Lisabet Sarai

Should your characters wear masks?

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

So here we are, in the last few weeks of 2020, with the Covid-19 epidemic still raging. I’ll admit to being surprised. An eternal optimist, I expected the disease would be under control within a few months of its appearance. Instead, the pandemic rages on, worse now in some places than ever. It has radically altered day-to-day life, to a greater or lesser extent, for almost everyone on the planet. Furthermore, even with the encouraging developments related to vaccines, this situation seems likely to continue well into 2021.

Of course, lockdowns and quarantines can actually benefit us writers, more or less forcing us to put butt in chair. I’ve been very productive this year, writing a new novel and starting on its sequel as well as producing several shorter pieces and re-publishing some older work whose rights have reverted. Still, I’d trade it all to go back to life without masks, hand santitizers, contact tracing apps and social distancing.

What about our characters, though? Should we put them through all the (pardon-my-French) crap we’re dealing with in our own lives? If you write contemporary erotica or erotica romance, this is a serious question. Speaking for myself, I never go out of the house these days without two masks – one to wear, and one to give to somebody else who might need one. Should my heroine act the same way? Will readers who have now become accustomed to Covid-induced constraints think our stories are strange or unrealistic – or even irresponsible – if we leave out those ugly and annoying details?

I know that some of the members of the Storytime list have already incorporated Covid-19 into their fiction. We’ve also seen a run of flashers that depend on the special circumstances of lockdowns, working at home, Internet-only socialization and so on. I’ve written one or two myself.

However, I’m not going to include the daily irritations and terrors of Covid-19 into my main body of work, at least not for the foreseeable future. Why remind our readers of all the unpleasantness they’re already facing on a daily basis? Romantic or erotic fiction, no matter how “real” we try to make it, will always include an element of fantasy. It’s hard to imagine something less sexy than a global pandemic. I’d like my readers to forget about that aspect of their lives, at least for a while.

There’s another reason I’m not keen to have my characters wearing masks and worrying about contagion. Books have a potentially long lifetime. Details that are current and immediate now may well seem dated in a couple of years. In 2025, ubiquitous face masks may be viewed as weird. (Indeed, I hope this is the case.) I’d like readers to be able to relate to my work half a decade from now.

My first novel was published in 1999. It is still in print. Originally set in Bangkok in the nineties, it has no cell phones or social media, no Google or YouTube. And yes, it does feel a bit strange to read it now. The last time I edited and republished the book (about ten years ago), I decided to anchor it firmly in time (the year 2000), so that readers would judge it according to that particular era. That process made me very aware of how technological and social aspects of a book can affect the reading experience.

Of course, each of us must make a personal decision on this issue. One might liken it to the question of whether to write condoms into our erotic tales. Some authors feel that this is unnecessary in a genre based on wish-fulfillment. Others believe it’s their job to provide models of safe sex.

Indeed, younger readers who have grown up in the era of AIDS may find my erotica, where condom use is pretty rare, makes them uncomfortable. Alas, AIDS changed sex forever, in a very negative direction.

I pray that the long term effects of Covid-19 will be less damaging to our sexual, social and emotional health. I’d like to believe that’s true – as I said, I am an optimist. In any case, I’m writing my stories for happier days, when the pandemic is a sobering memory rather than a daily challenge.

Everything I Know About Amazon Keywords…

Editing Corning banner

I learned from Belinda LaPage. Truly, I’ll be forever grateful to her for explaining how to leverage this aspect of Amazon’s algorithms.

In fact, she wrote a post herself that included information about this topic: https://erotica-readers.com/blog/2019/02/11/raising-the-dead-your-story-doesnt-suck-necessarily/

However, in that post she didn’t give the blow-by-blow how-to she shared with me… which I am now going to share with you.

Let’s start out with the goal: getting people to buy your book. Obviously, in order to buy your book, people first need to find it. And hey, there are only fifty million erotica titles on Amazon. Okay, I made that up, but you and I both know that the ‘Zon is dripping in dirty books, with thousands more being added every day.

When you set up a new title on the Amazon KDP site, you’re asked to select up to two categories. However, the available categories are rather broad and limited. (You can find a list of the erotica sub-categories here.)

You can also specify up to seven keywords, which will be used to match search strings entered by potential customers. Smashwords, similarly, asks for keywords (ten in their case). When I first started self-publishing, I’d use the same keywords for both platforms, single words or phrases like “bdsm”, “lesbian”, “dominance and submission”, “anal sex”, “steampunk”, and so on.

I don’t know anything about Smashwords’ algorithms. I learned from Belinda, howver, that Amazon allows up to fifty characters for each “keyword”. Hence you can have multiple different strings in the same keyword slot. Furthermore, the individual words influence each other to create or match ad hoc search categories. Each fifty character “keyword” acts as a “word cloud” and will match against search terms that relate to the core concepts in that cloud – even if the exact words entered for the search aren’t in your keyword set at all.

The best way to understand this is by example. (Warning: dirty words ahead!) Here are the seven keyword strings I used for my recent release, The Pornographer’s Apprentice.

