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Donna George Storey

The Courage to Write Good Sex

by | September 18, 2015 | | 0 Comments

by Donna George Storey

My column is a little late this month because I just got back from a trip to New York City where I had a chance to do some foot-to-the-pavement research for my historical novel. I ended my day of exploration at the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side at 97 Orchard Street. It’s a fascinating place. Built in 1863, this building of cramped three-room apartments, averaging six inhabitants each, was home to thousands of immigrants until it was shuttered in the 1930s due to the expense of conforming to new safety standards. The storefront, however, could still be rented out, so the building remained standing as a time capsule until discovered by Ruth Abram and Anita Jacobson in the late 1980s. These historians had been searching for a way to honor the experience of America’s immigrants, who of course, had suffered short shrift from traditional historians with their focus on society’s elite.

The museum tours take you first through an unrestored apartment, with crumbling ceilings and peeling wallpaper, to give you a sense of what the museum founders confronted. Next you enter a restored apartment (there are several representing different eras) and learn about the lives of the family who lived there. I was scribbling notes the whole time and soaking in the ambiance like a cold drink on a hot day. I can certainly understand why later generations craved material goods and houses of their own in the suburbs.

Of course the last stop at any historical museum is the bookstore, and the Tenement Museum had a rich offering of historical references. I also noticed several tables of historical novels, all quality paperbacks from big New York houses, all sporting blurbs from known writers proclaiming the wonderfulness of the story within. And I’ll admit my mood sank.

Or maybe I should call it a touch of panic. I’d been enjoying the research and writing process so much, I’d been able to put that nasty publication torture aspect of this out of my mind for the most part. But here they were, taunting me, the authors who had not only finished their historical novels and got them prestigiously published, they’d been chosen by this museum as representative of the immigrant experience. And I knew because of the focus on sex in my novel, it would never have a chance at this kind of placement. I’d been through that with Amorous Woman, the sneers and coldness toward an admittedly pulpy-looking novel with “for adults only” printed on the cover in accordance with British law. If it was wonderful inside, none of these arbiters of literary worth ever cared to find out.

Yes, I was depressed, but I forced myself to undertake my go-to form of therapy. I picked up several of the novels and read some random passages, paying particular attention to anything that looked like an erotic scene. To make a longish story short, I discovered what I usually do when studying sex scenes in “pure” literature. Fear. Fear of going all the way, by which I mean really getting inside the intensity, the pleasure of a sexual encounter. Fear of turning on the reader, fear of being banned from the table in this museum of the immigrant experience as too low-class. (Not that I blame the museum in any way, we all know how it is).

And I suddenly felt much better about my project. Because I—and all of us here at ERWA—are not afraid to go all the way, to explore and revel in the joyful truth of sensuality, as well as its darker sides. Not everyone has the courage to do this in our eroto-phobic culture. But we do. It’s a gift and although we may not get the fancy blurbs or the table space in respectable venues, exploring and celebrating this oppressed, silenced part of the human experience is a worthy endeavor.

This “mission” of mine definitely helps me through hard times in a bookstore. I hope it works the same magic for you.

As ever, keep writing!

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

Did Fifty Shades of Grey Kill the Erotica Revolution?

by | August 18, 2015 | | 3 Comments

by Donna George Storey 

Remittance Girl’s farewell column this month got me thinking—as always and sadly for the last time here at the ERWA blog. What effect has the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon had upon erotica writers? When the tidal wave first hit back in 2012, there was hope expressed that the novels’ huge readership would seek out the works of other erotica writers now that they’d been exposed to the pleasures of sexually explicit stories. I also hoped we’d all rise together, but didn’t really believe it would happen.

All signs suggest it has not happened.

Not that Fifty Shades is the only oppressive factor in the radically changing publishing world, but it’s certainly played a role. I appreciate that this may be a romantic recasting of history, but my exposure to erotica began with the mainstream publication of Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus in 1977. Of course I’d read Penthouse and more avidly its sister publication Viva, which was supposedly aimed at women, but Nin’s work showed that erotic stories could be beautifully written and gain some respect, or at least a glowing review in the New York Times Book Review. That erotic writing could be intelligent and literary was a revolutionary concept for our society.

A decade later, literary erotica, especially that written by women, was much more widely available and I’d even say the variety and quality of writing was celebrated. In the mid-1990’s I was personally inspired to write erotica by Maxim Jakubowski’s 1996 edition of The Mammoth Book of International Erotica and Susie Bright’s Best American Erotica 1997. I was particularly taken with a piece in the latter entitled “Lunch” about a man who pays for a private luncheon show involving spinach dressed in the female lubricant of a woman who is aroused by a dwarf rubbing a scarf between her legs. Pretty creative as it goes, but the real draw for me was the friend who introduced the narrator to the show—a guy named Drew who was shamelessly intimate with his own sexual desires. I wanted to be Drew. Writing erotica promised a path to that self-knowledge.

After a lot of labor and the requisite callous rejections, I eventually began to be published by the erotica webzines like Clean Sheets, Scarlet Letters, Fishnet, Oysters and Chocolate and The Erotic Woman. Eventually my original inspirations, Maxim Jakubowski and Susie Bright, published my work, as well as great editors like Violet Blue, Rachel Kramer Bussel and Alison Tyler with publishers like Cleis and Seal. My work even got me checks from places I’d never dreamed I’d penetrate like Penthouse and the Playboy Cyber Club.

None of this ever made me rich. In fact, the day I got my Penthouse check, I was pulled over for running a “red light” while making a left turn (I swear it was yellow, but the cop didn’t buy it) and the generous fine ate up the entire payment for my story. Crime does not pay, obviously. However, I did enjoy being part of a vibrant community of writers, many of whom write columns here today.

Then, somehow, the webzines, the publishers, the interest in a variety of well-written erotic tales, it’s all disappeared.

Can we lay the blame on the Fifty Shades phenomenon? I think so. Certainly we can blame the publishing industry, which has seen that “erotic writing” can make tons of money, so therefore the only kind worth publishing is that which will make as much as Fifty Shades. Of course, since no one really knows why a certain work catches fire, publishers play it safe and back projects that are like Fifty Shades at the expense of other kinds of stories, ignoring the lesson of history that the real next big thing will not be a copycat, but will come from a different direction. Most importantly, we must remember that commercial publishing has never been about giving the public high-quality writing. It’s about making money with as little risk as possible.

