Welcoming back Tara Lain!
Hey all! Today I'd like to welcome back Tara, who's going to be talking about writing those steamy scenes in her novels and her latest release, Golden Dancer! Take it away, Tara!
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Keeping the Spice in Sex Scenes
Hi everyone. I'm delighted to be back visiting Mina. As you know, Mina and I write pretty steamy books. One of the things I get asked most often as an erotic romance writer is "how do you write all those sex scenes and still make them fresh?" First, let me say I have only written eight books (four published, two soon to be published, one contracted and one in progress). Ask me again after 18 (I hope to be so lucky) or 80 (I hope to live so long) and I will give you a more authoritative answer. But I will try to reply based on my limited experience.
Some basic principles. A sex scene has to have a reason for being and that reason is (almost) never "to have sex." Like all scenes, a sex scene needs to advance the plot and/or reveal character both to the character himself and the reader. In my new release, Golden Dancer, the investigative reporter, Mac, has an unexpected sexual encounter with Trelain, the beautiful male ballet dancer. This scene causes Mac to begin to question whether or not he's straight and, most important, sets up the obsession with Trelain that drives him through most of the book. Golden Dancer is a M/M/M ménage so it has to have scenes that show the growing relationship of each man to the other. These scenes are often fraught with inner conflict since Mac is actually investigating Daniel, his lover, for art theft though Daniel doesn't know it. The scenes must take Mac from "Okay Daniel is a good lover and Trelain is attached to him" to scenes in which he realizes his own growing attachment to the man he is investigating.
So, when I consider adding a sex scene to a book I ask "why does this scene exist"? What is it designed to accomplish? What will it show? Answering those questions helps determine the action of the scene, it helps shape the dialogue, the internal thoughts and feelings of the POV character. And, if I stay true to the characters' voices and back-stories, that automatically makes each sex scene different from others that I've written. At the end of the scene I ask myself "have we learned what we need to know from this scene"? Has it moved the reader in a certain way? If so, it's probably a sex scene unique from others in at least significant ways.
Obviously, sex scenes are designed to make the reader feel, well … sexy! So first they have to make me feel that way. If I write a scene mechanically, I go back and start to add the touch, taste, smell, visual interest, and above all, the feelings of the characters. Because I write in deep point of view (or try to) I lock myself into the experience of the point-of-view character and I know when he feels deeply so will I.
I will add that I also write a lot of ménage – of my seven books, six including Golden Dancer are centered on or involve ménage in some way. Having three characters to play with does make for a certain level of variety not available from two-person sex scenes.
But then again, ask me again after ten more books. : )
If you'd like to enter to win a copy of Golden Dancer (or a copy of my summer romance novella, Volley Balls) please leave a comment here with your email address. I will copy it into the drawing on Oct 8. If you'd like to have more than one entry in more than one drawing for these prizes, go over to my Book Blog http://beautifulboysbooks.blogspot.com and post a comment with email. Read the post and you'll see that there are MANY ways to add entries and increase your chances of winning. But first, COMMENT HERE! Thanks again to Mina and thank you so much for visiting the blog!
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Excerpt: Golden Dancer by Tara Lain, M/M/M Romantic Suspense
Available from Loose Id
A reporter and the thief he's investigating fall for a golden dancer forging a ménage of love and lies that could send one to prison and one to the morgue. Uncovering secrets requires baring more than just the soul.
The ballet had been restaged. Instead of a lyrical rose enchanting a debutante as in the original, Medveyev was now a biker bad boy creeping into the bedroom of a rich girl. Fokine's choreography had been modernized. Even the familiar von Weber music got a bit of an atonal twist.
The dancer had leaped on the stage, stalking the sleeping girl like some kind of feline predator, his famous mane of golden hair flowing over his shoulders. Christ, Mac's hands felt damp just thinking of it. And when the moment had come for Medveyev's grand exit, escaping the girl's outraged father in this version, he flew into the air and through the window. Fucking eagle. Audiences would shit. Especially the women. The Russian was fire, burning so bright, you couldn't look away, even though you knew it would turn you to ashes. Jesus, he'd better not put that in the review.
"Good afternoon."
Mac started and looked up. He hadn't heard a sound. Medveyev stood inside the rehearsal room door. Maybe he'd conjured the guy.
Controlled. That was the first thought Mac had. His hair was wound tightly in a queue at his nape, showing off his face. And that face was architectural perfection. High cheekbones under large, slightly slanted eyes. Maybe a little Tartar in there someplace a few generations back. The beauty suggested exotic and wild, but Mac saw none of it.
The only emotion? Wariness. Probably hated reporters. He still wore the form-fitting blue jean-looking tights he'd performed in, but he'd layered a silk shirt over the smooth, taut chest. Funny. He wasn't tall. Maybe five feet ten. Mac would tower over him. On the stage, he looked like a god. Of course, he was doing a pretty good god imitation right now. Like Adonis.
