Cole McCade's Blog, page 4

Writing a Queer Heroine in a Heterosexual Romance.

I've been thinking about writing this for a while, but since it's #BiVisibilityDay, I figured no better day to tackle it than today. In all the things people have said about my latest novel, The Lost, one thing they've never really focused on or even discussed, one thing I've never really even highlighted, is this:

My heroine is queer.

It's a heterosexual romance. It's a love story between a man and a woman, albeit a dark one that takes us down twisted paths of eroticism before we get to any idea of love. But just because Leigh ends up with a man doesn't mean she stops being queer.

She sleeps with a lot of men before settling down with the hero, and from general commentary the takeaway from that seems to be that she sleeps with a lot of men. But there are two detailed sex scenes with women, too. One explicit, one a bit of a fade to black, but even if some could arguably say the first was a young Leigh acting out on the power of her own sexuality, the implication in the second is clear:

It's not the first time Leigh's chosen a woman for her nightly pleasure, and it's commonplace enough that she doesn't even need to remark on the difference.

In the story, when she meets a girl she knows only as "the crow-girl" (bit of an homage to Charles de Lint there), she sleeps with her because she wants something other than what a man can give her. She wants certain things unique to love, sex, and passion between two women, because it's what suits her tastes for that night. It's not experimentation. It's not exploration, drunken curiosity, acting out, being broken, being damaged. Like most queer, bisexual, and pansexual people, she just has different things she enjoys about being with women vs. being with men, or vice versa…and it's not even a thing.

It doesn't mean that Leigh can't be satisfied with just one. It doesn't mean that in finding her HEA with Gabriel, she'll always be longing for a woman and Gabriel just isn't enough. It doesn't mean that she stops finding women beautiful, either, or stops feeling a sexual attraction to people who are female or female-identified.

It just means that she found love with a person who makes her happy regardless of their gender, and she doesn't stop being queer just because of her relationship choices.

And I don't want to sweep the validity of her queerness under the rug.

I pondered making more of a point of it while writing, but chose not to because it's just part of her everyday self. Plus I felt like mentioning it would be disingenuous, as if I'm advertising this as a queer romance when it's not. But sometimes I feel like in romance and erotica, we see queerness only explored by those ending up in same-sex or menage relationships; we don't look very often at people who are queer but end up in heterosexual relationships, because in the backs of our minds we label them as not really queer, and pass over any queer encounters as just a phase that doesn't carry the same weight as the heterosexual relationship they eventually end up in.

And that's not true; in fact, it's a form of erasure. I'm bi myself, as I've made no secret of. And one thing about my refusal to reveal Uber's gender means that my bisexuality remains a simple fact of who I am, instead of the gender of my partner slotting me as either straight or gay. Other people don't define who we are. We do.

And when representation is so important, I never want to forget who my heroine is regardless of who she loves:

A queer woman who knows what it means to be strong, to be broken, and to fight for what she deserves.

Love by any name, as long as it makes her happy.

Cover Reveal: BEAUTY AND THE BOSS by Diane Alberts

 
Today we are revealing the cover for BEAUTY AND THE BOSS by Diane Alberts. This book is being released by Entangled Publishing's Indulgence line this November. Check out the blurb below.

 

BOOK BLURB:

Researcher Maggie Donovan has no luck with men, and it doesn't help that she can't keep her eyes off of her sexy boss – the one everyone else in the office calls The Beast. Relationships in the office are forbidden. So no one is more surprised than Maggie when she pretends to be his fiancée to save him during a difficult situation. Not only has she put her job on the line, but the future of the company.

Billionaire Benjamin Gale III doesn't believe in love or romance, but the look on his mother's face when Maggie tells her that she's his fiancée is worth millions. Instead of firing her for her insubordination, he goes along with the ruse. In his arms–and in his bed–she'd be everything he could ever want…which is why he can't have her.

But if he doesn't let her go, they'll lose everything…

PRE-ORDER NOW
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo
CLICK HERE TO ADD BEAUTY AND THE BOSS TO GOODREADS.
AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Diane Alberts is a USA TODAY bestselling Contemporary Romance author with Entangled Publishing. Under the name Jen McLaughlin, she also writes New York Times, USA TODAY, and Wall Street Journal bestselling books with Penguin Random House. She was mentioned in Forbes alongside E. L. James as one of the breakout independent authors to dominate the bestselling lists. Diane is represented by Louise Fury at The Bent Agency.

Diane has always been a dreamer with a vivid imagination, but it wasn’t until 2011 that she put her pen where her brain was, and became a published author. Since receiving her first contract offer, she has yet to stop writing. Though she lives in the mountains, she really wishes she was surrounded by a hot, sunny beach with crystal clear water. She lives in Northeast Pennsylvania with her four kids, a husband, a schnauzer mutt, and four cats. Her goal is to write so many fantastic stories that even a non-romance reader will know her name.