In his column this month, Garce reminds artists that if we focus on being rock stars rather than musicians, we’ll lose our creative souls. There are some writers who genuinely love to create the kinds of stories that are seen as marketable today, and these people have found their time in the wake of Fifty Shades. For those of us who feel more inspired by stories about X-rated salad dressing, well, let me put my own cock-eyed optimism out there. The urge for erotic expression is always with us, no matter whether the official culture is Puritanism, Victorianism, Freudianism or FiftyShadesofGreyism. I believe our time will come again or at the very least, there are readers out there who will appreciate our stories.

Writing makes me feel more alive. It enriches my world in ways money never can. In certain moods I do despair that Fifty Shades has placed expectations on our genre that few if any can meet. But that’s only when I’m not writing what I love.

And writing what we love, what we were born to write, is always the answer.

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

Do Men “Need” Sex More Than Women Do?

by | July 18, 2015 | | 6 Comments

By Donna George Storey

Lube Jobs: A Woman’s Guide to Great Maintenance Sex by Don and Debra Macleod. The book had sat neglected on a shelf for years when it finally caught my attention during a recent effort to reduce the clutter in my house.

Should I keep it? Read it? I remembered that I first saw the book at The Museum of Sex in Manhattan, and I probably assumed their staff knew how to pick out a good sex book from the many on offer. I’m also pretty sure I thought the “provocative menu” of sex scenarios, bedroom-toy tips and erotica might satisfy both my amateur anthropologist’s interest in the way sexual pleasure is presented in our society and my erotica writer’s interest in new situations for my characters. The remainder mark on the bottom edge suggests I also fell prey to my weakness for a bargain.

I sat down to give it a skim.

To quickly discover that the promotional copy did a decent job of hiding the true message of Lube Jobs, at least to my eyes. I certainly had no idea I was purchasing one of the most infuriating books about sex I’ve ever read.

If only I’d scanned the introduction, I might have saved myself three bucks and a lot of teeth-gnashing.

The authors propose that a man is like an automobile. “He, too, needs full servicing on a regular basis… Lube Jobs is for those times he wants sex, but you want sleep.


Even in the healthiest and happiest of relationships, many women find that their partners crave sex more often than they do. The lube jobs in this book are a great way to provide maintenance sex. They keep your man satisfied during those times you’d prefer to pass on the passion while at the same time sustaining your sexual connection as a couple.


When it comes to performing maintenance, attitude is everything. It must never be considered a chore: your partner will catch those vibes and feel self-conscious, guilty and eventually resentful. Instead of dismissing maintenance sex as an obligation, embrace it as an opportunity to show your man how deeply you care for him and how important his pleasure is to you. By satisfying his carnal needs and desires even when you’re busy or not in the mood, you show him that his sexual contentment is a priority for you.”

Let’s pause for a moment to check the publication date. A wife cheerfully sacrificing her body for her husband’s thoroughly foreign carnal needs—it has to be a mid-nineteenth century marriage guide, right? Alas, no. Lube Jobs was copyrighted in 2007 by a publisher in the Penguin Group. Which means, as we know, a long list of professional, purportedly market-savvy gatekeepers expected a good chance of profit from contemporary book-buying wives.

Here’s what readers get for their money—a 250-page guide to sex for women who want to fake it in the bedroom. I don’t mean just faking an orgasm but everything along the way from making sure you praise the length and girth of your husband’s penis to surprising your man with a quickie outside of the bedroom whenever possible.

In all fairness, the reader also gets some truly sad stories about marital relationships that almost failed because the wife lost sight of her husband’s sexual needs. These parts of the book were poignant, in spite of the message that came along with them. The authors themselves had a long drought of physical closeness early in their marriage when their son was born prematurely and the stress of his care consumed most of the wife’s time. Finally, even though Debra really wasn’t into it, a sexual encounter pleased Don so much, she was glad she made the effort.

Another wife put sex low on her to-do list until she grew suspicious when her husband took an unusual late-night shower after she turned him down yet again. She opened the shower door and was shocked to catch him masturbating. The husband was mortified. He slammed the shower door closed and yelled at his wife to mind her own fucking business. (I am so on his side here.) The fact she had been such a bad wife that she reduced her husband to a covert self-abuse session in the shower compelled the wife to join him and give him “the best hand-job [he]’d ever had.” Obviously it was supposed to be a happy ending but the whole scene made me feel incredibly sad about our society’s shame around sexuality.

Sadder still was the woman who sheepishly admitted other wives might envy her because her boyfriend was “a very sensitive lover, very considerate, but there are times when a woman just doesn’t want to have sex no matter how good her lover is.” This woman would fake orgasms so he would stop bothering her so she could “do her part” and get it over with. One time she was trying to give her partner a hand-job and he kept pushing her hands away and trying to kiss her breasts to arouse her. She used his tie to secure his hands to the headboard to put a stop to the annoyance. He thought she was being sexy, but she was just being practical. The authors conclude: “Now that’s maintenance sex done right.”

There you have it, a philosophy to live by.

Angry as this book made me, I still feel that every person, woman and man, in these stories deserves sympathy. Sex is a complicated thing. And I realize that life throws challenges at all of us. There may indeed be times when a couple has health issues or stresses such that a woman bringing her husband to orgasm quickly with “tricks” and getting no sensual attention in return could be an acceptable choice for the couple. I have a good imagination, and this is still a stretch, but it’s possible. It’s also possible a man might have health issues and would want to bring his wife pleasure, but this scenario was not mentioned in the book.

That’s because the whole point of the book is that maintenance—or practically speaking “male-pleasure-only”–sex will strengthen a relationship because of the accepted universal truth that men need sex more than women do. The authors argue that men need sex to feel bonded to and appreciated by their partners. I know a number of women who say they want sex more than their husbands do, who crave that kind of appreciation and are unhappy without it. But in the worldview of Lube Jobs, women’s greatest sensual desire is sleep. The reasons for this supposed female lack of sexual interest go unquestioned.

In other words, this book profoundly disrespects women’s sexual desires by ignoring we have any–beyond pleasing our men and keeping them from seeking other outlets in affairs, strippers, porn or (gasp) masturbation. However, I believe that Lube Jobs also disrespects men by reducing them to simple “machines” that only require the satisfaction of an ejaculation, but who are unable to care about the complexities of their intimate relationships.

If a man is worth choosing as a significant other, he deserves better than a “lube job.”

Several male Lube Job reviewers on Amazon assert sentiments along the lines of “any man whose wife did this for him is the luckiest man in the world.” Really guys? Is this true? You’d be the happiest man on earth if your woman did all kinds of sexual tricks while you did nothing in return? Happier than if you both pleasured each other and you knew your love and attention satisfied her as much as hers satisfied you? Happier than if your partner trusted you to share what made her feel most appreciated and turned her on because you took the time to ask and care and maybe read some books to learn a few new spicy tips to make her happy? 