12345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890
FEMDOM WHIPPING BONDAGE FLOGGER BDSM SLAVE MASTER
LESBIAN CUNNILINGUS SAPPHIC CUNT-MUNCH LGBTQ CLIT
ANAL SEX PEGGING BUGGERY ASSHOLE PEGGING REAMING
THREESOME FOURSOME MENAGE GROUP SEX ORGY 
GAY BUTT-FUCK HOMOEROTIC BLOWJOB BIG COCK SEX-PLAY
SEX TOYS DILDO BUTT-PLUG FLOGGER CROP WHIP CUFFS
STEAM PUNK VICTORIAN LONDON ENGLAND ALT-HISTORY

The numbers along the top (suggested by Belinda) help me keep within the 50-character limit for any keyword. I use a mono-spaced font to make sure that the characters of my keywords correspond to these numbers.

Each of the seven lines below the numbers is intended to capture a concept or topic that might be of interest to a certain segment of the market. Line 1 deals with power games, especially femdom, which is featured in several chapters of the book. (I probably should have used “Mistress” rather than “Master” but I didn’t quite have the character count.) Line 2 obviously relates to lesbian activity. There’s little subtlety about line 3; it contains our favorite terms related to anal sex (which is rather prevalent in this story). Line 4 focuses on varieties of multi-partner sex. Line 5 plays to the readers who are looking for MM activity; there’s a bit of this in The Pornographer’s Apprentice, though it’s not the primary focus since the protagonist is a woman. Line 6 celebrates sex toys, the creation of which is the vocation of my heroine and her colleagues. Finally, line 7, which has no dirty words at all, encapsulates the setting and sub-genre. Adding “VICTORIAN” has the advantage of linking the book to genuine Victorian era erotica like The Pearl. In fact this book is currently ranked as #435 in Victorian erotica, on all of Amazon… even though it actually isn’t.

How can I be so explicit in my keywords? you might be wondering. What about the dreaded adult dungeon which awaits books that violate Amazon’s unwritten policies on sexual content?

Amazon, it turns, is severely schizophrenic when it comes to erotica. On the one hand, using a word like “cock” or “fuck” in your title or showing a bit of naked boob on your cover will get you whisked away to the dungeon before you can say “Take me, Master!” On the other hand, it appears there are no standards whatsoever regarding the content of keywords. Of course the keywords are not visible to readers; they’re digested and linked and stored in Amazon’s database (or used to train its AI). But they have (I believe) a lot of influence.

How do I know? Well, of course, none of us know anything certain about Amazon’s mysterious ways. I do know, however, that my Amazon sales have improved noticeably since Belinda gave me her lesson on keywords. It might be that I’m writing better books. However, I’m willing to give the keywords (and Belinda) a significant chunk of the credit.

 

It’s Not About Sex

Photo by matthew reyes on Unsplash

Anyone who has read my blog posts will know that I have a bit of a problem with genre labels. That’s one reason I love self-publishing. Nobody forces me to follow the genre rules. I can mix and match romance, horror, erotica, suspense, parody, even spirituality, to my heart’s content.

Most publishers have a genre fetish. They have a set of categories, and desperately want to know which one encompasses your book. If you can’t quite say, or if your book has elements of multiple, possibly disparate, genres, they don’t want to hear from you. Or at very least, they’re uncomfortable.

My own work doesn’t fit into neat pigeonholes, and often, the fiction I enjoy most is just as stubborn. I’ve found that the best books frequently defy categorization – or create new genres, which is basically the same thing.

Advocates of labeling claim that assigning books to particular genres helps readers find what they like. I’d argue that it’s just as likely to discourage readers from picking up something new that they might actually love.

If you had to pin me down, though, I guess I’d label what I write most often as “erotica”. Of course, this is the kiss of death from a marketing perspective. Many readers have the (mistaken) idea that a book that calls itself erotica will include constant, graphic sex. Some people think that this also implies an absence of plot. I just shake my head when I encounter this sort of attitude, which seems to be to be quite wrong.

You want my opinion? (Well, of course you do, or you wouldn't be reading my post...) I think that erotica is not about sex, per se. Erotica is fiction that focuses on the experience of sexual desire. Sexual desire may be a concomitant or precursor to physical sexual activity, but it doesn't have to be. Desire in its many variants (arousal, lust, love, obsession) is fundamentally an emotional state or process. Thus, it's theoretically possible to write erotica that contains no overt sex at all. (More on this below.)

Conversely, a story that includes graphic sex does not deserve to be called erotica unless the author is primarily concerned with the characters' feelings about their encounters, and how those feelings affect the non-sexual aspects of the characters' lives. To the extent that sex is treated as a mindless, instinctual activity, a response to a stimulus that brings relief like a sneeze, it does not (in my view) merit the term “erotic”.

