders, such as cancer or Alzheimer's. There's talk about talk - specifically, talking about sex, one of my big ticket items. I firmly believe that if you can't talk about sex with your partner, you probably shouldn't have sex until you can talk about it. Communication is key.
So what did I like about this book? Everything. Sure, there was plenty in there that I already knew, but there was also plenty in there that I'd never thought about before. It can give you some ideas, encourage you if you're having problems, and help you find ways to talk to your partner about what you like and what you need.
If you're experiencing any type of difficulty in your sex life, please consider giving this book a try. While it's geared toward the older adult, it would be useful for lovers of any age. If you buy it and read it, I promise you won't be sorry.
Joan's beloved husband, Robert, succumbed to leukemia before this book was finished. Toward the end of the book, she talks about the love they shared and his unwavering support of her and her goals. I was encouraged just by reading about the relationship they shared. If your sex life is in a stall, you're completely dissatisfied, or just tired and want to throw in the towel, give it a read first. You might just decide it's worth the time and effort involved to have a healthy love life again.
August 2, 2014
Just leave me be
You might be wondering how I got the title of this blog post. It’s not hard to figure out, really. It’s something I probably say a dozen times a day to myself under my breath or just internally in my head.
It’s also a decidedly southern phrase. You don’t hear this very much up north. Some northerners probably wouldn’t even know what I mean if I said that to them. So let me clarify first.
“Just leave me be” is exactly what it sounds like. It means to go away and not bother me. It means that I really don’t want to be interrupted. It means that you’re causing a distraction that I really don’t want or need.
And it seems I say that a lot these days.
Now you’re wondering to whom I say this phrase. So let me help you out with that.
Here’s the one I love: “You’re working too hard. You should take a day off. You’re going to get burned out.” I’ve got two words for that one.
Fuck off.
Let me ask you something: Do you see the guy who just opened the little mom and pop burger joint just closing up for a day because he might get “burned out?” Nope. And he doesn’t have enough money to hire a bunch of help, so he, his wife, and his two teenaged kids are working from ten in the morning until ten at night, trying to make a go of this business. If they don’t, it will fail, and with his job in the auto industry or coal mining industry gone, they’ll have even less of nothing than they already had. It’s like the nursery up the highway from me. They made a big production out of opening up, their custom holiday trees, their spring bedding plants, their rose bushes for Mother’s Day, all that stuff. But they’re never open. Go by there and they’re closed. They were only open about three days a week at best. Nobody wants to drive out to somewhere like that, only to find they’re closed. That’s a waste of time. The property’s up for sale – what a surprise.
Same thing here. This is a business. It’s not a hobby. It’s not a pastime. It’s a damn business, people. I have to be “open for business.” I need to answer email. I need to respond to PMs on Facebook. I need to order stuff, call people, send in applications for events, mail things out, all of that stuff. I need to confer with my promo person, my assistant, and my street team. Mostly, I need to WRITE. It’s hard to find time to do that with all of the other stuff I have to do, but I need to be doing that too. So yes, I’ve been working 18-20 hour days for over a year, and there’s no end in sight. But I haven’t turned a profit, so I’ve got to keep working. If I’d borrowed money, the bank would want it back, with interest. Just because I’m funding this privately doesn’t mean it’s any less expensive.
Here’s another time sucker: “Can you help me with something?” I just love these people. They see me out there hustling and they want to ask me a question, and they figure out quickly that I’m a kind, loving person and I’m willing to help just about anybody. Their request is usually something pretty involved. And then, when I tell them the answer, one of two things happens. I find out that a) they’re not willing to do whatever it is I’ve told them will work, and/or b) they treat me like I don’t know what I’m talking about. Nice, very nice. Take up my time, which, by the way, is the only damn thing I really own and have sacrificed for you, and basically thumb your nose at me.
