I love musicals, have for most of my life. There’s this
thing that people sometimes say when you talk about musicals, usually rather
derisively: “I don’t understand why people just burst into song!” The folks who
say this often don’t care for musicals much, and don’t know them very well.
They assume the songs are inserted, are distractions, are pointless. They
assume that the songs don’t do anything in the story, aren’t part of the
movement of plot, make it less serious or important artistically, could easily
just be taken out and everything would be much better. The songs make them
uncomfortable. Embarrassed, even. They feel like they are too full of feelings, too
unabashed, too much.

People say similar things about sex scenes. They assume that
they are inserted, that they distract from the story, that they aren’t part of
the movement of the plot, make the story less serious ahrt, could easily be
taken out (and should be). They imagine story to be inherently better without
explicit descriptions of sex, much like people assume theater to be inherently
better without song and dance numbers. They are uncomfortable with fiction that
integrates the reality of sexuality into the stories it tells about people’s
lives and relationships; it feels too unabashed, too much, too intense.

So, as erotica and erotic romance writers, we have at least
one thing in common with the folks who write show tunes: we experience a
similar kind of derision. But I think we have more common ground than that. I
think folks like us who write sex scenes could learn (or be reminded of) some
important things about our craft from examining what makes a really good show tune.

One of the first things about show tunes is that you have to commit. In musical theater, the song won’t work unless
the writer commits to it, unless the actor brings all their intensity and
concentration to the performance of it. You must go all out. The writer and the
actors can’t be tentative, can’t sit in the muck of insecurity or
embarrassment, can’t just put a toe in. The writing will fall flat, will feel
awkward. The audience will notice the actor’s unsureness and the breaks in
performance, instead of being caught up and carried along.

Let’s watch an example of what I mean. The writer of “Quiet”
from the musical Matilda really
commits to the internal experience of the character, to showing that to you in
the lyric and the music and pacing. There’s a bunch of risk taking in this
song, of not holding back. The actress also deeply commits to her performance.
They both go all out, and you get a song that is intense and powerful and full
of rich characterization and movement.

It’s the same with writing an amazing sex scene. You have to
commit. You can’t get caught up in nerves about language, or trepidation about
being that kind of writer. You have to get over the lump in your throat and
make your characters do and say the kinds of things that are needed for this
sex scene. You have to be brave. You have to get dirty with your characters, be
in the moment with them in their vulnerability and desire and fear and love and
rage and whatever else they might be feeling as they fuck.

Another part of what makes for a really good show tune is when the
writers let it get as big as it needs to
be. When it really takes up space in the moment, is deeply embodied, is
treated as important by the characters. When the music builds and grows and fills
you as you listen to it. When the dancing is given real size and space and
evocative movement and deep expression. Basically, when folks break into song
in a musical it’s a Go Big or Go Home moment.

For example, check out Jennifer Hudson’s performance of “I Am
Changing” in Dreamgirls. This song
takes up space. It’s an important turning point in the story, and it is a
showstopper, a gorgeous blend of musical styles, a pivotal moment in the
character arc where you really feel for Effie big time. It also really builds,
emotionally, musically, and her performance takes that up several notches. The
way she’s so deeply embodied and in the song, the way she owns its size and
intensity and moves with it, makes me hold my breath when I watch.

I would argue that our sex scenes can only be improved by
letting them get as big as they need to be. What do I mean by that? Letting
them be intense. Letting them take up space in the story, both in word count
and in actual importance to the characters and the narrative. Letting the sex
scenes have big feelings and be deeply embodied in big sensations. Letting them
build and build and take over the way really amazing sex takes up all your
senses.

As I mentioned earlier, one of the deep misunderstandings of
both musicals and erotica is the idea that show tunes and sex scenes are
extraneous. In my favorite musicals, the
songs are critically important, necessary to the movement of plot, the
illumination of character, the setting of tone and scene, the creation of
conflict.

In the musical In The
Heights, the song “Breathe” is where we first really meet Nina, a central
character. This song shows who she is, her concerns and fears and conflict. It
illustrates the central tensions in her life and her character arc in the play.
It’s an incredibly rich and layered song, both musically and emotionally. That helps us get to know her as a character, to see the ways she is struggling,
and also sets a tone for the play as a whole, the layers of voices and musical
styles and concerns that are central to this specific story, the raw truth that
is right out there in this musical. This song makes the story move, gets us
invested in her and what she’s dealing with, helps us connect and care about
how she’s going to grow throughout the play.

I would argue that the best erotica and erotic romance does
this as well. That our sex scenes need to be this necessary. That our stories
are better when the sex moves the plot, makes us care about the characters,
shows the reader some of the tensions and conflicts inherent in the story.
Ideally, our sex scenes are not extraneous, cannot be excised without
destroying the story. We do our best work when we make each moment count, make it show the reader something
critically important about the characters or setting or plot or conflict, make
the sex mean something, do something in our story.