And, if I may ask, how would you feel if your wife asked you to please her in her favorite ways (whether we’re talking sex or, if you insist on believing women don’t care about sex, something else intimate and demanding), but requested, as a sign of your love, that she not have to do anything for you? Would the admonition to have the right generous attitude be enough to keep you from feeling resentful? Would you feel closer to your wife because you’ve been allowed to show how much the relationship means to you, even though your needs and desires were neglected without discussion or question?

Maybe your answer to all of this is “yes,” but I don’t totally believe you, especially with regard to the questions from the maintenance-providing perspective.

For I must maintain that maintenance sex does not bring a couple closer together. Lube Jobs is not self-help, although it is categorized as such on its back cover. Its unequal approach deepens the problem of marital sexual dissatisfaction by creating emotional distance, resentment and anger.

Coming of age during the Sexual Revolution, I certainly felt resentment at how few men seemed to care about my pleasure in the midst of this supposed orgy of sexual delight. I was still subject to cultural messages that men “give” a woman an orgasm, but if I didn’t receive it, preferably in a fairly short period of time, I was frigid. Or that being desired or “cuddled” and giving him pleasure is enough for a woman. Claiming my right to pleasure was difficult, scary and took hard work over a number of years. My lovers were not always as understanding as I would have liked, but for me it was very important that sexual pleasure be equal, so I didn’t stop asking. And I didn’t insist my partner figure it out without any input from me. No man can figure out what a woman wants if she doesn’t tell him. Besides, it’s much easier to say yes to sex, even if you’re tired, if you know you will be satisfied. I say all of this not to sound superior. One of the many blocks to sexual awareness is that too many people claim to be sexually sophisticated from birth, unlike the rest of us slobs who have to bumble around to figure it all out. But I do want to say it is possible, though not easy, to break free of the cliche that men need sexual release because it comes fairly easily (to most of them, male sexual difficulties were never mentioned) and women are fine with cuddling because their elusive, complicated sexuality just isn’t important to them since it’s too much trouble for everyone to figure out.

Every partner in a couple has her/his own history, her/his own psychological and physical needs. No example in Lube Jobs challenged the model that men need sex more than women, that men are visual, that men would be more than delighted with one-sided pleasure on a regular basis. These all might be true for a given person, but I need and enjoy sex. I want my partner to be happy and not just dutiful. I’m very visual. Last time I checked, I’m not a man. More to the point, no man would be happy with me if he told me my pleasure didn’t really matter to him, because I sure as fuck would not be happy with him. And I know I owe his desires the same respect I expect for my own.

Now that I’ve written this review, I can do what needs to be done. Lube Jobs doesn’t even rate the library donation box. It goes straight to the recycle bin. If only we could get rid of the outdated and toxic worldview it espouses so enthusiastically, maybe we’d all be happier.

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

“Don’t Have Sex, It Makes You Sad”

by | May 18, 2015 | | 4 Comments

by Donna George Storey

“Carnegie Mellon Researchers Find More Sex Doesn’t Lead to Increased Happiness.” Variations of this headline made the news a few days ago. It even got discussion time on Larry Wilmore’s Nightly Show. I had a hunch the headline was misleading—these things always are, especially when it comes to sex–but I wasn’t surprised the story was all over the Internet, because this “scientific discovery” played right into the sticky hands of our society’s erotophobia.

The Carnegie Mellon University website provides a more detailed—and perhaps unwittingly humorous—description of the study. With grant money from the Pennsylvania Department of Health, Carnegie Mellon researchers recruited 64 married couples who were not having any particular difficulties in their sexual or emotional relationships. They “experimentally assigned” 32 of the couples to have sex twice as often as they usually did for a three-month period, while the control group of 32 continued to have sex whenever they desired it. The couples filled out surveys about their sex habits and happiness at the beginning and end of the study as well as shorter surveys each day.

At the end of the study, the couples who were asked to double their sexual activity were slightly less happy with their sex lives “in part because the increased frequency led to a decline in wanting for and enjoyment of sex.” This study was published in the Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization.

Yes, let’s pause for a moment to roll our eyes and say, “Um, can the Pennsylvania Department of Health ask for its money back?”

Now, back when I was an undergraduate, I used to enjoy volunteering for studies run by the psychology department. They usually paid me a nominal fee, enough to buy a blend-in at the nearby ice cream parlor, but my real motivation was trying to figure out what the researchers were really testing. Even then, I suspected that what they told me was not the whole story, a suspicion confirmed by studies described in social psychology books, which, for better or worse, I read for fun. Unfortunately the Carnegie Mellon researchersmight have been so distracted by the word “sex,” they themselves didn’t realize what they were really studying, which is what happens when you coerce people to engage in pleasurable activities rather than do so of their own volition. Is it any surprise that fun becomes a chore rather than a pleasure?

The study’s lead investigator, George Loewenstein, a professor of economics and psychology (Economics? Well, as I always say, sex does sell but not for as much as you think), stated that the findings were a surprise and a disappointment because, “We were expecting that the people who had more sex would enjoy it a lot and would be happier, and it would be good for the relationship.”

Right, I know. I’m happier when I’m having “more” rather than “less” sex myself. While I am heartened to know that the original intention was sex-positive, I am still concerned that funds for a study of sexuality, which are very difficult to find in our country, were squandered with such obvious blindness, not to say simple-mindedness. Yet this study received funding and was published. On a positive note, the professor did develop a bit more insight into the flaws of his endeavor.

“Perhaps couples changed the story they told themselves about why they were having sex, from an activity voluntarily engaged in to one that was part of a research study. If we ran the study again, and could afford to do it, we would try to encourage subjects into initiating more sex in ways that put them in a sexy frame of mind, perhaps with babysitting, hotel rooms or Egyptian sheets, rather than directing them to do so.”

Egyptian sheets? I haven’t tried those yet, but I am intrigued! And does the babysitter just watch the kids or get involved? But do remember, Professor, to think through the Egyptian sheet factor and put in a control group who does it on ordinary sheets. Otherwise you could embarrass yourself again.

Because, of course, the more significant part of this discussion is that its “findings” about sexuality have been reported all over the Internet, as, for example, the results of another article in same issue of the journal, “Dry Promotions and Community Participation: Evidence from a Natural Field Experiment in Brazilian Fishing Villages” was not.

Even the Carnegie Mellon website, quoted at the beginning of this post, is misleading, but in the popular press, the anti-sex message is dialed up.