So I have a new policy. I don’t mind helping anyone, and I’ll help you, but when it’s obvious to me that you won’t even help yourself, I’m done. Done. Don’t ask again. I’ve got one right now that’s put herself in that situation with me. She comes back and asks me to help her and I’ll have to tell her that she did something that makes her look flaky in the eyes of other authors and I can’t afford to be associated with that. Bottom line. She’s going to be upset. She won’t be any more upset than I was when I figured out how much effort I’d put into helping her and then discovered that she wasn’t serious about the craft, the business of the craft, or the community. Of course, if you asked her, she’d say I couldn’t have spent any more than thirty minutes with her. Actually, it was way more than thirty minutes, but do you know how many words I can write in thirty minutes? In excess of three thousand. Not kidding. I wrote 2,217 in a fifteen-minute span in February. Take up thirty minutes of my time and you’ve just cut my throat.
So piss off, I say.
Then there’s another one I just love. It’s people who announce to me what I’m going to do and what they’re going to do for me. Don’t misunderstand me: I appreciate help, any help I can get. I really do. Nobody appreciates it more than me. But have you ever had someone come to help you set up for a birthday party and it was obvious that they, for some reason, either thought it was an anniversary party, or they wanted it to be an anniversary party? Yeah, I’ve had that happen, maybe not literally, but you get the analogy. It’s like they couldn’t understand that my genre wasn’t auto mechanics or psychological self-help, and they either wanted to try to make it fit that pigeonhole or they insisted that I should so they could help me.
And before anyone says anything, understand, this does NOT apply to my street team. Those ladies get it and if they want to take the initiative to do something for me, I’ll bow at their feet and kiss their toes. Really. I’ll do anything they ask me to do. Some of them know a lot more about this business than I do. I’m depending on their expertise, and they know it. So thanks, Construction Crew. I owe you big time already.
Nope, I’m talking about the kind of people who come to me and let me know they’ve set me up with a five-day advertising stint with “Chicken Nuggets Are Us” or some equally unsuitable something. I had one insisting that I write poetry to include in their anthology. I tried to tell them twelve ways past Sunday that I don’t do poetry anymore. Oh, no, they weren’t having any of that. I should do this; it was going to be a best seller, and wouldn’t I be sorry if I wasn’t involved? No, I would not. I couldn’t convince this person of that, so I finally had to say something to the effect of, “Back off. Not gonna happen.” They took it hard, hard enough to stay away.
Mission accomplished.
And here’s another one I love: “We should work on a project together.”
Translation: “I have a project that I want to do but I have no earthly idea how to do it. So I want you to drop what you’re doing and come over here and do it for me, at least the bulk of it. I’ll put my name on it. Sound good? It should, because I’m brilliant and you’re lucky that I chose you to be the one to do this ‘joint project’ for me.”
Yeahhhhh, no. I’m done with that. I have my own damn joint projects to do with me, myself, and I. I don’t have time for that stuff, especially since it usually turns out to be a purely commercial venture for them, something that they plan to sell that will benefit them and them alone. Happens all the time. It’s usually something like, “I sell custom-built dog sleds. I have this great idea for a monthly tabloid for Iditarod racers and their dogs. It’ll have a subscription base of about thirty-seven racers and one hundred and fifty dogs. We’ll make a shit ton of money.”
Nope. Moving on.
These days I also get a lot of, “hello bb what are you doing? where ire you from? can we just be frends here? i have skype you wanna skype im a college student and I need to practice english it work best when i can see who i taking too so i see how word werk sond good?”
One of the most recent ones asked where I was. That’s on my profile. Then he wanted to know what I do for a living. Not only on my profile, but it’s on my damn Facebook banner, idiot. Then he wanted to know if I did my own research, to which I replied yes, of course. Then he wanted to know with whom I was open to doing research. I replied that I have my own research assistant who is not into sharing (damn it, but that’s another blog post entirely). The he asked if my profile pic was really me. Look, asshat, if I were going to use someone else’s picture, don’t you think I’d pick someone a whole lot more attractive than me? Really? Why would I go to the trouble to falsify a pic and then not at least go for Jessica Biel, or Cameron Diaz, or Jennifer Lopez, or someone like that. Catherine Zeta Jones, for god sake. But a pic of me? Good god. Not only have you creeped me out, you’ve insulted my intelligence. That will not get you research time with me, no it will not.