AUTHOR LINKS:

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Dammit, Cole: The Dude, No–Just No Edition

Dammit, Cole,

hey man

so you got this shit with the girls right

like you get them and stuff

so how do you pick up girls

i need to know how to get women

josh

The photographer description of this on the stock photo site said "Turtles making love is a very slow process, i stood about 30 minutes watching but nothing much happened." I. I just can't even.

 

The easiest way to get women is to listen to them, have real human conversations with them, remember that they and their thoughts both have value, try a little empathy, and stop treating them like interchangeable collections of fuckable body parts.

Oh. Oh, you mean get women. Not understand them, like, you know, a rational human being who wants to be able to communicate with and form relationships with his equals based on something other than sexual availability. You want to get them. Bag them. Bang them. You're looking to score.

No, dude. Just no.

And if that's your approach to relating to anyone female-identified, I need you to get out of my gene pool right the eff now.

Josh. Man. Most of the time I try to be a bit gentler with these responses, but I feel like we need to sit down and have a good heart-to-heart that makes integral use of a good slap-to-head. You need to get your shite straight, my friend. Stop looking for the pick-up artist approach. Stop talking about women like objects to be acquired. Because whether you're looking for a night of fun with a willing one-time partner or hoping to end up in a long-term relationship, you need to remember that the other person has a stake in this–has intelligence, has feelings, has choices of her own, and even if she's out cruising for someone to keep her bed warm for the night, she's sure as hell not looking for someone looking to "get" her.

I won't lie: I've had my share of one-night stands. Especially after my divorce, which left me not really wanting to commit to anything for a while and really just completely lost on how to flirt, how to interact with people on a level outside the platonic. I went out. I met people. Some of those people came home with me. Some of them didn't. Some of them turned into friends. Some of them didn't. But not one night did I go out with a strategy for getting laid. For conning my way into someone's pants through some formula that's supposed to be foolproof and completely disregards their agency, individuality, and availability. I went out wanting a drink and some good company, regardless of the form that company took. And in the end, the biggest thing that happened on those nights was that I talked to people. I got into interesting conversations. I found out about who they were, and let them know a little bit of me. I made connections that had value beyond whether or not they wanted to sleep with me or I wanted to sleep with them.

I wasn't constantly watching for that signal that meant it was time to get out of there and find somewhere to make the beast with two backs. In fact, several times I missed signals because I was just enjoying someone's company, and they had to nearly hit me over the head with the implication that hey, they'd like to go somewhere a bit more private. Sometimes we did. Sometimes we didn't, because I wasn't feeling it on a physical front but was still enjoying their company and wanted to keep hanging out, if they were into it. Yes, I said no to sex. Lots of people do it, because it's just not the be-all and end-all we think it is, and there's nothing to prove by forcing a physical connection if one isn't there; there is, however, a hell of a lot to lose if you discard someone awesome because of your perception of their fuckability.

Here's the thing: there is no currency that can buy someone's body, or their affection. But the currency of communication is more valuable than any other, and if you're frustrated that you're going out to meet people and they're not dispensing sex when you pay with whatever you think has value out of your measly person, the problem isn't the people who are, in your eyes, failing to give you sex.

The problem is you.

So here's my advice to you:

Forget about "this shit with the girls." Forget about "getting" women. Go get a hobby. Get a life. Take up lacrosse. Take up woodworking. Take up fucking macrame, I don't care, just do something other than thinking about your dick. Find things you love to do. Find things that fulfill you, that make you happy, that make you someone worth talking to. Read a good book. Take a class on something. Become interesting to yourself. Make friends. Make friends with women; make friends with men. Don't treat any one any different from the other. I don't want to hear a goddamned word about being friendzoned, because those women are not potentials on your fuck-shelf. They are your friends. That has value. More value than you can ever imagine.

Learn that, and you won't have a problem connecting with people. And if sex happens from that by mutual consent, great.

And if it doesn't, you'll have grown enough as a human being that you won't need it to.

-C

Read older entries here.

Cole McCade is that one guy you heard about somewhere. The human Grumpy Cat who writes sweet contemporary romance about starry-eyed girls and dirty erotica about the people who slip between the cracks of Crow City – including A Second Chance at Paris, Zero Day Exploit, and The Lost. He sometimes gives out decent advice from the perspective of a guy who just happens to be a romance author and a fiercely unapologetic feminist; he also invites other authors to seduce him (and his readers) with just one line from their books. Written a romance or erotica? Want to seduce Cole's readers? Send in one line here. Have a question on love, dating, relationships, romance, life in general…or just want to say Dammit, Cole? Use the submission form here.