I've been a member of the Erotica Readers & Writers Association for more than two decade. As you probably know, ERWA has a list called Storytime, where members share their erotic fiction (and poetry) and ask for critiques. I have participated in Storytime on and off. When I first found the group, I was very active, and the pieces I read there had a powerful influence on my own writing.

I still recall one story that was posted on Storytime, probably some time around 2002. I don't remember who wrote it, though I recall that it was a man. The main – indeed, the only – character is a soldier, staying in a cheap rented room somewhere, maybe Paris. A woman lives in the next room; the walls are thin. Night after night he listens to the sounds she makes coupling with her lover. He finds himself terribly aroused by this unseen female. He masturbates to her cries. He fantasizes about meeting her, about taking her lover's place. His obsession grows, his desire is unbearable, yet he still can't find the courage to knock on her door. Finally, one day, she's gone – the room next door is empty.

I found this story to be one of the most erotic pieces I've ever read. There was no sex involved, or at least none that involved the object of desire. Yet the tale managed to convey such a sense of yearning, a desperate, intense need – manufactured entirely out of the soldier's imagination.

That story (I really wish I still had a copy) has become my touchstone for erotica. I enjoy writing about sex, but like the soldier, it's the idea of sex that really turns me on. I've experimented, trying to write (and sell) erotica that keeps the physical side of sex to an absolute minimum. One story that falls into that category is “Stroke”, which originally appeared in Please Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The male protagonist is a Dom who's bedridden in a rehab facility, partially paralyzed by a stroke. The heroine is his nurse, who suffers from kinky fantasies her boyfriend labels as sick and shameful. The dominant manages to fulfill Cassie's fantasies, without ever touching her.

“Look at me.” His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir,” he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.

“Yes, Sir.” Just his voice was enough to make me ache.

“What’s your name?”

“Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard.”

“Don’t look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?”

“No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital.”

“My slaves call me Master Jonathan.”

My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wanted to sink through the floor. I didn’t want him to see how his words excited me.

But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.

“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.” An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.

“He doesn’t satisfy you.” It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. “Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?”

I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

“No, Sir. His cock is fine.” Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.

“What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?”

Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn’t stop myself from wanting.

“Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn’t provide? What do you want?”

My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn’t speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.

“Cassie, I’m waiting.” His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. “Don’t disappoint me.”

I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn’t look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.

“I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn’t want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.

Things?” He sounded amused. A fresh wave of hot, wet shame swamped my body. “What sort of things?”

Uh—tie me up. Spank me. Use me. Treat me like his slave.” It all came out in a rush, the desires I’d never shared with anyone except Ryan. Even then, I’d only shown him the tip of the iceberg, the least perverted of my needs. “He wouldn’t, though. He was shocked when I told him. Disgusted. Said that I had a filthy mind.” The tears that had gathered earlier spilled out over my cheeks.

I imagine that you do, little one, delightfully filthy.” His voice was a caress, soothing and seductive. “I knew that right away, just from your reactions to my voice. Your deepest desire is to submit to a strong master, isn’t it?”

Yes—Sir.” I felt relief, now that I’d admitted my secret. He at least didn’t seem to condemn me.

You want to be beaten and buggered, shackled to the bed and split open by a huge cock. You want to bath in your master’s come, maybe even his piss. To be forced to service his friends.”

It was thrilling and horrible, listening to him enumerating my darkest fantasies out loud. My clit felt the size of a ripe plum, swollen and juicy, ready to burst. I nodded, still finding it difficult to expose myself so completely.

I will do those things for you, if you’d like.”

You?” The suggestion startled me enough that I forgot the honorific, but he seemed to forgive my lapse. I searched his handsome, ravaged face. “How…?”

Don't underestimate me, girl. I may not be the Dom I once was, but I can still make you burn for my touch. I can still make you beg.” He snagged the button on the end of its cord and raised himself to full sitting position. He moved more smoothly and easily than before. “Remove your clothing.”

* * * *

No sex at all in this story. Just overwhelming sexual need. Is it erotic? I think so. And I suppose at some level it is about sex – the kind of sex that happens in the mind.

I really do subscribe to the philosophy summarized by my tag line. Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac. For me, erotica deals, first and foremost, with the mental and emotional aspects of desire. The physical stuff is optional.

And when people declare that erotica is “nothing but sex”, I roll my eyes and sigh.

My Favorite (Dirty) Words

Image by Wokandapix from Pixabay

I’ve been writing erotica and erotic romance for more than twenty years. Since my work covers a fairly wide range of sub-genres, I tend to adapt my vocabulary and style accordingly. Still, I do have some favorite erotic terms that tend to show up in many of my tales.

One word I love is “wench”. The term is sometimes used in a derogatory manner, to refer to a prostitute. It is also applied to female domestics. Nevertheless, for me, it has positive connotations. A wench is a woman who’s not shy about expressing herself sexually. Unencumbered by social convention or false morality, she’s willing and ready for almost anything. Still, a wench is not necessarily a slut (not that I have anything against sluts, or the word “slut” in fact); she has a bit more self-control and tends to be more concerned about pleasure per se than about breaking taboos. The archaic meaning of serving girl also makes “wench” highly appropriate in D/s contexts.