Unfriend. Block, block, block.
But here’s my absolute favorite. I’m in my office and my phone rings. There’s this familiar voice on the other end that says, “Hey, baby, take a break, wouldja? Come out back and sit on the swing with me? I made us a plate of cheese and crackers, and there’s a couple of beers out here too. Can’t you just spare me fifteen minutes? I miss your cute little face.” Think I’m about to say, “Just leave me be?”
Not a chance. See ya later. I’ve got some really, really important business to attend to.
It’s also a decidedly southern phrase. You don’t hear this very much up north. Some northerners probably wouldn’t even know what I mean if I said that to them. So let me clarify first.
“Just leave me be” is exactly what it sounds like. It means to go away and not bother me. It means that I really don’t want to be interrupted. It means that you’re causing a distraction that I really don’t want or need.
And it seems I say that a lot these days.
Now you’re wondering to whom I say this phrase. So let me help you out with that.
Here’s the one I love: “You’re working too hard. You should take a day off. You’re going to get burned out.” I’ve got two words for that one.
Fuck off.
Let me ask you something: Do you see the guy who just opened the little mom and pop burger joint just closing up for a day because he might get “burned out?” Nope. And he doesn’t have enough money to hire a bunch of help, so he, his wife, and his two teenaged kids are working from ten in the morning until ten at night, trying to make a go of this business. If they don’t, it will fail, and with his job in the auto industry or coal mining industry gone, they’ll have even less of nothing than they already had. It’s like the nursery up the highway from me. They made a big production out of opening up, their custom holiday trees, their spring bedding plants, their rose bushes for Mother’s Day, all that stuff. But they’re never open. Go by there and they’re closed. They were only open about three days a week at best. Nobody wants to drive out to somewhere like that, only to find they’re closed. That’s a waste of time. The property’s up for sale – what a surprise.
Same thing here. This is a business. It’s not a hobby. It’s not a pastime. It’s a damn business, people. I have to be “open for business.” I need to answer email. I need to respond to PMs on Facebook. I need to order stuff, call people, send in applications for events, mail things out, all of that stuff. I need to confer with my promo person, my assistant, and my street team. Mostly, I need to WRITE. It’s hard to find time to do that with all of the other stuff I have to do, but I need to be doing that too. So yes, I’ve been working 18-20 hour days for over a year, and there’s no end in sight. But I haven’t turned a profit, so I’ve got to keep working. If I’d borrowed money, the bank would want it back, with interest. Just because I’m funding this privately doesn’t mean it’s any less expensive.
Here’s another time sucker: “Can you help me with something?” I just love these people. They see me out there hustling and they want to ask me a question, and they figure out quickly that I’m a kind, loving person and I’m willing to help just about anybody. Their request is usually something pretty involved. And then, when I tell them the answer, one of two things happens. I find out that a) they’re not willing to do whatever it is I’ve told them will work, and/or b) they treat me like I don’t know what I’m talking about. Nice, very nice. Take up my time, which, by the way, is the only damn thing I really own and have sacrificed for you, and basically thumb your nose at me.
So I have a new policy. I don’t mind helping anyone, and I’ll help you, but when it’s obvious to me that you won’t even help yourself, I’m done. Done. Don’t ask again. I’ve got one right now that’s put herself in that situation with me. She comes back and asks me to help her and I’ll have to tell her that she did something that makes her look flaky in the eyes of other authors and I can’t afford to be associated with that. Bottom line. She’s going to be upset. She won’t be any more upset than I was when I figured out how much effort I’d put into helping her and then discovered that she wasn’t serious about the craft, the business of the craft, or the community. Of course, if you asked her, she’d say I couldn’t have spent any more than thirty minutes with her. Actually, it was way more than thirty minutes, but do you know how many words I can write in thirty minutes? In excess of three thousand. Not kidding. I wrote 2,217 in a fifteen-minute span in February. Take up thirty minutes of my time and you’ve just cut my throat.