Mac stood. "Good afternoon, cavalier. I'm MacKenzie…uh, Mac MacAllister from the Daily Window."
The dancer gave a small smile. Good, the "cavalier" reference gained Mac a couple points. Proved he wasn't a rube.
"Mac…Kenzie, I don't believe we have met before. Mr. Hirschfield is…?" He waved an elegant hand in question.
"Sick. Sorry. I'm filling in."
"I see." Medveyev hadn't moved from beside the door. Mac wondered if he'd just leave. He stood like a statue in the familiar toes-out position. It reminded Mac of his parents. Dancers' hips were trained so that their feet naturally fell into that stance.
Shoot. Mac didn't want him to leave. "I'm sorry Hirschfield isn't here, but I'll give this story top priority, I promise."
The golden head tilted down as Medveyev looked Mac over. Crap. Maybe his hoodie and jeans were a bit out of character for the New York Ballet Theatre. Probably should've shaved closer, but this was him. Tough shit. Still --
"I assume this is not your regular, how do you say…beat, Mac…Kenzie?" His accent was mostly British, mostly posh, with a little rough Russian and Cockney creeping through.
"Yeah. I'm a hard-news reporter usually."
"And Ms. Chan sent you here because…?" Again with the hand wave.
"I grew up around ballet. My parents are dancers."
That got his attention. "MacAllister, did you say?"
"Yes, my father is Devin MacAllister. My mom's…"
"Shauna Rendell." He gave his first real smile. All those sculpted planes softened, and dimples appeared, making Mac realize that the dancer was very young, probably no more than twenty-four or -five. Amazing what he'd accomplished in his short life. "I know your parents, of course." Somebody must have pushed the Go switch, because Medveyev crossed the space and took the chair opposite where Mac had been sitting. "Sit, sit." The hands waved as if the dancer had been trying to get him to sit for hours.
Mac sat. Crisis averted.
"How are your parents? I haven't seen them since my last trip to Dallas."
"They're well. Hate Dallas, love teaching, so they stay."
"Ah yes, Texas, cowboys, and yee-haa. But still proud of their ballet. Your parents have elevated the company there. They are splendid professionals."
Mac smiled. His parents were going to freak when he told them about this conversation. "They'll be honored with your compliment. They're big fans."
Hand wave. Shy glance. "Ah. As you say. Now, what may I tell you about our little ballet, Mac…Kenzie?"
Man, the guy was just beautiful. Hard not to notice. "Just Mac. I wondered how the audiences in New York received the restaging of such a time-honored classic."
Medveyev had been looking at his hands but glanced up. His eyes were actually turquoise blue, like the stones in a Native American necklace. "I'm sure you've seen some of the reviews."
Mac nodded.
"The adventurous and avant-garde receive it with open arms. The purists?" He shrugged. "Shit their bloody pants."
Mac's laugh exploded. "Crap. I will just bet." He felt warm hearing the dancer's musical laugh. "Man, I gotta tell you, you are one bad-ass dancer."
The head cocked. "And bad-ass is…good ass, yes?" He glanced over his shoulder, looking at his own round, hard-muscled buttocks on the chair.
Okay, that was coy, but Mac was game. "Yeah, very good ass." Turquoise eyes met his, and Mac quickly turned to his notes. "So I've got some questions…"
For the next few minutes he was a good little boy and asked all the appropriate questions about the ballet. The challenge of the new choreography, how Medveyev trained for the famous flying exit through the window, what he was dancing next -- all the usual stuff. But some of Debbie's personal mojo kept pushing at him.
"So, cavalier, do you have a wife or a girlfriend?"
He got the unwavering stare. "I'm sure it cannot have escaped your notice that I am homosexual."
Man, the way he said that word was a sexual experience all by itself. "I wouldn't assume."
The dancer sat back in his chair. "I appreciate that."
"So, do you have a partner?"
"Not at the present time." One pale eyebrow rose. "Do you plan to put that information in your review?"
Mac paused. Why had he asked the question? "Actually, I was thinking maybe the Window could do a more personal story on you -- I mean, if you're open to such an idea." Yeah, actually that would be cool. Woo would love to have the gorgeous superstar featured on the site. "I mean, I'll still do the review. It'll be posted tonight, but maybe the other story could come later. I could e-mail you some questions, talk on the phone, you know." Jesus, that could be a good story.
"Many people have written about me, but I do not relish coming off as a pop star, or a bloody porn star for that matter."
Mac warmed to his own subject. "No, see, I'm no dancer, but I know the craft, you know? I can write it from that perspective. Of course, I'd want to tell your personal story too, as a dancer. But not anything you don't want to reveal. I'm no tabloid reporter."
The gaze never wavered, then Medveyev smiled. Dimples appeared again, startling in those sculpted cheeks. "I have a better idea. Why don't you take me to dinner tonight and get as personal as you wish?"
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