Posts Tagged ‘stories’

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For some reason this topic has come up a lot in conversation lately. I’m not sure why. It might be because I write erotic romance so people are interested in what that means, what it is. Where the line is drawn or more specifically, where I draw the line.

That’s easy, but let’s explore the issue first.

Definition of erotica:

1 : literary or artistic works having an erotic theme or quality.

2 : depictions of things erotic.

3 : literature or art intended to arouse sexual desire

Definition of pornography:

1 : sexually explicit videos, photographs, writings, or the like, whose purpose is to elicit sexual arousal.

2 : printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings.

3 :  the depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick intense emotional reaction <the pornography of violence>

So in short, pornography is a show all and tell all. Erotica is a tease.

Personally, I’d rather be teased. I get no pleasure in seeing body parts in their raw and open form, seeing the act of intercourse or fellatio or anal sex at close range. It doesn’t mean it’s vulgar because our bodies are not vulgar nor is sex vulgar. I personally just don’t enjoy seeing it depicted in that form, however, I’m also not interested in banning or prohibiting porn.

Lately, I’ve been more aware of how television is becoming pornography in its own way. Nothing is left to the imagination anymore. There are so many shows I like. They have all the formulaic ingredients: action, adventure, who done its, love, sex, violence. But each of those categories is getting more and more explicit. When the ‘bad guy’ is killed, rather than shooting the scene right up to the moment of murder, the murder is shown in its entirety – being bludgeoned with an axe or stabbed multiple times. You can hear the skull crack, you see blood spurt, you see the violence in the killers eyes. It is so real and so explicit it’s frightening. Does it have to be so graphic?

Nothing is left to imagine, to fantasize, to wonder about. They have shown us everything. Our limits have been pushed to the max and we as audiences now expect this type of visual entertainment. Just think how this is shifting our consciousness into some extreme level of what could be considered ‘normal’. But I digress…

Why do we (as audiences) want to see more, see it all? It seems once you go down that road, you seek more and more. You are never satiated. Perhaps that’s human nature?

Reading a good book (erotic or not) leads you along a page turning journey, pulls you through the story by what is ultimately going to happen, intrigued all along the way. Even when all is revealed, there is still so much left to imagine because somehow all has not been revealed. 

Good erotica doesn’t give it all away. It can be explicit but (in my opinion) if written or filmed or photographed well, it has the nuance of sex, the ‘just the right amount’ to make you squirm.

I write romance with an edge. I write titillating. I enjoy writing the stories most of all, and if the stories are sassy and sexy and provocative, that’s okay. My line is easily drawn.

 

Today is like a Monday here in Canada. That’s because yesterday was Victoria Day, or as we call it, the May long weekend.

It almost always rains on the May long weekend. That’s because a lot of people camp. I can’t even remember how many camping trips I got rained on over May long weekends past. This year the weather forecast was for rain (surprise!) so some people prepared by packing extra rain gear (because in BC you always pack rain gear), or they changed their plans and booked a hotel or they canceled their trip altogether. All weekend it threatened rain but by noon every day the sun appeared. It didn’t rain once. Murphy’s law.

Generally I stay home for the May long weekend choosing a quiet, less busy city over traffic and ferry line-ups. This year, a lot of people who would have gone out of town (and should have) stayed behind making the seawall where I love to walk my dog almost as busy as Highway 1 during Friday rush hour.

Instead I opted for hikes in the woods and then the quiet of my own home, where (drumroll…) I drafted three new poems and revisited my new Madison Lake book! Does this mean the spell is broken? Does this mean my writing slump has been slumped? (that’s like a double trump for those card sharks out there). Could my block be freed?069e47cc1ed73ef7d7914605c6853b6a

Honestly, this hiccup in my generally prolific writing routine has lasted all of three months – a length of time I can handle (just barely), but enough time to regroup.

I feel like I’m back in the land of the living. My land, my life, where carefully chosen words begin to fill pages; poems like minimalist paintings, stories filled with complex characters, compelling plots, language rich and textured as midwest farmland in the spring.

Only the framework of book seven is in place but the cast thus far has been chosen and are ready to play out their story. My poetry seems to be angling toward the strife and triumphs of women as we age – our bodies, our spirits, our (must have) sense of humour, our sexual desire and needs, men, women, families. 

Ah, to be home again.   

Startup Stock Photos

 

 

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It doesn’t seem like a period of rain this morning as I walk Pippa through a steady downpour.  However, it is winter.  It’s just we’ve been having such gorgeous weather.  Cold, but clear and sunny.  This dark, rainy morning feels oppressive.

I don’t know about you but when it’s cloudy and wet out, I don’t feel as guilty when I stay in and write.  As oppressive as it can feel, the mood created is perfect to hunker down with my laptop or pen and paper and lose myself in a story or a poem.

IMG_0844 (2)When the sun shines I still hunker down to write but the light streaming through the windows often gives me pause – many pauses.  My mind wanders to the brightness of the outdoors.  Green grass beckons.  My dog’s tail wags in anticipation, and it doesn’t take much for me to give in.  Soon we’re out the door into the cool, dry fresh air.

My computer will be here when I return.  My pen and paper won’t go away.  I will glean ideas on my outdoor adventure, ideas for stories and poems and books.  I will stretch my too often stiff limbs, breathe deeply, run.

Meanwhile, the rain pelts down and my fingers clip-clop on the keyboard at a rhythmical pace.  A new story emerges.  In the opening scene the sun is shining.