I tend to use “wench” as an affectionate or commanding epithet directed at a randy female character.

The lust that had simmered in her centre as she surveyed the erotic artworks leapt into flame. She needed that lovely cock, rooting deep in her hungry cunny. She needed to be filled, as much as she needed oxygen. With luck, his expertise in constructing devices for sexual stimulation meant he’d be a more skilful lover than her bloody cousin.

Meanwhile, saliva gathered in her mouth as she imagined running her tongue along that elegant shaft and pursing her lips around the delicate curves of the bulb. Before her rational side could assert itself, she replaced the catalogue on the table, seated herself in his chair and beckoned him closer. “This floor’s too hard for kneeling,” she told him as she grasped him at the base and squeezed. “Plus I don’t want you to think you’re above me.”

She leaned in and flicked her tongue over his cockhead.

He groaned. “Whatever you want, wench! But please, don’t make me wait!”

~ From The Pornographer’s Apprentice (WIP)

Another beloved word is “wanton”, which according to Merriam-Webster means “lewd; bawdy; lustful; sensual”. All good alternatives, I’ll admit, but for some reason “wanton” has a special attraction, implying as it does a state of desperate, barely contained arousal.

Kate stood before the mirror, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips. She was breathing heavily—she watched her breasts rise and fall. Her nipples were round and rigid, the size and shape of ripe olives. She imagined Gregory taking one in his mouth, and shivered. The dark leather around her throat made her creamy skin seem even whiter. The studs on the collar were red with reflected light, as if this emblem of submission were encrusted with rubies.

She gazed at her face, trying to recognize herself. The expression was strange, desperate, wanton. Her chest hurt from the pounding of her heart.

~ From Raw Silk

Of course, given my love of alliteration, I have a special fondness for wanton wenches.

Another word I adore is “shag”. Alas, I don’t get to use it all that often, given that it really only sits comfortably in the mouth of a British character (and a moderately contemporary one at that). In my opinion, “shag” is a good deal sexier than “fuck”. The former implies a sense of mutual fun that isn’t always present in the latter. When one character fucks another, the first is the aggressor. The second or might not be an equal participant. Sometimes, of course, I want that asymmetry, but often I want to convey the important point that a scene is about reciprocal pleasure. Shagging may lead to romance, but in the midst of a shag, that’s not the point at all. It’s very much about being in the moment and enjoying the delights of an enthusiastic sexual partner.

Then there’s “lascivious”. This word, too, means “lewd” or “lustful”, and is often used pejoratively, but for me, it’s a more nuanced description than either of the shorter synonyms. It can apply to a state of mind or a construction of the imagination, as well as to an overt action.

The studio was as crazy as always. She slipped easily into professional mode, joking with the cast members, giving orders and answering questions, shoulder holding her phone to her ear half the time.

Hugo loved the script. Her co-producer was a trim, energetic guy a few years younger than she was, with sparkling blue eyes, a ready laugh and a reddish-brown ponytail. Lauren had always thought him attractive, but today she struggled to keep her hands off him. It was sweet torture, standing close to him as they watched the rehearsal. Things weren’t much better with Daniel, the director, a dark and intense New Yorker with eyes that could bore into your soul. She’d fantasized about fucking him more than once. Now all those lascivious images came back to haunt her.

~ From The Slut Strikes Back

Finally, I have to admit a slightly embarrassing partiality for the word “reamed”. Literally, the word means “to widen the opening of (a hole)” or “to enlarge, shape, or smooth out (a hole) with a reamer”, but in erotica it’s often used to describe rough anal sex. And yes, in fiction at least, I find that a turn-on.

Dylan jerked his straining rod, humping his hand as he imagined Rafe flipping him over and spreading his butt cheeks. Nothing felt as fine as having Rafe buried in his ass, driving deeper with each stroke. They were perfectly matched. Dylan loved a bit of rough and Rafe enjoyed playing the brute, reaming him to the edge of damage—but never beyond.

He needed that now. He needed the physical sensation, to match his fantasy of being filled. Drawing his knees to his chest, Dylan wormed a finger into his hungry hole. All that did was whet his appetite for more. He tried two fingers, then three, but it still wasn’t enough. On his own, he couldn’t begin to compete with the sensation of Rafe’s cock stretching him to the limit.

~ From The H-Gene

I’m sure most erotica authors have favorite dirty words. I’d be curious to know about yours.

 

Indescribable

Photo by Jeremy Bishop from Unsplash

What does an orgasm feel like?

An explosion? A tornado? A bursting balloon? Electricity short circuiting your body and brain?

A violent but welcome sneeze? A deluge? A little death?

It’s well nigh impossible to capture an orgasm in words. Part of the problem is the fact that different people probably experience coming in different ways. (I say “probably” because I can, ultimately, speak only for myself.) Indeed, climaxes for a single individual vary from one time to the next. Some are more intense and sharp, others fuller and more muted. (At least, that’s true for me.)