One of the things
that show tunes do really well is use
repetition. They repeat musical themes, words, choruses, dance moves, and
they do this with purpose. They build story through this repetition, moving the
plot at each point so that the thing that repeats catches us in its net and
drags us along. They build intensity through repetition, layering it on top of
itself, each time gathering more tension, holding more emotion. They draw
attention to important themes or metaphor through repetition, so you are
prepared for the crisis, can hold the twists and turns of story because it
makes more sense, feels right.

Take a look at the Deaf West production of Spring Awakening, and their performance
of “Touch Me”, a crescendo moment in the play itself, where the sexual tension
that has been building throughout the play releases in ensemble. There are so
many layers of repetition in this performance, from the words “touch me” and the
morphing of “where the figs lie” to “where the sins lie” to “where the winds
sigh”, to the musical themes that build and repeat, to the way the dancing
shifts and keeps evoking earlier moments in the song. The repetition helps to
build and build through an orgasmic experience, and it is beautiful and intense
and evocative and complete.

Erotica that uses repetition can create a similar kind of nuanced
and evocative reading experience. There is a certain kind of satisfaction that
comes with repetition, when used judiciously, that’s why it’s a favored tool
for musicians and orators and poets. I’m personally quite fond of it, and I
think it has made a real difference in my own erotica. I would argue that
repetition can be used to help create hot and beautiful and emotional and
intense sex scenes. That we can repeat and morph repeated phrasing to good
effect. That we can illuminate important things about character and story by
drawing attention to them through repetition. That we can build, and build, and
build to orgasm, through repetition.

In musical theater,
songs often hold tension, nuance and
complexity. They have multiple layers, different elements working against
each other to show the complexities and nuanced specificities of a particular
situation. In particular, melody and tone can work in counterpoint to lyric and
emotional valance, in ways that make a song gorgeous in its complexity.

I want to share two examples side by side, because I think
they play with similar contrasts. “Ladies Who Lunch” from Company is classic Sondheim at his writing best, where the cheerful
refined melody is deeply contrasted with a bitter rage that is numbed by
alcohol and expressed through biting, self-deprecating humor. This performance
of the song by Carol Burnett is deeply nuanced, illuminating the complex
contrasts of emotion and tone. It’s a song that holds the emotional center of the
musical itself, with all of its tensions and fears about marriage and
respectability.

“Paradise” from the new musical Allegiance, has a similar counterpoint, between the upbeat cheerful
tune and bitter rage at the oppression of Japanese American internment. The song holds
so much complexity and irony in it. It shines with all of the tensions
contained in the play and the ways that the characters survive the oppression
they are experiencing. The bitter comedy, the way the dancing enhances the
supposed cheer with an underlying rage at injustice…this song is deeply nuanced.
These elements work in the song because they are interwoven; it makes it
possible to hold all of it because of the ways these things play off each
other.

Like a showtune, sex is better when it’s complicated, even
if it appears simple on the surface. When our sex scenes can play with contrast
and tension, hold many different emotional realities at the same time, or sink
into the nuances of how our characters connect, they are better for it. We get
to know the characters more, we have a richer palate to play with as we explore
desire, and we have ample opportunities for humor, all of which can heighten
sexual tension and create deeper more satisfying story.

You may have noticed that many of the examples I have given
above are deeply rooted in setting and context. I firmly believe that this is
one of the deepest strengths of musicals, the way they can be so culturally
specific, so deeply contextualized, so grounded
in a very specific time, place, and cultural context. Instead of aiming for
generalities, these songs choose to illuminate deep specificity, rooting it
very concretely in a particular context.

“Ring of Keys” from the musical Fun Home is another song that does just that: we connect with it as
an audience because it is focused and specific and sets its roots deep in the
actual childhood experience of Alison Bechdel, telling a detailed story about
an intensely beautiful moment of connection. This is a deeply queer story about
her seeing a butch for the first time in her life, the ways she recognized
herself in this stranger, felt connected and held. It is gorgeous, and it works
so well precisely because it is planted so very firmly in the cultural context
of her particular upbringing. It is the details and the nuances that make the
song.

When we write sex scenes that are rooted in a particular
time, and place, and cultural context, they are richer, more complex, more
beautiful because of it. The very specificity of them creates so much possibility
of recognition and connection for our readers, makes things more clear and
concrete, brings senses alive. Putting the sex we write in deep context can be
incredibly powerful.

As a writer, I soak up influence and knowledge from so many
sources, and other art forms feel like they contain so much to learn from. I
talked show tunes here because I love them, but it is my firm belief that we as
writers can learn so much from visual art, from all forms of music, from
theater and dance, from other genres of writing, and that our work will be more
layered and beautiful because of those influences. In summary, I recommend
applying the following lessons from show tunes to writing sex scenes:

1. Commit
2. Go Big or Go Home
3. Make it Count
4. Repeat Yourself
5. Hold the Complexity
6. Put it In Context

*To access the songs I used as examples all in one place, you
can check out my
playlist.