“Having too much sex can make you unhappy, study finds”

Um, no, it finds that when you coerce people to have twice as much sex as they’d naturally choose to, they don’t describe themselves as “happier” in a survey.”

“Can Lots of Sex Actually Make You Unhappy?”

Please define “lots” for the audience, which is twice as much as you’d normally choose for three months, which should be more accurately described as “coerced sex.”

“Sex and happiness linked but not how you thought”

Actually, they’re linked in exactly the way I thought. Quality is a more important factor for satisfaction than quantity, but my experience also convinced me that having more satisfying sex does not make me less happy.

“Study Confirms Sex Does Not Make You Happier”

The study does not confirm that all sex makes you less happy, which is implied in this headline. Some kinds of sex in certain circumstances may indeed make you less happy, such as when you’re ordered to have more sex by a CMU researcher who clearly is not a very inspiring Dom, which the study does address in a limited way.

Quantity is definitely at issue as if our journalistic guardians want to assure us that “more” sex will be dangerous to our emotional well-being. If you think about it, “more” means desire for sex, as in “Gee, I wish I were having more sex than I am.” But the headlines assure us if we got what we desired, we’d be less happy, so the implied “scientific” warning is to stop wishing for sex and, uh, do more work or buy more stuff or go to church instead? The history of sexuality confirms that those in power have always been concerned with keeping sexual activity under control whether through law, religion or rhetoric–and, by the way, they always fail to accomplish this to their satisfaction. But, as we see, this noble and time-honored mission continues as of May 2015.

To be fair, if you actually read the articles, the study is described and the reader can draw her own conclusions about whether the feelings of couples who are forced to have sex impacts her personal sexual decisions and desires. Even the weirdest article, “Study Confirms Sex Does Not Make You Happier,” turns from anti-sex to a more supportive tone by the end. The articles themselves aren’t as negative, but how many people read beyond the catchy warning—“Don’t have sex, it makes you sad.”

On the contrary, the general conclusion in the texts is “the quality of sex is more important than the quantity.” Why didn’t that message make the headline?

The public is clearly hungry for more information about sex including thoughtful scientific studies, honest anecdotes, and advice that respects the importance of sexuality in our lives. Sadly, because of this desire for more knowledge about a taboo subject, such misleading and sensational headlines will continue to get the attention they do not deserve.

So, again fellow erotica writers, please keep on writing about the erotic experience with intelligence and insight. Your voices will indeed bring more happiness to the world!

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

The Obscenity of Romance

by | April 18, 2015 | | 14 Comments

By Donna George Storey

I’d planned to write my column on another topic this month, but I was overcome by the desire to write this one instead. I’ve also recently been overcome with inspiration to write a brand-new story, which is unusual because unless a story is for a specific call, I tend to let ideas steep for months or even years. This time the characters, the setting, the plot just popped into my head and insisted on immediate expression. It’s romantic when the Muse leads the dance, and fittingly this story is an erotic romance. An historical erotic romance. I don’t usually write in this genre, although I’ve veered close. Perhaps it’s high time? Historical romance was a favorite guilty pleasure as a teenager. In novels by writers like Anya Seton, the eroticism was never explicit, but my vivid imagining of what happened off the page no doubt planted the seeds of my erotica-writing future.

Every story needs obstacles, of course, and I’m discovering that the historical setting supplies a fresh abundance of them. The stakes are high if a woman even walks in public with a man. An impulsive kiss is a delightfully taboo act. Chaperones watch proper young people in love as intently as voyeurs at a peep show, so there’s plenty of drama in just finding time and place to be alone.

Still because it’s erotica, my characters find opportunities for sensual delight. That’s expected and I’m comfortable writing erotic scenes. Yet, just recently, I was both amused and bemused to discover something that truly made me blush as I wrote.

Mushy dialogue.

I blame my male protagonist for the example below. He told me he wanted to say the following words to try to convince the woman he loves to marry him. Go on, Donna, just write it down for me, he said.

“There’s a wall between us now, and that’s as it should be. But I want to do so many things I can’t do, simple things. Reach out and take your hand when someone’s watching. Brush my fingers through your hair when it’s down around your shoulders. Kiss your cheek, your ear, your neck, your lips. Wake up beside you. Eat breakfast together. But once we’re married, Elizabeth, the wall will disappear. When our wedding night comes and we start our life together, we can do all of those things and more. And what I want most of all is to make you happy. I promise I’ll do that in every way I know how.”

I’m pretty sure my heroine wants to hear this. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind hearing such sentiments from a future or even current husband. But as I wrote, a little voice whispered, “Oh, jeez, it’s such a female fantasy that a guy would actually say something sappy like this. They just don’t.” And I blushed. Partner-swapping, anal sex, Japanese fetish clubs—my cheeks stay cool and pale. But gooey, earnest declarations of love—oh, the obscenity!

Erotic romance is often—disdainfully–called women’s porn. I used to interpret that to mean that it arouses women, but is gentler, less explicit and safely couched in emotional connection. The way all things designated as feminine tend to be. This still might be true, but while I pondered my discomfiture, I came to appreciate there might be another reason for the comparison. Women might want a lover to get on bended knee and say s/he will dedicate his/her life to making them happy, but in real life it happens about as often as an attractive stranger of the desired sexual orientation is overcome by the urge to give a man a blowjob in a stalled elevator.

In other words, our porn gives us what we yearn for, but don’t get nearly enough of in real life. But we’re still kind of ashamed of what we want, because there are plenty of people out there who are happy to make fun of us for it. In my case, one of those people lives inside my own brain. (There seem to be a lot of people living there.) Coming of age in the midst of the Sexual Revolution, I got the message that having sex was always cool for a liberated woman. Falling in love was a far more private, scary and vulnerable thing to do. The legacy for me: baring the heart is scarier than baring mere skin.

Or maybe trying to express deep emotions is hard no matter what the genre or the sex of the author? It’s much easier to be clever and cool. I have to remember that back when I first started writing erotica, I would also occasionally blush when I wrote a scene that pushed me into new sexually explicit territory. For me, I almost feel as if I should let my characters share their intimate declarations of love off the page. It’s too private a matter for strangers to be watching on. But perhaps, with practice, emotionally explicit writing will get easier too?

I’ll let you know as the process unfolds!