Then there’s the question of anatomical gender. I’m pretty sure that female orgasm feels somewhat different than male orgasm. It’s more “inside” than “outside”. Also, it’s often more difficult to achieve. For me, coming almost always includes a sense of strain, of reaching for something just out of reach. And even in these supposedly enlightened times, between 10 and 40% of women claim to have never experienced a climax. How can they know for sure, though, given that your account and mine might diverge a lot – and any attempt at description can do no more than approximate the reality?

The sensations involved in orgasm often get mixed up with the emotions. To describe coming, you need to consider both. Emotions may actually be easier, so it’s tempting to ignore the physical aspects – yet those can be overwhelming.

As authors of erotica, we’re expected to describe the indescribable. It’s tough. I find myself falling back on metaphors, often related to the natural world: tidal waves, earthquakes, storms, lightning and the like. Explosions and shattering glass, plunges over a precipice, whirlwinds and a temporary release from gravity: I find myself using these images again and again.

After a while this starts to feel hackneyed and stereotyped. I really hope my readers won’t notice, that they’ll be so aroused, they won’t be thinking about how often I utilize some words and comparisons.

Here are a few female orgasm snippets from my recent work:

The climax was like nothing Annie had ever known, sensation so raw and strong she wasn’t sure it could be called pleasure. It tore her open, ripped her apart, turned her inside out. The world turned black, edge with red flickers of bliss. Her spasming cunt was the only reality.

~ from Babes in Bondage

It all combined to push her into one more climax: the knowledge of her own depravity; the incredible sensation of being full to the point of bursting; her partners’ moans and cries, the swelling of the cocks plugging both her holes, and finally, the heat of their cum, simultaneously flooding her cunt and her ass.

Pleasure exploded in her depths, so sharp that it cut her loose from her body. She seemed to hover near the ceiling, looking down at the three bodies entangled on the bed. The ruddy-headed man drew back, his cock emerging from the woman’s anus with an audible pop. White streams of semen dribbled from the stretched opening. The man below rolled the woman off him, onto her back. More cum streaked her inner thighs. He gathered some of the milky fluid and smeared it on her breasts.

~ from The Slut Strikes Back

Then his beautiful brown eyes snapped open and snagged mine. His cock swelled in my depths. I felt the shudders that rippled down the shaft. He released a strangled cry as wet heat bloomed inside my pussy, and all at once I was there too, teetering on the edge of climax then tumbling over into bliss.

My clit thrummed; my nipples throbbed; my quivering channel clamped down on Dave’s cock, triggering moans and fresh floods of jism. Rich, ripe pleasure swirled up and spilled over, drenching me in sweet delight.

~ from Cherry Pie and Mistletoe

She opened to them both, riding the pleasure they conspired to bestow. Again and again, Archie buried his massive prick in her bowels. Though she was sure he’d been fully erect when they began, he seemed to grow larger each time he impaled her, until she feared she’d be torn apart by his monstrous organ. The fear only multiplied her lust. Meanwhile Ian plunged his fingers into her channel and sucked on her clitoris, setting up a circuit of bliss between her front and rear holes.

A sudden climax rose from her depths, seizing her and flinging her about like a leaf in a whirlwind. On and on it swirled, bearing her upwards, to a breathless, dizzying height where her body dropped away, leaving only bliss.

~ from The Pornographer’s Apprentice (WIP)

And here are a few excerpts describing male orgasms. The imagery is definitely different, more external, more concrete and focused more on the expulsion of cum.

“Wait—no, we can’t— Mrs. Thomas, please—oh!” He choked back a cry as the bouffant bombshell swallowed him to the root. Her agile tongue danced along his shaft, teasing, before she turned on the industrial-level suction. Jake didn’t have a chance. It took no more than thirty seconds for her to bring him to a boil. With a strangled yell, he let go, pouring his jizz into the lady’s eager mouth.

~ from More Brides in Vegas

My fingers tangled in her gorgeous coppery hair, I held her still so I could keep control as I ravaged her mouth. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I closed my eyes, savoring the building pressure. Yes, oh yes…

Skillful fingers tickled my balls, then gave them a gentle squeeze. Pleasure exploded, spiraling up and out from my taut groin. My cock shuddered and expelled a flood of cum into Jane’s welcoming mouth. Her muscles fluttered around my shaft as she swallowed, triggering another cataclysm. More jizz erupted from my rod. She turned up the suction. My cock produced another ecstatic spurt.

~ from Santa, Baby!

Without warning, or at least any that he recognized, yeasty fluid filled his mouth. He coughed and swallowed. Dylan’s cock convulsed, spitting out more gobs of warm liquid. Rafe gulped down as much as he could, the remnants leaking from the corners of his mouth. The odd taste, the unfamiliar sensations, and, most of all, the knowledge that he’d sucked his lover to climax, all combined to take him over the edge. With one last thrust, he let go.