BEFORE YOU COMMENT

You're welcome to offer your own opinion, advice, or encouragement to those who write in; you're also welcome to share your personal stories. But remember: these are real people with real feelings, who had the courage to send their question in. Even if you don't agree with them, be kind and don't snark on them. Nasty comments abusing submitters or other commenters will be deleted.

SUBSCRIBE FOR WEEKLY UPDATES & HIGHLIGHTS FROM "DAMMIT, COLE" AND "SEDUCE ME"

Dammit, Cole: The Virgin Bride Edition

Dammit, Cole.

I have this thing in my chest.

I wonder if there will be any man out there who is willing to wait for me until marriage (to have sex until marriage). Is that I see in relationships, sex is something important, something that I'm comfortable, really, because I read erotica * laughs * and would be hypocritical to say otherwise, but I wonder if he will be willing to wait … without fear to deceive me, or whether we will have the joyous sexual chemistry, that much I read. *laughs again * Anyway, I just want to know your opinion.

Laura

 

The answer to this really isn't complicated:

Your body, your rules, and any man worth your time will respect that desire to wait, regardless of what your reasons happen to be.

I know–right now it doesn't seem like there's anyone out there. Especially when it seems like so many guys are so very sex-driven, and if you take that off the table before marriage most will run in the other direction, or try to pressure you in uncomfortable ways. Look at it as an excellent screening process; you want to date someone who will respect you enough to consider your desires and your wishes in all things, not just sex. You want to date someone who sees you as an equal, who listens to you, and has consideration for you and your needs. If he's interested in sex, listens to your reasons why you'd rather wait, and agrees without pressuring you, that's a good barometer for the way he'll treat you throughout the relationship.

Not that you owe anyone a reason. A "no" itself should always suffice. But in a relationship, communication does help; open dialogue is a key part of understanding and intimacy. It's important that he knows why this matters to you. While he should always take "no" seriously with or without a reason, knowing the reasons can help him take it personally so he can be more supportive.

Just watch out for the people who see your virginity as your greatest point of attraction. They're not really interested in you, likely. They're interested in staking their man-flag in virgin soil (no pun intended–okay, pun very much intended) so they can compensate for their own feelings of inadequacy by going where no man has gone before, and will likely treat you like an object, disrespect you, and eventually externalize their rage toward the shite hand genetics dealt them onto you. You don't want to be with someone who fetishizes virgins, trust me. It can be hot in a romance novel, the idea of despoiling the innocent and awakening her to the electric thrill of her own body, teaching her to explore…but life is not a romance novel. A man with a virgin fetish is a man with deep-seated insecurities and some issues you really don't want to go wading into.

Now, there is the matter of sexual compatibility, which many say is crucial to a marriage. I'm not 100% inclined to agree; sex might be crucial to many people, but it's not essential to a happy marriage and for some people isn't even a factor (asexuals, or people who just find they comfortably settle and no longer have the need, etc…it's complicated, but it exists). It's just different for everyone. In your case, though, there's the matter of hoping for an amazing sexual experience with someone you've likely gone to second base with several times before digging your cleats in so hard you've left tread marks in the sheets. Here's something most people don't tell you:

Amazing sexual experiences can be learned.

While instant, perfect chemistry is an epic thing, two people can learn to have amazing sex together. It doesn't take the Kama Sutra, either, though if you decide to go down that road I wish you luck, many orgasms, and good health insurance. All it takes is listening to each other, trusting each other, and being willing to explore your own bodies–and each others'. Play together. Learn what you like. Learn to laugh without being hurt when things go awry and one of you ends up hanging upside down off the bed with one leg in the air and your hair caught in the box spring. Figure out what works, and what doesn't. Touch yourself; learn to love yourself, explore what you like, figure out what makes your body feel good. Don't be ashamed to touch yourself in front of him, too. Teach him. Show him. Show him how he can use every part of himself to please every part of you, and then be open to learning the same from him. If you're shy, that's okay. Hell, let that shyness be part of your appeal. A turn-on. Incorporate it into your play.

As long as you love each other, trust each other, and communicate; as long as you take these steps to learn and know that you'll be doing this when you take the plunge, it's possible to wait until after marriage and still hope that things will work out sexually. It's not a guarantee. But it's a good game plan, and a good idea to introduce that into the framework of conversation when you're discussing where you stand on sex, why, and why you're not afraid to wait when you know when the time is right, you can learn to make it as mind-blowing as you need it to be.

I hope you find the guy out there who'll wait for you. He's out there. You want someone who thinks you're worth the wait.