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

Standing Up for the Victims of Fifty Shades of Grey (Are You One of Them?)

by | March 18, 2015 | | 13 Comments

by Donna George Storey

Just to bring closure to last month’s column, I did indeed see the movie version of Fifty Shades of Grey and I enjoyed it just fine. No doubt Universal held back some extra sex scenes to add to the DVD release. I predict the movie will top $1 billion when it goes to instant download and DVD. Viewers who are too embarrassed to be seen in their local theater will indulge their curiosity—many of these viewers will be men—and if there are extra sex scenes, lots of people who saw it in the theaters will be back to see if this time Hollywood really, truly changes our lives forever with a choreographed show of two more or less naked people pretending to have sex. My fingers are crossed.

Now, I hear you, my dear readers, we’re all sick of Fifty Shades of Grey. But I’m still reeling from all the hate out there, which seems so out of proportion to its target—a humble erotic-romance novel that, in spite of its purported BDSM theme, isn’t nearly as violent as most of the stuff we see on TV. I’m kind of taking the hate personally, to be honest, as an erotica writer, a woman and a person who believes all of this fear, shame, and anger around sexuality is harming the world. Thanks to the bullying curriculum in today’s schools, I know an honorable bystander is supposed to intervene when they see someone being victimized. So to finish up my Focus on Fifty Shades series (this is my last column on this topic and that’s a promise), I felt I had to stand up for five special victims whose rights and well-being are suffering from the phenomenon.

Victim #1: Traditional Publishing

All of us here write and publish erotic books. So how come people all over the world aren’t clamoring to write scathing reviews about how our work is stupid and badly written and people only want to read it to masturbate and also destroy Western civilization, so the reviewer didn’t actually read it, but recommends no one else does either?  We wish. Of course, first we have to sell over a hundred million copies of the various books in our trilogy, become a household word, and thus draw the attention of the voracious and endlessly snarky media. In fact, I’d argue that one of the more important reasons for all the snark is that the traditional power structure of publishing is under attack by hoards of sex-crazed women, both menstruating and menopausal.

Alas, the traditional ways were so elegant and righteous. Aspiring writers would genuflect before teachers and agents and editors and marketers and publishers who would tell them if they were good enough, mess with their stuff to make it more salable, skim off a cut, and conveniently blame the author if money wasn’t made. In return, the power structure would give readers deathless prose, edifying stories about family dysfunction and sex that is always punished, and an endless supply of the “new voice of our generation.” This indeed gave us many first novels by brilliant young men who masturbate with the English language, thus assuring that the reader is too confused to replicate the physical act at home. Morality was thus preserved.

But along comes E.L. James with a built-in fan base and the negotiating power to avoid the usual slave-labor contracts and insist the “experts” keep their hands off of her story. Plus her fans are not behaving like ladies. They are refusing to be shamed. Best-selling popular novels are not new, but novels that get there without the midwifery of the establishment are far more shocking than whips and chains. No wonder everyone in the literary establishment is in a bad mood about it, archly observing in so many words, “Maybe E.L. James will learn to write well after the Revolution.” I wouldn’t predict that editors and publishers will totally disappear, but the power dynamics are in interesting flux and many are running scared. Let us bow our heads for a moment for the passing of the old ways.

Victim #2: E.L. James’ Control in All Things

There is an irony in James’ desire to “exercise control in all things” Fifty Shades, or so the news stories present her as protective of her story against those who want to “improve” it. However, once any story becomes this popular, it belongs to everyone. Although Fifty Shades is soundly criticized for the weakness of its prose, sometimes an author’s distinctive voice can get in the way of making a story our own. Few readers can maintain hours and hours of pure admiration of someone else’s wordplay (Finnegan’s Wake?). We want a story that comes to life in our own heads.

Recently there actually have been thoughtful articles about the book and movie, some even by men. The few males who aren’t compelled to slam both lest their testicles shrink to the size of chickpeas do something similar to what fans do. They explore how the story is personally relevant to them. A.O. Scott’s “Unexpected Lessons From ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’” compares the movie critic’s role to Christian and the audience’s unpredictable tastes to Ana. Robert Hoatson’s “Fifty Shades of Grey is about the trauma of childhood abuse, not sex” empathizes with Christian’s shut-down emotions. And Richard Brody’s “The Accurate Erotics of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’” points out, without contempt, that one thing Fifty Shades has that most movies don’t is foreplay. The story has taken on the stature of public myth, becoming much more than itself.

I’d like to talk about one of the ways I personalized the story. I’m a hopeless analyzer. I get through the superhero movies my kids choose for family outings by analyzing the arc of the fight scenes and measuring the contrived sentimental punch of the scenes with dying parents and lonely, but gifted children. Perhaps not surprisingly, one of my favorite parts of Fifty Shades, book one, is that much-maligned contract Christian presents to his submissives. Many people call it boring, ridiculous and unromantic. For me it was the first time I felt a real connection to the book and decided to keep reading. Some readers and critics have been outraged that Christian would seek to control Ana’s schedule, clothes, grooming, eating habits, and sexuality, including masturbation, and justify it all as being for her own good. Around the “Availability” clauses, it struck me through the legalese that all women must negotiate these issues as we take our place in a patriarchal society. Ana’s lucky enough to be able to negotiate directly, but the rest of us have to find more creative ways to say no, some of which bring dire consequences to our well-being. And the enforcers in real life—our families, our peers, our religion and, worst of all, women’s magazines–are often more exacting than boyfriends. Throughout history and across cultures, women are constantly under scrutiny to look right, eat right, and limit our sexuality to the proper partner. The whole series of novels is about Ana’s negotiation of a contract, which she never signs. In real life women don’t have to sign to be shackled in those handcuffs.

By the way, there’s an equally problematic version of the social/sexual contract for men, including expectations about work, emotions, sexuality and so forth. It would probably be more authentic for a man to explore this in detail, but Christian’s character is a decent illustration of these expectations and how they can mess you up.

Victim #3: The Pretense that Women Get Respect in our Society

Some of the loudest voices calling Fifty Shades a danger to society are those that argue it encourages women to pursue abusive sexual relationships and more damaging still, read bad prose. In an effort to save us from this fate, so many commentators have felt compelled to insult women and female tastes without restraint. One particular critique amused me. Basically this man said we all know Fifty Shades is written badly and the story is stupid. But we also have to figure out why it works so well so we can duplicate its success. Excuse me, but how can you expect to understand, not to mention bank on, something if you despise it?

Now I know one of the main ways we define ourselves as cool is to feel contempt for others. But as a recovering I’m-too-good-to-read-Fifty Shades snob, I’m really glad I read the books. At the very least, it means I’m not a total jerk for opining about something I know nothing about.