The pleasure was round and full, different somehow from his usual wild, jagged orgasms. It surged up from his depths, powerful, irresistible, sweeping away every thought in a blissful tide of satisfaction. For what seemed like hours, the waves rolled through him, pleasure swirling up from his balls and out onto Dylan’s tongue.

~ from The H-Gene

Sometimes I feel so bored with my own descriptions that I’m tempted to get lazy, give up, and simply write “she came hard”. Indeed, that might be enough to evoke the experience of orgasm for some readers, but it doesn’t do justice to the myriad variations on the theme of climax.

Indeed, perhaps all erotic writing faces the problem of describing the indescribable. Orgasms are only one example. Our goal is to produce physical arousal, using only the most abstract of tools – language. We can sketch out the scene, paint pictures of the protagonists, their bodies and their facial expressions. We can invoke other senses, smell and taste and sound. Ultimately though, it is our readers who fill in the blanks based on their own experience or fantasies.

All literature, in fact, involves a collaboration between the reader and the author. In erotica, the connection is simply more – intimate.

 

Intimate Race Relations

Photo by J.D. Mason from Unsplash

What can we say about race now? What can we write?

The past four months, since the murder of George Floyd and the international eruption of rage, recriminations and soul-searching that this event triggered, have turned the always-sensitive topics of sex and race into even more of a minefield for erotic authors. Breaking taboos is our stock in trade, but it may be that taboos related to race are now off the table.

Interracial tropes have always been popular in erotica: the white woman ravaged by the black bull with the enormous cock, the black woman with the sassy attitude and the big booty telling the whimpy white guy what to do, the black jocks and the white cheerleaders breaking all the rules, and so on. You may not have written any interracial sex, but I’d be very surprised if you haven’t read some.

Black authors use these stereotypes as much as white ones. Damien Dsoul, for instance, (https://erotica-readers.com/story-gallery/awesome-authors-presents-damien-dsoul) writes interracial erotica from a black man’s perspective, full of hungry, horny white women begging for penetration and domination.

These days, though, even writing interracial romance (let alone hard core smut) can get you in hot water. One of my author friends recently had the promo post for her new novel rejected by Facebook because it supposedly violated their standards. The apparent reason? This book, a reverse harem tale, features a black heroine and two white heroes. She had no trouble with the previous installment in this series, which has a very similar cover and blurb but which features all Caucasian characters.

Have we really got to a point where we can’t have any black characters without being censured or censored?

I don’t generally write “interracial” erotica, in the sense of stories where the race of the protagonists is part of the kink. In fact, I don’t really like to use that label. I do, however, have quite a few tales with a mix of black and white characters. In fact, my most recent release, The H-Gene, is an explicit MM erotic romance in which one of the heroes is black and the other white. The race of the characters is an integral part of their back story. I’m not using it specifically for titillation, though Rafe’s a big guy, in every way, and his dark skin and imposing stature do contribute to Dylan’s attraction.

After my friend Tina’s problems, I’m starting to get worried. I’m a white, Jewish woman writing about a black man from the ghetto. Am I racist? Will I get excoriated for “appropriating” the black male experience? Am I revealing my prejudice in deciding that my black character grew up in the slums while my white character is the son of a Boston lawyer?

Is it racist to write smut that uses the Big Black Cock kink? On the one hand, this is perpetuating stereotypes. Obviously not every black guy has a big cock, any more than every black guy has an innate sense of rhythm. I certainly wouldn’t like to read erotica that portrayed all Jewish guys as neurotic navel-gazers or all Jewish women as controlling guilt-trippers. (Of course, that’s the opposite of sexy, so maybe this isn’t a good comparison.) The trouble is, these tropes have been around for so long that we (i.e. the reading public – maybe including the black reading public) have been conditioned to find certain stereotypes arousing.

Should we try to decondition ourselves? Do we need to explicitly recognize and reject these racial stereotypes?

If these tropes become socially unacceptable, won’t that just make them more taboo?

I’m really quite perplexed about this. I recognize that black people have been systematically oppressed for centuries, and that racism is so firmly entrenched in many of our institutions that we don’t even see it. I know we need to open our eyes, to take responsibility and to change.

But does that mean abandoning the Big Black Bull?

In the current social climate, do we dare to write any black characters at all?

What do you think?

Narrow or wide? How to decide?

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Self-publishing offers an author a lot of freedom. You’re no longer bound to the schedule of a publisher; you can release your books whenever they’re ready, or according to a strategy related to your personal future plans. A self-published book does not need to fit neatly into genre-based pigeonholes. You can write and publish work that reflects your creativity and vision, rather than the often rigid categories that supposedly define “the market”. Furthermore, self-publishing can spare you sometimes painful fights with house editors about words, phrases or content that violate the house style rules. You, the author, are in the driver’s seat, and your book is 100% your own.

On the other hand, you become responsible for many critical decisions. What should the cover look like? What categories and keywords should you use? How should you position the book, with respect to your other work as well as the competition? What price should you set? How should you promote the book? All of a sudden you’re not just the author, but also the publishing executive and the marketing manager.