More than anything, you deserve it.

-C

Read older entries here.

Cole McCade is that one guy you heard about somewhere. The human Grumpy Cat who writes sweet contemporary romance about starry-eyed girls and dirty erotica about the people who slip between the cracks of Crow City – including A Second Chance at Paris, Zero Day Exploit, and The Lost. He sometimes gives out decent advice from the perspective of a guy who just happens to be a romance author and a fiercely unapologetic feminist; he also invites other authors to seduce him (and his readers) with just one line from their books. Written a romance or erotica? Want to seduce Cole's readers? Send in one line here. Have a question on love, dating, relationships, romance, life in general…or just want to say Dammit, Cole? Use the submission form here.

BEFORE YOU COMMENT

You're welcome to offer your own opinion, advice, or encouragement to those who write in; you're also welcome to share your personal stories. But remember: these are real people with real feelings, who had the courage to send their question in. Even if you don't agree with them, be kind and don't snark on them. Nasty comments abusing submitters or other commenters will be deleted.

SUBSCRIBE FOR WEEKLY UPDATES & HIGHLIGHTS FROM "DAMMIT, COLE" AND "SEDUCE ME"

THE LOST Release Day…and a Few Words on Sexual Abuse & Domestic Violence

So if you missed the flurry of tweets, Facebook posts, and everything else…The Lost, the first book in my Cole McCade: After Dark erotica imprint, released today. I'm beyond excited, relieved–there are no words. This story was festering inside me like an infection of sweetest poison. Cutting it out of me left me bleeding, but it was worth it. Right now you can find it on:

Amazon | Amazon UK | iBooks | Smashwords | GoodReads

Barnes & Noble and Kobo will be live soon; I'll add those links then.

What I really wanted to talk about in this post, though, is something a little more serious. Something I'm taking out of The Lost to share here, because it's something important to me. Something that drove much of this book, and even changed how I felt about the book and the goal I had in writing it as the plot developed. What I'm copying below is the afterword included in the book, at the end of the novel.

THE LOST: AFTERWORD

After the trigger warnings at the beginning of the book, it may seem strange that I’m having trouble figuring out the best way to talk about this. The best way to talk about domestic abuse, violence, emotional abuse, dysfunctional relationships, everything dark that we often don’t like to think about in our happily-ever-afters. This is something that’s ridden me throughout the book, and I’ve been trying to work out what to say about it, and how to address the dichotomy between what I write for titillation purposes and what I believe in real life, especially when you consider that what inspired this story was a realization that moved me to tears:

The fact that nearly all of my female friends have been the victim of sexual predators—often family or other trusted adults who targeted them at a young age, hurt them, took away their ownership of their bodies and their agency, and changed the way they see themselves forever.

Still more have been victims of domestic abuse, and felt as if they had nowhere to turn because they’d been taught this was normal, and conditioned not to talk about their problems.

You may know that I wrote a short story, Sometimes It Storms, in the award-winning Winter Rain charity anthology—a story about a male survivor of child sexual abuse. Proceeds benefited RAINN, the leading national provider of support and resources for survivors of rape, incest, and abuse. There was nothing titillating about the abuse in Sometimes It Storms. It was painful. It was ugly. It was traumatizing. I saw one reader say it was so dark mine was the only story in the anthology that she had to put down (and I’m sorry for that). This is a thing I tend to treat with gravity, not to mention I talk about the psychology of abusive relationships rather often. I condemn all forms of abuse.

And yet here I am writing a book that needs a trigger warning before you even get to the first page, with multiple potentially damaging and disturbing things described in a sexualized fashion.

We all know that fantasy is not reality. We know that enjoying Leigh’s fixation on a bruising touch, her Daddy issues, and her need for borderline non-consent does not mean we condone the man who beats his wife. Or the husband who thinks “I do” means “yes into perpetuity” no matter if she says no or how much she resists. Or the father who looks at his budding teenage daughter just a little too long. Or the boyfriend who uses cutting little comments to reel a woman in and keep her always guessing, always doubting herself, always under his control. When it comes to our fantasies, we know very well where the dividing line is between that and something imaginary concocted for pleasure’s sake.

But at the same time, we run the risk of normalizing some very damaging things when we dismiss it as just fantasy. We risk trivializing; risk minimizing; risk discarding people for whom this isn’t a story, but a painful and traumatic reality with nothing pleasurable about it—and walking away from that kind of situation isn’t as easy as people so often think. We live in a culture that takes delight in painting girls as knowing, seductive adult women who knew exactly what they were doing, and uses the Lolita myth as an excuse to both objectify young girls and to make that objectification their fault. It’s a pervasive mindset, and it’s difficult to even recognize, let alone escape, before we even get into the difficulty of recognizing and escaping abusive relationships.