As Alyssa Rosenberg wrote in “Men, stop lecturing women about reading romance novels” (a rebuttal to William Giraldi’s infamously misogynistic screed against Fifty Shades in The New Republic), “Romance novels are attractive not just because they are a gratifying escape but also because they sometimes feel like a respite from the significant hostility that a lot of literature shows women.” Isn’t it the truth? All too often female characters are ornamental girlfriends, the reason for the hero’s quest, or the evil castrating witch, but seldom a character we can relate to and respect. Okay, maybe if we look good in a black leather bodysuit, we’ll get the token female lead in the superhero buddy film. In any case, Rosenberg continues, “Romance novels are a tonic, a form of reassurance that someone is interested in ordinary women’s inner lives and is rooting for us to resolve our conflicts about work, love, and what we deserve from our relationships.”

So, yes, if you want women to buy your writing—and women are the fiction market by a big margin–you have to create a compelling story that treats female characters and their concerns with genuine respect. Should be easy for you, right, buddy? Now go get rich.

Victim #4: Christian Grey

We’re all familiar with the characterization of Christian Grey as a stalker who creepily appears at Ana’s side at whim, due in part to his vampire ancestry. Some insist that thanks to the popularity of Fifty Shades, controlling, abusive men will now have women lining up outside their doors.

If we allow that the Fifty Shades novels are guides to real-life relationships as these critics apparently do, I think we need to look at Ana’s behavior as well. In the first book and movie, she insists Christian show her the worst the pain can be in his playroom. He–though not very wisely for a supposedly experienced Dom dealing with a very inexperienced sub–whips her six times with a belt on her bare ass with no warm-up. She then calls him a sick pervert and breaks up with him. Did this bother anyone else? Not the belt part, because Ana explicitly asked for something that. But if you pressure someone you care about to make himself vulnerable then immediately recoil at his repulsiveness without any meaningful discussion or processing, this is emotional abuse. So, to all the young men out there, let this be a lesson—if a woman does this to you, it is not a promising foundation for building trust in the relationship.

Except of course, it turns out to be the right move for a continuing relationship because (spoiler alert!) Christian decides to let her determine the nature of their sexual encounters, thus giving up the sort of BDSM he was trying to sign her up for. Yet Ana is hardly more trustworthy emotionally in the later books. From a “realistic” view, Ana is in her early twenties and has never had a boyfriend. But Christian gets blasted for his possessiveness and jealousy, when she is just as guilty. Her deep love is supposed to be the salve to heal Christian’s damaged heart, but she is jealous of every woman past or present who even makes eyes at her handsome but romance-novel-loyal boyfriend, so jealous that she regularly contemplates leaving him. The second and third novels swing between Ana wanting to save his wounded inner child with every fiber of her being then wondering on the next page if she should dump him when the going gets even a teeny bit tough. Another shockingly thoughtless act is when she forces him back to the playroom because of her own curiosity, although he has avoided it like a recovering alcoholic stays away from booze. Christian’s life was ruined by a “crack whore” birth mother and a Mrs. Robinson type who seduced him into the BDSM lifestyle at 15. These are bad ladies to have in your life, but I wouldn’t be so sure his luck with women had changed all that much with Ana.

Our young men deserve more maturity and kindness in their relationships. I hope the guardians of our social order will speak up for their welfare when the sequels come out and it’s Ana now jerking Christian around by the emotional leash.

Victim #5: Me-Too Books and Movies

There are some benefits to getting older. I know when something is advertised as the sexiest book or movie ever, it won’t be. Or when a magazine promises to teach me the four tricks that will blow a man’s mind in bed, I won’t learn anything new. And I know that because of the success of Fifty Shades that New York and Hollywood will green-light many projects that won’t do so well. The decision-makers will not conclude that in their rush to cash in, the appeal of Fifty Shades was not carefully analyzed and respected. They will more likely say that women actually don’t like sexy stories as much as we all thought or feared. Having lived through several cycles of excitement over the profit potential for erotica followed by disappointment when a project that receives no support doesn’t sell, I sense we’re bound for another round of the same.

I don’t want to end this column on a negative note by suggesting that all erotica writers will suffer when the publishing and movie industries make the same mistakes all over again. In other words, that we are victims of the Fifty Shades frenzy. I prefer standing up for the victim rather than identifying as one. Let’s just say I hope the clear evidence that women will pay good money to see their fantasies and desires portrayed in the media will create a permanent shift in our favor in the plans of the powerful scions of the Imagination Business.

In the meantime, we must keep writing what we love and support each other and a sex-positive culture. The fight for honest erotic expression continues!

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

The Most Shocking Scene (Not) in Fifty Shades of Grey

by | February 18, 2015 | | 13 Comments

by Donna George Storey

It’s a professional hazard, but many people have asked if I’m going to see the movie version of Fifty Shades of Grey. The answer is yes, tomorrow, a date night with my husband who willingly agreed with no fear for his manhood. I’m not expecting the jaw-dropping sex or exquisite emotional subtlety Hollywood usually offers its moviegoers, but I am “curious” to see how Dakota Johnson makes Ana even bearable as a character and how a female director’s eye translates the story onto the screen. The Fifty Shades phenomenon has inspired lots of people to make lists of “truly” sexy books and movies, but it’s so personal. I myself didn’t find that Vox or Secretary or 9 ½ Weeks did it for me. The one movie I can think of that sent me home with a dark, confused but decidedly sexual buzz was Yimou Zhang’s Raise the Red Lantern, which is no less a model for healthy female erotic expression than Christian’s Contract of the Patriarchy. Now that I think about it, the most shocking sexual scene I experienced in a movie theater was the lesbian scene in Lenny. You could hear a pin drop until an older female voice croaked out, “Oh my god.” I was a precocious kid who liked grown-up movies like The Godfather and Cabaret, but I think my parents regretted bringing me to that one.

In any case, I know a lot of people are sick of talking about it, but recent columns here have shown there’s still plenty to say. What we’re talking about when we talk about Fifty Shades is our entire culture’s concepts of sexuality and romance and the varied responses to these assumptions. In the process we can’t help but reveal our own feelings about sex and sexual fantasy: That it’s dangerous, especially for women; that we should take fantasy literally; that it must be elevated by elegant prose or tasteful lighting; that we like what we like, and it’s no one’s place to regulate our desire. This topic is always of great significance to everyone, especially erotica writers.

Besides, there’s something I really want to say about the tampon scene.

Ah, the tampon scene, otherwise known as the “infamous” scene. The “most controversial” scene. The scene that the people who made the movie never once considered including on screen; they didn’t even talk about this most “talked about scene.” I wasn’t able to find all that much online about the content of this “talk,” except people found it gross, but admittedly I missed the first round of discussion when the book was published and my take on it might not have gotten much traction in the press.