So piss off, I say.
Then there’s another one I just love. It’s people who announce to me what I’m going to do and what they’re going to do for me. Don’t misunderstand me: I appreciate help, any help I can get. I really do. Nobody appreciates it more than me. But have you ever had someone come to help you set up for a birthday party and it was obvious that they, for some reason, either thought it was an anniversary party, or they wanted it to be an anniversary party? Yeah, I’ve had that happen, maybe not literally, but you get the analogy. It’s like they couldn’t understand that my genre wasn’t auto mechanics or psychological self-help, and they either wanted to try to make it fit that pigeonhole or they insisted that I should so they could help me.
And before anyone says anything, understand, this does NOT apply to my street team. Those ladies get it and if they want to take the initiative to do something for me, I’ll bow at their feet and kiss their toes. Really. I’ll do anything they ask me to do. Some of them know a lot more about this business than I do. I’m depending on their expertise, and they know it. So thanks, Construction Crew. I owe you big time already.
Nope, I’m talking about the kind of people who come to me and let me know they’ve set me up with a five-day advertising stint with “Chicken Nuggets Are Us” or some equally unsuitable something. I had one insisting that I write poetry to include in their anthology. I tried to tell them twelve ways past Sunday that I don’t do poetry anymore. Oh, no, they weren’t having any of that. I should do this; it was going to be a best seller, and wouldn’t I be sorry if I wasn’t involved? No, I would not. I couldn’t convince this person of that, so I finally had to say something to the effect of, “Back off. Not gonna happen.” They took it hard, hard enough to stay away.
Mission accomplished.
And here’s another one I love: “We should work on a project together.”
Translation: “I have a project that I want to do but I have no earthly idea how to do it. So I want you to drop what you’re doing and come over here and do it for me, at least the bulk of it. I’ll put my name on it. Sound good? It should, because I’m brilliant and you’re lucky that I chose you to be the one to do this ‘joint project’ for me.”
Yeahhhhh, no. I’m done with that. I have my own damn joint projects to do with me, myself, and I. I don’t have time for that stuff, especially since it usually turns out to be a purely commercial venture for them, something that they plan to sell that will benefit them and them alone. Happens all the time. It’s usually something like, “I sell custom-built dog sleds. I have this great idea for a monthly tabloid for Iditarod racers and their dogs. It’ll have a subscription base of about thirty-seven racers and one hundred and fifty dogs. We’ll make a shit ton of money.”
Nope. Moving on.
These days I also get a lot of, “hello bb what are you doing? where ire you from? can we just be frends here? i have skype you wanna skype im a college student and I need to practice english it work best when i can see who i taking too so i see how word werk sond good?”
One of the most recent ones asked where I was. That’s on my profile. Then he wanted to know what I do for a living. Not only on my profile, but it’s on my damn Facebook banner, idiot. Then he wanted to know if I did my own research, to which I replied yes, of course. Then he wanted to know with whom I was open to doing research. I replied that I have my own research assistant who is not into sharing (damn it, but that’s another blog post entirely). The he asked if my profile pic was really me. Look, asshat, if I were going to use someone else’s picture, don’t you think I’d pick someone a whole lot more attractive than me? Really? Why would I go to the trouble to falsify a pic and then not at least go for Jessica Biel, or Cameron Diaz, or Jennifer Lopez, or someone like that. Catherine Zeta Jones, for god sake. But a pic of me? Good god. Not only have you creeped me out, you’ve insulted my intelligence. That will not get you research time with me, no it will not.
Unfriend. Block, block, block.
But here’s my absolute favorite. I’m in my office and my phone rings. There’s this familiar voice on the other end that says, “Hey, baby, take a break, wouldja? Come out back and sit on the swing with me? I made us a plate of cheese and crackers, and there’s a couple of beers out here too. Can’t you just spare me fifteen minutes? I miss your cute little face.” Think I’m about to say, “Just leave me be?”
Not a chance. See ya later. I’ve got some really, really important business to attend to.