There’s a site I like to read called “Your Fave is Problematic.” It calls out celebrities for saying and doing horrible things and keeps a long-standing record of accumulated receipts on particular prominent people, but it doesn’t expect anyone who reads it to stop liking those people because they did one thing wrong; because they were human and fallible and possibly ignorant (though I won’t say some people don’t deserve to be shunned—I mean seriously, Mel, a pack? Not a gaggle, not a flock, not a gang, but a pack? And you know what else you said). But the point of it is not to condemn what you love, but to acknowledge what you love for what it is. You can love something and yet acknowledge that it’s got issues. Just ask the Supernatural fandom, or bring up the Bechdel test in relation to pretty much anything in popular media. There are issues. Big ones.

But it’s acknowledging those issues that makes a difference.

So I’m going to acknowledge right now: my book is problematic. It may present Gabriel Hart as the better option, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good option even if he may be an exciting fantasy. His assumptions regarding Leigh’s desires where consent are concerned are deeply problematic because, even if he turned out to be right as part of that connection they have where he gets her, he didn’t explicitly ask her first—and that only works in a fantasy where we have the implied contract with the reader that says the better option will turn out okay and will be and do what the heroine wants, when in real life the better option may just be the lesser of two evils rather than the dangerous yet honorable man who’s never a true danger to our plucky protagonist. I’m owning that for what it is, and owning the flaws in what it portrays.

When you recognize that the thing you love is problematic on a social and cultural level, it doesn’t ruin your enjoyment of it. It doesn’t make a critique of that thing into a personal critique of you. It just makes you more self-aware. It can help you understand why you enjoy it even more, and might even prompt some food for thought when you look at what makes it good and how it relates to the problematic elements. But more than anything, it makes you respectful, and cognizant of the fact that this thing you love portrays some issues that really shouldn’t be taken lightly; issues that can be damaging to many people. It makes you more compassionate, so that your pursuit of fantasy doesn’t trump others’ need for sensitivity and understanding.

And I’ve found that acknowledging “Yes, I’m getting off on the fantasy of an abusive power play and I acknowledge it is exactly that” goes a lot farther than shouting “You just don’t get it!” when the subject is brought up.

Acknowledge. Respect. Own it. Love it without shame anyway without demeaning the people who don’t, the people for whom this hits too close to home. And while you’re loving it, check out these organizations that do more than just respect victims of abuse; they help them.

Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN): http://www.rainn.org
The National Domestic Violence Hotline: http://www.thehotline.org
Find Local Domestic Violence Shelters & Help: http://www.domesticshelters.org

Cover Reveal: THE LOST

Have I really not blogged in three fucking months? Goddamn.

So…this happened:

I can't believe this book is releasing in…well, about four and a half days. If you haven't been around, this is THE LOST, the first of the Crow City standalone books in my Cole McCade: After Dark erotica imprint.

There's something wrong with Leigh.

She's known it her whole life. She knows it every time she spreads her legs. Every time she begs for the pain, the pleasure, the heat of a hard man driving deep inside. She's a slave to her own twisted lusts–and it's eating her alive. She loves it. She craves it. Sex is her drug, and she's always chasing her next fix. But nothing can satisfy her addiction, not even the nameless men she uses and tosses aside. No one's ever given her what she truly needs.

Until Gabriel Hart.

Cold. Controlled. Impenetrable. Ex-Marine Gabriel Hart isn't the kind of man to come running when Leigh crooks her pretty little finger. She loathes him. She hungers for him. He's the only one who understands how broken she is, and just what it takes to satisfy the emptiness inside. But Gabriel won't settle for just one night. He wants to claim her, keep her, make her forever his. Together they are the lost, the ruined, the darkness at the heart of Crow City.

But Leigh has a darkness of her own. A predator stalking through her past–one she'll do anything to escape.

Even if it means running from the one man who could love her…and leaving behind something more precious to her than life itself.

TRIGGER WARNING: 18+

This book contains material that may be triggering or deeply disturbing to some readers, including scenes discussing or detailing rape, physical and emotional abuse, and incest. Please focus on self-care and, if this book is triggering to you, do not be afraid to put it down and walk away, or skip certain chapters. Be good to yourselves.

-C

…now off to finish one last frantic proofread before formatting.