By the way, if you find menstruation the most disgusting thing ever, you may want to stop reading right now. If not, I hope you’ll stay with me, because I’m going to talk about the only truly taboo-breaking scene in this notorious erotic blockbuster that is in so many ways quite conservative.

For those who haven’t read the book, Christian Grey, the young billionaire composite of Sergey Brin and Elon Musk and every other reasonably attractive high tech Midas (not Bill Gates, though, do you want to see him shirtless?), is so obsessed with innocent Anastasia Steele that he flies across the country in his private jet to see her when she’s visiting her mother. Ana goes to his hotel room and as always they quickly get naked. Christian nonchalantly asks her—and given his attention to detail, he was probably tracking her cycle—when she started her period. When she tells him it was yesterday, he replies, “Good.” Then he pulls on the “blue string” of her tampon, gently removes it and tosses it into the toilet. My mom told me this is asking for a plumbing disaster, but that’s the worst of it. Christian doesn’t use the tampon to paint Native American designs on his face. He doesn’t shove said hygiene product in anyone’s mouth. He simply has intercourse with Ana, without a condom, “skin against skin.” In the midst of her passion, Ana doesn’t mention any inhibitions about the blood, but the topic comes up in post-coital conversation.

“I’m bleeding,” I murmur.


“Doesn’t bother me,” he breathes.


“I noticed.” I can’t keep the dryness out of my voice.


He tenses. “Does it bother you?” he asks softly.


Does it bother me? Maybe it should… should it? No, it doesn’t. I lean back and look up at him, and he gazes down at me, his eyes a soft cloudy gray.


“No, not at all.”


He smirks. “Good. Let’s have a bath.” (FSOG, p. 431)

When I read this exchange, I paused and let this thought form in my head: As much as I’ve been resisting this on so many levels, Christian Grey is indeed every woman’s fantasy.

Imagine, a man who isn’t bothered by menstruation. He isn’t grossed out. He doesn’t treat you like toxic waste. He wants to know how you feel about it. He’ll even take a bath with you on your second day, which, I don’t know about you, but is usually when I get out the super-size tampons and stick to showers. This guy wants you so much, he’ll have sex with you during your period—happily. “Red sex” is not tolerated even by most erotica editors, yet here is E.L. James getting away with something the rest of us can’t, as she seems to do with everything else about Fifty Shades.

But more power to her—and she has a lot right now–here’s my point. Christian Grey embodies an ideal of a man’s acceptance of the female body and its natural rhythms. Have you ever met a real guy who is so laid-back when you’re having your period? Some are more chill than others, but shrugging and saying, “It doesn’t bother me”?  Okay, the reality of red sex was not portrayed for sure. Real is a college boyfriend wiping himself off with the laundry service towels and observing, “They’ll think I was slaughtering pigs in here.” Perhaps with all the vampires, zombies, Game of Thrones dismemberments and M-rated video games abounding, guys today are more sanguine about the sight of blood, but then again given the icky-eeuw reaction in the media, maybe not.

As a writer, there’s another important question to ask about these two pages of unspeakable audacity. If E.L. James had gotten her book published in the traditional manner, with gatekeeper editors shaping the content because they think they know what the reading public wants–rather than loyal fans who actually know what they want–do you think that tampon scene would have remained in a novel aimed at a popular audience?

No way in hell, baby.

But it did survive. Of course, this genuinely transgressive moment in Fifty Shades cannot go unpunished. It has to be made “controversial”; the one part of the story–so loyally shepherded by its author to the screen–that cannot be portrayed or even hinted at on film. Clearly society at large wants us to keep the I’m-not-bothered-by-menstrual-blood lover boy in his proper place—erased and silenced.

Good thing I don’t have to keep quiet. Thanks to Fifty Shades, everyone’s giving her or his opinion about sex and romance, how we like it delivered and how we don’t. So I say forget the floggers and cable ties, the abusive childhood and the healing power of true love, it’s the tampon scene that redeems Christian Grey for me… even if it is the hotel doing the laundry.

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

Finally, Fifty Shades

by | January 18, 2015 | | 15 Comments

By Donna George Storey

I finally read Fifty Shades of Grey. I’ve avoided doing so for years. The youngest of three daughters, once I figured out I didn’t have to do everything my older sisters did, I’ve been fairly stubborn about following my own path. Just because everyone else was reading the book, for pleasure or market research, didn’t mean I had to. The disappointed, and often scathing, reviews by people I respected certainly supported my boycott. And I knew enough about popular literature to roll my eyes when someone insisted I had to write my own trilogy that was “better” to show the world what really good erotica was and thus earn myself more money and glory than E.L. James could ever imagine.

Then, this past Christmas, someone close to me bought me a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. As a gag gift. Ha, ha, ha, I laughed. But as I stared down at that glossy gray tie on the cover, affixed with a label that the book was “Soon to Be a Major Motion Picture,” I decided that this was a sign from the universe that I must judge this publishing phenomenon firsthand.

So, what do I think?

I can see why so many readers find the story appealing. And, while it’s not the greatest book I’ve ever read, I’m finding it raises interesting questions for me about writing, and is even, at times, a compelling story.

Granted I came into the experience with rock-bottom expectations. But I understand why a classic story of a rich, handsome man discovering that an unassuming young woman is the one person on earth who can truly touch him would find a wide audience.

Mind you, all the criticisms of the book are true. The characters are unbelievable. The plot is uneven. The endless repetitions of lip biting, eye rolling, and capering inner goddesses are seriously annoying. The real endurance test for me is the overuse of “mutter” and “bemused.” Holy crap, what’s wrong with the beautifully invisible “said”? And could you dig a little deeper for some other reaction from your characters? My writing group would have had a field day with the prose and likely would have had poor Ms. James in tears.

I have no doubt the book gives an inaccurate portrayal of BDSM, an area in which I have no expertise. Any of the things I do know about—majors at Princeton, for example—are equally inaccurate. Then again, I can’t tell you how many times people told me they “learned a lot about Japan” from Arthur Golden’s equally fantastic Memoirs of a Geisha. Talk about enduring pain.

I know that there are many, many erotic books that are better written in every way and are far more authentic representations of the BDSM world. But for better or worse, E.L. James wrote the first erotic blockbuster. Try as we all do to learn the dark secret of its success, I’m not sure anyone really knows why. If we did, the publishing industry could seamlessly move from one mega-bestseller to the next, yet the next phenomenon always takes us by surprise.