One thorny issue facing any self-publishing author at the moment is whether to go narrow or wide. Everyone knows that Amazon commands the largest share of the ebook market. “Going wide” involves publishing and selling on other platforms as well as Amazon, for instance Barnes and Noble, Kobo and Google Books. If you want to go wide, there are a variety of sites that will publish and distribute your books to a range of online vendors, including Smashwords and Draft2Digital. In return, they take a cut of the royalties (but a smaller percentage than a regular publisher). As an alternative, you can upload your book independently to different sales sites, which takes more effort but can result in somewhat higher returns as well as better control over format.

“Going narrow” means publishing exclusively on Amazon, enrolling your book in KDP Select and Kindle Unlimited (KU). You may publish and sell a print version of your book, but the ebook version must not be sold anywhere else.

KU is a subscription-based model for reading ebooks. Rather than paying for books individually, KU members pay a monthly fee (currently about $10) in order to download and read an “unlimited” number of books. (In fact, I believe there are some restrictions on how many books you can be reading concurrently, but I have not been able to find the details on the Amazon help pages.)

Since readers don’t purchase books under the KU scheme, Amazon pays authors according to the number of pages of their books that KU members read. The actual unit is called KENP (Kindle Edition Normalized Pages), a quantity which is calculated based on a (secret) algorithm. Authors receive a certain amount of money per KENP; the amount is also a secret and varies over time, but is some fraction of a cent. Note, by the way, that Amazon systems must periodically access individual readers’ Kindle devices or apps in order to compute KENP.

Many authors swear by KU as a way of making more money. It does seem that KU reads do not reduce the number of outright purchases by much. KU subscribers are a different population from purchasers. On the other hand, by going narrow, an author risks losing sales from readers who prefer to buy from other sources. This includes a segment of the reading public who actively avoid Amazon for various reasons including the company’s monopolistic tendencies, their intrusiveness and their indie-author-unfriendly policies. In the interests of full disclosure, I will personally confess that I fall into that segment.

My personal experience with going narrow is very limited. I have one book, a boxed set, available in KU. Since I released that book, in February 2020, it has logged 22,217 KENP. The payment for this has been $54.22. So I’m getting about 0.0025 cents per KENP. The book is about 600 pages, so the page reads translate to roughly 37 sales. The purchase price is $4.99 and the royalty percentage is 70%, so if I’d actually sold these copies, I would have received $3.49 per copy, or $129.13.

Of course, it’s not likely I would have sold all those additional copies. As noted above, KU subscribers wouldn’t necessarily purchase the books they download as part of the program. Like all “unlimited” subscriptions, Kindle Unlimited encourages readers to take a chance on merchandise they’re not sure they want, because there’s no penalty to downloading a book but not finishing it. In addition, KU subscribers have an incentive to consume as many books as possible in order to “get their money’s worth”.

It is clear though, that Amazon itself saves money when authors go narrow. Given the current KENP formula, for a complete KU read of Vegas Babes, they only have to pay me about $1.50, which amounts to a royalty rate of 30% – rather than the 70% I get for an outright purchase.

Still, there’s a segment of the reading community that loves to see the words “Free on Kindle Unlimited” splashed across a book banner. It’s not really free, of course, but once a reader has paid the monthly fee, they will tend to forget that.

Mostly, I’ve gone wide, because I want anyone who is interested to be able to buy my book. As noted above, I personally don’t have a Kindle or buy ebooks from Amazon. I read 5-10 books per month. Knowing how important this is to authors, I try to review almost everything I read. Since I’m active on Goodreads and host a lot of authors on my blog, I frequently encounter books that sound interesting. If the book is available on Smashwords or Kobo, I’ll consider buying it. However, if it’s exclusive to Amazon, that immediately kills the notion. Hence, my fellow authors are losing out on reviews from me because they’ve chosen to go narrow.

I don’t want my own potential readers to have the frustrating experience of wanting to acquire my books but finding that Amazon is the only source.

I know I’m not neutral on this topic. I recognize that many of you have made a good deal of money by going narrow. It’s your decision – and it’s not irrevocable, since you have the option to remove your book from KU after ninety days.

I’d like to finish by presenting some interesting data. I just ran a contest for members of my email list. To enter, they were required to send me a message answering three questions:

1) Approximately how many books do you read per month?

2) Where do you get your books? (Amazon? Other online sites? Bookstores? Garage sales? The library?)

3) Do you have a Kindle Unlimited subscription now or are you considering one?

I received 26 entries. (I have about 300 people on my list.) They read an average of 11 books a month, with a lot of difference between readers (minimum 1, maximum 30).

The majority of respondents (16 or 62%) get books from many sources including Amazon. Other sources mentioned included BN, Kobo, Google, ARCs from authors or publishers, BookFunnel, PaperbackSwap.com, yard sales, brick and mortar book stores, and libraries. Seven respondents (26%) mentioned only Amazon. Three people (12%) did not mention Amazon at all.