Updates from Inside the Hamster Ball, 05.07.15: Social Media, Release Dates, Cats & New Projects

*tugs his glasses off, clears his throat* So. Things:

SOCIAL MEDIA

I know I haven't been responding on social media lately despite sharing all these teasing little bitlets from The Lost and the exciting news about Winter Rain's IPPY Gold Medal Award. I've been finding that in my efforts to keep everyone happy and engage on a personal front, I've been making myself miserable. I've realized I can be everyone's friend, or I can write. I can't do both, even though some authors can and I admire them for that. I can't, and I came here to write; it's my job. It doesn't mean I don't adore you, or that I don't see your tweets. I do. I just need to pull back and focus on what you followed me for: the books. If I'm not writing books, I'm no good to either of us. I'm here. I see you. I appreciate you. I'm just being a recluse so I can get the words out of my head and onto the page without feeling like I'm being pulled in a million directions at once. Call it part of my mystique or something. Insert image of a lean, brooding man hunching over a typewriter with crumpled wads of note paper everywhere and the walls scrawled with ink and his rockstar-unkempt hair straggling into his face and catching on his glasses. God, I need a fucking haircut.

THE LOST RELEASE DATE

On that note, The Lost has been pushed to August 25th while I catch up on…everything…after nearly two months of being completely blocked and hardly getting a word out besides the trigger warning foreword for the book, between Tybalt's death and all the stress of more behind-the-scenes drama than I ever thought being an author would entail (you guys, having a legit honest-to-god needs-a-restraining-order holy-shite-so-many-troll-accounts stalker is at once exhausting and yet infinitely dull – especially one who really doesn't realize her IP address follows her everywhere and pretty much everyone can see what she's doing). Still working on getting my Entangled book out to my editor, too. Before she kills me. With much fire and murderlation.

BLOGGISH THINGS

Submissions are still open for Dammit, Cole and Seduce Me. I have two Dammit, Cole letters I'm sitting on, but will post soon. I found out the form doesn't always work right, though; I fixed it, but if you sent in a letter a while back and haven't gotten an answer, it might've been eaten. You can email it to me if you're worried.

A SECOND CHANCE AT PARIS

I'll have fun things surrounding ASCAP in the next couple of months. Like Celeste's necklace, which I've been hanging on to for an appropriate giveaway for some time. Also pretty pictures. And a deleted scene between Ion and Drake for the McCade's Marauders street team. May also have some sketches from The Lost; we'll see if I can find time around day job work + writing + editing + cover design.

FUCK YES CUTE KITTIES

Beni and Mercy are settling in wonderfully. Mercy's no longer so skittish. Beni is an attention whore and does the strangest, cutest thing when you touch his belly: he flops on his side really hard and mooshes up against you. We had a huge scare with his health back in April (on our anniversary, that was a fun thing to share with Banfield staff), but a week of medication cleared it up and he's fine.

NEW PROJECT

Over the next year I'll be working on a top-secret NA project that still isn't so secret that I can't tell you the title:

The Girl with the Stars on Her Skin.

It'll be huge, expansive, a labor of love and heartbreak, and while I'm keeping everything totally under wraps until it's done, I'm already aching to share it with you guys even though I've only gotten two lines written so far. I just hope I can fit it in around writing the second Crow City book, and Third Time's the Charm.

So. That's the lay of things. I'm skulking on the sidelines in my hamster ball and avoiding mental clutter while I write, but sooner or later I'll come up for air.

Be good to yourselves.

-C

Dammit, Cole: Prudish Ink Edition

Dammit, Cole:

Why do most male authors "fade to black" sexy scenes in their books? I know for a fact that most men like sex, so why don't they like writing about it?

Fabi

So…I'm guessing by "male authors" you don't mean, oh, M. Pierce, Sylvain Reynard, Logan Patricks, Jason Luke, J.D. Hawkins, me…or the host of other male romance and erotica authors writing sex specifically for the genre, including some writing under a female pen name for the sake of legitimacy in the romance industry, like Leigh Greenwood / Harold Lowry? Then there's more literary fiction. Nabokov is probably a default, but there's also John Mullan, Michael Ondaatjie, Henry Miller, James Salter, and many others. The list goes on, both in the romance genre and outside of it. There's a large quotient of male authors who don't at all shrink away from writing detailed sex scenes, even if the purpose may not always be to titillate.

That said.

There is a stigma against writing sex in some circles, especially among the old guard, and that stigma is often centered around gender, genre, and the fallacious, sexist idea that romance is trash for women, by women, and it's the target audience that somehow lowers its worth. This is something I've discussed at length in private conversations with publishing industry friends: the subtle undercurrent of sexism that colors the mainstream perception of the romance industry, and how the label of "for women" is used both to devalue the work and to devalue women instead of celebrating a genre that promotes a free environment for women to explore their sexuality.