July 30, 2014
My Reads: Suicide Ride: The Fix by Elizabeth Llewellyn
Today’s pick of the week is Elizabeth Llewellyn’s Suicide Ride: The Fix. It’s the follow-up to her Suicide Ride: The Platinum Man and what a follow-up it is.
We go back into the world of Norman Dimond, a man whose past fucked him over in more ways than one (literally). Sure, he looks like he owns the world, but he hurts, and he hurts in the worst possible way. But when Johnny Gellis enters his life, he thinks the panacea just may have arrived.
This book picks up exactly where The Platinum Man left off. Johnny is in the middle of a crisis, and it could be a fatal one. Norman takes care of that, and he begins to show Johnny his soft side, the side that’s crying out for someone to help him make the pain go away. Unfortunately, Johnny’s in the same predicament, but his idea of a salve is very different from Norman’s.
At the end of The Platinum Man, I had gotten some answers about some things I suspected, but I still had a lot of questions. I also had some darker suspicions, but they were too sordid for me to entertain. And guess what? My suspicions were correct. I found that horrifying and strangely satisfying (so what does that say about me?). And they explained everything, everything about Johnny that I hadn’t been able to figure out, everything about his parentage, and everything about his “condition,” if you will (I’m not into spoilers, so that’s all you’ll get from me on that subject). I was also treated to a confrontation that I’d been waiting to see, and I wasn’t disappointed.
Not to mention poor Drew. But that’s all I’m saying on that front.
But what I found, and what I absolutely adored, was that Elizabeth managed to weave all of this information in so seamlessly that I didn’t feel like it was information – I felt like I was privy to some deeply personal revelations that others weren’t allowed access to, like the characters had taken me aside and bared their souls. I was also was surprised that the one piece of information that had most informed Johnny’s person was the one thing about which he still had no clue. That just solidified all of my scattered angst toward the broken boy-man that he is.
So where am I now? Anxiously awaiting Suicide Ride: The Hit. If it’s anything like the previous two, it’ll be one helluva ride for sure. You had your chance in the first sentence: Pop back up there and hit the link to buy, buy, buy.
Hats off, Elizabeth. It was one sweet ride.
We go back into the world of Norman Dimond, a man whose past fucked him over in more ways than one (literally). Sure, he looks like he owns the world, but he hurts, and he hurts in the worst possible way. But when Johnny Gellis enters his life, he thinks the panacea just may have arrived.
This book picks up exactly where The Platinum Man left off. Johnny is in the middle of a crisis, and it could be a fatal one. Norman takes care of that, and he begins to show Johnny his soft side, the side that’s crying out for someone to help him make the pain go away. Unfortunately, Johnny’s in the same predicament, but his idea of a salve is very different from Norman’s.
At the end of The Platinum Man, I had gotten some answers about some things I suspected, but I still had a lot of questions. I also had some darker suspicions, but they were too sordid for me to entertain. And guess what? My suspicions were correct. I found that horrifying and strangely satisfying (so what does that say about me?). And they explained everything, everything about Johnny that I hadn’t been able to figure out, everything about his parentage, and everything about his “condition,” if you will (I’m not into spoilers, so that’s all you’ll get from me on that subject). I was also treated to a confrontation that I’d been waiting to see, and I wasn’t disappointed.
Not to mention poor Drew. But that’s all I’m saying on that front.
But what I found, and what I absolutely adored, was that Elizabeth managed to weave all of this information in so seamlessly that I didn’t feel like it was information – I felt like I was privy to some deeply personal revelations that others weren’t allowed access to, like the characters had taken me aside and bared their souls. I was also was surprised that the one piece of information that had most informed Johnny’s person was the one thing about which he still had no clue. That just solidified all of my scattered angst toward the broken boy-man that he is.
So where am I now? Anxiously awaiting Suicide Ride: The Hit. If it’s anything like the previous two, it’ll be one helluva ride for sure. You had your chance in the first sentence: Pop back up there and hit the link to buy, buy, buy.
Hats off, Elizabeth. It was one sweet ride.