Above all, reading this book underscored a lesson I’ve been learning since I began to seek publication. An individual editor may insist that every word be chosen with the care of Flaubert, but The Market doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the “quality” of your prose. It wants a story that grabs readers’ hearts. Fifty Shades got the romance audience with its Twilight sensibility spiced with explicit sex scenes. It roped in the not insignificant group of readers who thought they might be getting a glimpse into an unprecedented world of forbidden sexual delight and decadence. A lot of the scathing reviews judged an unpretentious romance as literature, an erotic fantasy as some earth-shattering sexual breakthrough. Of course the book would disappoint on these terms. The results are what you’d expect from the restaurant critic for The New York Times giving McDonald’s a serious review.

Now, I have very much enjoyed the snarky as well as thoughtful critiques of Fifty Shades. But on another level, why judge the book as if it wants to be more than it is? It clearly doesn’t. If we want it to be more, then scolding or mocking Ms. James or her fans won’t help. The only thing an erotica writer can do is take it upon herself to write the book we want it to be. More believable? More critical of capitalism? A female character that a self-respecting twenty-first-century woman can relate to? All worthy, but, sorry—I’m talking to you, my friends who want me to get rich–that book will not make anyone a fortune.

The good news is that now I know what I’ll tell people the next time they ask me what I think of Fifty Shades of Grey, as they always do when they learn I write erotica. I’ll say I thought the book was Jane Eyre, modernized, sexed up, without literary pretension (except a few references to Tess of the D’Urbervilles). Okay, maybe there’s a generous dollop of Heathcliff thrown in, too. Basically it’s a riff on the classic stories that lie at the heart of all novels with a huge readership—redemption (A Christmas Carol), an underdog who prevails (a personal favorite and always popular), a quietly lovely girl with a good heart who wins a powerful, yet lonely alpha male (most romances ever written).  And perhaps on a broader level, the book allows all of us to play out in fantasy a deeper social truth: that we’re all getting screwed by our plutocrats, except, unlike Ana, we don’t have any choice in the matter nor do we get at least three orgasms a day in the bargain.

Another happy outcome is that I have a new appreciation for E.L. James. Apparently she didn’t set out to make millions nor to give ordinary women the world over the permission to admit they’d read a book with explicit sex scenes—which may indeed be the most lasting impact of the book. James simply devoured the Twilight series in “one sitting” and was inspired to write her own romantic fiction. In a 2012 interview with The Guardian, her husband (not coincidentally pimping his own novel) said somewhat defensively that she wrote Fifty Shades to entertain herself and a few friends and that she had a lot of fun writing it. As a writer, I sense her commitment to and pleasure in the story. This is not always the case with more “important” literary novels I’ve read.

So, yes, having finally read it, I won’t and can’t write a “better” Fifty Shades of Grey. I will continue to write stories that express my sensibility in both content and style, and I will continue not to give a damn about how much money I make from writing. Yet I can still share with E.L. James the love and joy of writing a tale that I hope will give those readers I do touch, however many or few, a pleasurable reading experience.

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

The Pleasures of Trying Hard

by | November 18, 2014 | | 5 Comments

By Donna George Storey

“Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm.”

–Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve long been aware of the many derogatory terms used to describe people who enjoy intellectual pursuits. “Brain,” “egghead,” “nerd” and “geek” come to mind. But in the past few years, my academically-oriented sons have mentioned another label they are sometimes given by peers because of their genuine interest in their classes—”try-hard.”

I looked up “try-hard” in the Urban Dictionary and the official definition suggests a person who is trying to be something he or she is not. However, it seems to me that the high school version of the insult is less complicated. It merely refers to someone who makes an extra effort when she does something, someone who cares about the quality of the result rather than simply completing an assignment with as little investment as possible.

I can see an argument for doing as little as you need to do to get by when it comes to a required subject you don’t connect with on a deeper level. A lot of what we do in high school and even college involves pleasing the teacher and not necessarily ourselves. However, this put-down seems to be directed at any effort to excel. While this attitude might seem the height of cool in school, it can mean trouble later on, especially with a creative endeavor like writing erotica.

Perhaps because reading a well-written story is an effortless experience, too many people believe that writing it must be effortless, too. Those of us who actually write stories know better, of course, but there’s still a small part of me that buys the myth that true artists are beguiled into a trance by their muse and great art thus flows effortlessly from their souls. Or in other words, it is in-born talent, not hard work that makes a creative work soar.

This disdain for creative sweat reminds me of an Italian word, sprezzatura, that I stumbled upon back in my high school days when I was both a nerd and a try-hard who loved to read anything I could get my hands on about the Renaissance. Sprezzatura was described in Baldassare Castiglione’s sixteenth-century bestseller, The Book of the Courtier, as “a certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it.” The perfect noble courtier should appear to dash off a brilliant sonnet on a whim or execute a high-stepping court dance without breaking a sweat. Of course to pull this off, he had to practice and ponder in private for hours on end. Thus, ironically, the perfect courtier’s sprezzatura made him a try-hard in the official sense of the word.

The movie montage might be another culprit in our lack of understanding of how much time and effort it takes to excel. How many movies have you seen where the protagonist aspires to a lofty goal, but for the sake of cinematic flow, months or even years of hard work must be condensed into a minute of brief scenes showing her transformation from raw novice to skilled expert? Intellectually we know it was supposed to take a year, but emotionally we internalize the sense that just by wanting something, we can get good enough to wow the world in sixty seconds.

Again, I know that anyone who’s actually tried—hard—to write a story knows how much musing and shaping and word-crafting and editing is involved. Anyone who’s written many stories knows that skill increases with experience, but it’s still hard to face that blank document and make magic on the page, harder still to draw something fresh from within. And I’d bet many of us wonder if this challenging task is easier for other writers, those who are more talented or lucky or truly touched by greatness as we must not be since we have to try so damned hard.

Sure, maybe there are demigods like that out there, but I’d suspect not. And the truth is, I don’t want to read a story that was dashed off with little thought or effort. I want sweat and doubt and endless revisions. Now and then a story might flower beautifully in an afternoon, but that can only because the seed of it was germinating for months, maybe years. As a reader I give an author my precious attention–minutes, hours, even days of my life I can never get back. The author had better deserve it! And because I deserve this effort as a reader, then I owe it to my readers to give them the same.

Besides, no matter what those high school kids say, sweating and striving and and learning and caring about our writing is one of the most profoundly pleasurable and deeply satisfying ways to spend our time on this earth.

Don’t you agree?

If so, then keep trying—hard!

Donna George Storey is the author
of Amorous Woman and a collection of short
stories, Mammoth
Presents the Best of Donna George Storey. Learn more about her
work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com
or http://www.facebook.com/DGSauthor

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