Authors who see detailed sex scenes as something specific to the romance industry may feel themselves above descending to those levels, and feel that the intimacy and romance and sensuality involved in writing explicit sex purely for the sake of the relationship between the characters (and not necessarily to drive the overall book's non-romantic plot, though it may factor in) somehow detracts from its literary merit. And it's been a long, ongoing, uphill battle to shift subjective measurements of literary merit away from those primarily centered around privileged, patriarchal ideals (case in point, the recent Hugo Awards debacle).

So the short answer? Some male authors think avoiding sex gives their work more legitimacy. Some just don't add it because it has no place in the story. And some write it gleefully, and it's really up to the individual author as a person, rather than as his gender, how far he wants to go with that.

Back into the writing cave to finish writing about lesbian nun spankings,

-C

Read older entries here.

Cole McCade is that one guy you heard about somewhere. The human Grumpy Cat who writes sweet contemporary romance about starry-eyed girls and dirty erotica about the people who slip between the cracks of Crow City – including A Second Chance at Paris, Zero Day Exploit, and The Lost. He sometimes gives out decent advice from the perspective of a guy who just happens to be a romance author and a fiercely unapologetic feminist; he also invites other authors to seduce him (and his readers) with just one line from their books. Written a romance or erotica? Want to seduce Cole's readers? Send in one line here. Have a question on love, dating, relationships, romance, life in general…or just want to say Dammit, Cole? Use the submission form here.

BEFORE YOU COMMENT

You're welcome to offer your own opinion, advice, or encouragement to those who write in; you're also welcome to share your personal stories. But remember: these are real people with real feelings, who had the courage to send their question in. Even if you don't agree with them, be kind and don't snark on them. Nasty comments abusing submitters or other commenters will be deleted.

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Seduce Me with Marissa Garner: THE MARRIAGE TRAP

THE MARRIAGE TRAP

Marissa Garner

Adult Contemporary Romance

Excerpt

“Look, jerk,” she said above the din, “I wouldn’t ‘do’ you even if you were the last guy on earth and your…your…penis was covered with chocolate.”

SPECIAL PRICE: On sale for 99cents until 4/3 at:

Also available at:

Rating:

3.5/5 stars: This looks fun and sassy, like it might be cute, but it's not really pushing me to buy. There's something about it that feels forced, but it may just not jibe with my particular sense of humor (though I remember having a conversation about this line on Facebook one day and there being a discussion of using caramel, instead, to match my skin). I'm intrigued, but not won over, though it may be just me and it works better for someone else; with the 99-cent sale there's little risk in trying it out.

Do you want a taste?

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Read older entries here.

Cole McCade is that one guy you heard about somewhere. The human Grumpy Cat who writes sweet contemporary romance about starry-eyed girls and dirty erotica about the people who slip between the cracks of Crow City – including A Second Chance at Paris, Zero Day Exploit, and The Lost. He sometimes gives out decent advice from the perspective of a guy who just happens to be a romance author and a fiercely unapologetic feminist; he also invites other authors to seduce him (and his readers) with just one line from their books. Written a romance or erotica? Want to seduce Cole's readers? Send in one line here. Have a question on love, dating, relationships, romance, life in general…or just want to say Dammit, Cole? Use the submission form here.

BEFORE YOU COMMENT

You're welcome to share your own opinion of the lines posted to this segment, but try to remember these are real people, not just faceless authors. Critical commentary and points about why it didn't work for you are fine; ugliness and snark are not. Nasty comments abusing submitting authors or other commenters will be deleted.

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Dammit, Cole: Boyz II Men Edition

Dammit, Cole,

Sanzana here! You actually did it! You're actually doing an advice column (something I plan on doing in my oh-so-near future) but high five to you!

But damnit, Cole, is there really such a difference between a "boy" and a "man" or is that something women (or men?) came up with to view guys differently, even though they end up being the same person? For example, the most common situation this is used by calling teenage guys "boys" because they're jerks, and adult guys "men" because they are "mature" and "manly."

Glad to see you're doing somewhat better and I hope you have a nice day.

Sanzana

First off, thank you for getting Boyz II Men stuck in my head. Uber's currently complaining about bleeding eardrums because that compelled me to sing the harmony to "Yesterday." That's on you, sorry.

Teasing aside, biologically there's a huge difference between a boy and a man – or a girl and a woman, and it has nothing to do with just how much junk is in that trunk and everything to do with development in the prefrontal cortex of the brain. Yeah, I'm about to mic-drop some science on your arse. We'll get to the sociology in a minute.

Teenagers' brains aren't fully developed, and might not be until their mid-twenties. We aren't born with fully-fledged brains capable of making rational decisions. In fact, we're pretty much born with hormones, a need to eat, and some disaster soup that eventually forms itself into neurons some time after we've made enough bad decisions that I'm not sure how so many of us survive to adulthood without at least three missing fingers and an eraser tattoo that says "Butzz McGee wuz here." So before their brains mature into what can be seen as adult development (and sometimes not even then), most boys are going to be fucking toolbags. It's just biology. The threshold between a boy and a man is, technically, determined by whether or not the prefrontal cortex has developed enough for the kind of restraint and understanding of consequences that comes with maturity, which pretty much defines social standards of adulthood. Until then? Neuron soup. And magic marker dicks. All over your face. And there's that little shite who was teabagging my corpse in Halo last week, too.

…actually, I wouldn't be surprised if he was in his thirties, but that's a whole other story.

What we're also looking at in your situation is the perception of manhood in society. And that's where things get tricky, and usually involve idiots locking horns like stags in mating season.

At some point, various cultures around the world began to build what's commonly referred to as a culture of masculinity: one in which masculinity is both a rite of passage and a form of currency, and when it comes down to currency no one wants to be the poor guy on the block. Boys become men through their first hunt. When we no longer hunt, we earn our first "kill" when we get our first car or lose our virginity or get our first job or survive our first life-threatening and stupidity-induced injury, but either way we must pass someone else's standards for manhood or we have no value as potential mates, providers, utterly bangable fuckin' bros.

Masculinity becomes so idealized, so prized, that its attainment eclipses all other personal development and all other measures of worth in a human being who just happens to be defined as male, cis- or otherwise. It becomes a competition. We hoard masculinity like it's going out of stock, and if we lose even so much as a single drop our value will plummet on the market and we'll no longer be seen as virile specimens of manhood dripping with pustules of testosterone that sprout chest hairs all over our hirsute and fragrantly sweaty bod–

I'm sorry, I just got distracted by my new cute kitties. My little furry baby boys who make Daddy go oogy and wibbly and hey, fuck society's preconceived notions of masculinity, they're fucking cute as fuck and I'll make baby-noises at them if I fucking want to.

That's actually part of my point, though. Because what I said right there, right now, is being judged against a standard of masculinity in the subconscious portion of your brain that runs all your social machinery, and to some people it doesn't matter who I am as a person. It doesn't matter that I'm capable of caring for other living beings in a way that safeguards their health and happiness; it doesn't matter what I've accomplished in my life as a human being, an author, a mentor, a friend, a lover, a son, a big brother, a little brother. In the culture of masculinity, I've just devalued myself. I've just made myself look weak; like I don't have the big brawny muscles to provide for a mate and compete with the alpha males out there, because I'm too busy wiggling my fingers at a cute little kitty like a puny, defenseless little boy.

And if I bought into the culture of masculinity, that would immediately put me on the defensive and send me out looking for something to prove.

That's what it boils down to, end the end. Having something to prove. And when the culture of masculinity tells you that you have something to prove, you need someone to prove yourself against. You need someone to be less than you, so you can be more than them.

You need someone to be a sad little boy, so you can tell yourself you're a big strong man.

Because you're pretty fucking afraid that you're not, and it's easier to devalue someone else through artificial social currency than it is to become someone who doesn't have anything to prove because he's comfortable in his own skin.

If women are twitting men about being boys, quite frankly they learned it from us. Some women may buy into the culture of masculinity, but we're the ones who created it. No matter who does it, though, what it boils down to is that it's complete and utter bullshite.

And anyone who judges someone by those standards isn't someone whose opinion is worth much to start with.

-C

P.S. I've now added a handy submission form so you can send in your questions with a few easy clicks, with Anon options.

Read older entries here.

Cole McCade is that one guy you heard about somewhere. The human Grumpy Cat who writes sweet contemporary romance about starry-eyed girls and dirty erotica about the people who slip between the cracks of Crow City – including A Second Chance at Paris, Zero Day Exploit, and The Lost. He sometimes gives out decent advice from the perspective of a guy who just happens to be a romance author and a fiercely unapologetic feminist; he also invites other authors to seduce him (and his readers) with just one line from their books. Written a romance or erotica? Want to seduce Cole's readers? Send in one line here. Have a question on love, dating, relationships, romance, life in general…or just want to say Dammit, Cole? Use the submission form here.

BEFORE YOU COMMENT

You're welcome to offer your own opinion, advice, or encouragement to those who write in; you're also welcome to share your personal stories. But remember: these are real people with real feelings, who had the courage to send their question in. Even if you don't agree with them, be kind and don't snark on them. Nasty comments abusing submitters or other commenters will be deleted.

SUBSCRIBE FOR WEEKLY UPDATES & HIGHLIGHTS FROM "DAMMIT, COLE" AND "SEDUCE ME"