Only six people (23%) said they had or were considering a KU subscription. One or two said they really loved it, since they read so many books. One person said she was considering dropping it, because she didn’t read enough to make it worthwhile.

Finally, I got a couple of comments that, I have to admit, mirror my own feelings about Amazon. One person, in response to the third question, said: “No, I like to keep my books and hate to think they’re tracking me.”

Another reader said: “No, I do not have Kindle Unlimited nor do I plan to get it because a couple of years ago Amazon banned me from leaving any type of reviews, so why should I pay to read on there?”

So: narrow or wide? It’s not a straightforward decision. By choosing to go narrow, you’re probably gaining some new readers, but you may be losing others.

I will leave you with this thought: Amazon wants you to go narrow, not only to freeze out the competition, but because they can pay you less per book than they’d have to if you went wide.

That’s enough to clinch the decision for me. Your mileage may vary.

 

The Demise of Truth

Photo by Danya Gutan from Pexels

I’ve been reading science fiction all my life, starting with the Mushroom Planet books when I was seven or eight, graduating to Heinlein and Asimov as a teenager, and branching out from there. Back in the eighties and nineties, I sampled a lot of cyberpunk: Pat Cadigan, Neal Stephenson, Bruce Sterling, William Gibson and their comrades. These authors imagined (or predicted?) many aspects of the modern Internet, decades in advance, and a startling number of their visions have become part of our everyday life.

A vast, worldwide, constantly accessible network of knowledge? These days, who could live without Wikipedia, Quora and YouTube? Voice queries, reminiscent of “2001: A Space Odyssey”? Siri and Alexa do quite a bit better than H.A.L. Instant notification about events? Telepresence? Synthetic on-line worlds where you can interact with avatars and artificial agents? Trends and fads that emerge, take control of the popular psyche then die off a matter of days? I first met all these ideas in science fiction stories.

There’s one aspect of today’s digital world, though, that no author whom I read predicted: the demise of truth.

You can find literally anything on the Internet – including completely contradictory sets of facts, multiple conflicting descriptions of events, alternative histories. It’s scary to realize that there is no such thing anymore as an authoritative source. We tend to believe and trust people who agree with us, but fundamentally that is just bias. Anyone who can tell a convincing story (and the Internet has nurtured and rewarded individuals who have this skill) can acquire a following of believers, no matter how absurd that story might appear to someone outside that circle. Some people are certain the moon landing in 1969 was a hoax – that the Holocaust never happened – that Elvis is still out there somewhere, shaking his hips and breaking hearts.

Ah, but there’s evidence,” you might say. “Photographs. Historical records. Documents that support some stories and debunk others. Data that can be consulted and analyzed in order to choose one interpretation over another.” Alas, that might have been true a decade or two ago, but the digitalization of our existence means that absolutely everything is mutable. Photographs can be doctored without leaving the slightest trace, or even generated de novo – not just by humans but by AI systems who’ve been fed millions of similar examples. Deep-fake video technology makes it possible to literally put words in someone’s mouth. Software bots can invade social networks to manipulate so-called “popular opinion”, influencing elections and changing history. (But in fact, there is no one “history”. Even before the Internet, every country, culture and group had its own historical narrative.)

Most information needed to keep the world running is currently stored in digital form, in databases of one form or another. That information is unbelievably vulnerable to corruption, both accidental and deliberate. Given today’s technology, it would not be that difficult to erase all primary records of the moon landing to support the hoax claim. One doesn’t have to be a tech wizard to fabricate a totally believable case for almost any wild theory. It’s happening all the time, right now – as you read this blog post.

Now, I remember that initial walk on the moon with great clarity. I was in my senior year in high school, an enthusiastic science geek as well as a reader of science fiction, and from my perspective, this was definitely our first step toward a bright future in an expanding universe. Time corrodes our memories, though. When I compare notes with my husband of forty years about some past event we both experienced, we often have wildly differing recollections. The older I get, the less certain I am that even my most cherished and vibrant memories are accurate.

As prescient as the authors of my youth turned out to be, I can’t recall any of them portraying a world where it was impossible to know what was true. Honestly, this wreaks havoc with almost any philosophical perspective.

As a researcher and computer professional, I’ve been aware of the malleability of truth for quite a while, but the COVID-19 epidemic has shown me just how impossible it has become to discern “the truth”. Every day we are bombarded with “scientific data” and presented with the conclusions of so-called experts. The same statistics will be interpreted in completely opposite directions, depending on the nationality, the politics or the predispositions of the person offering up conclusions. The average person has probably looked at more graphs over the past three months than in the previous two decades. Is he or she any closer to the truth about this crazy disease? What a ridiculous notion!

So where does that leave me – or us? How can we cope in an environment where we’re bombarded by information, any and all of which could be manufactured to serve someone’s agenda – or simply in error due to sloppy programming? Sounds pretty hopeless, doesn’t it?

Well, I have two answers. First of all, we can trust our direct experience, more at least than we can trust something we read on Facebook, USA Today, or The New York Times. Be observant; use your eyes and ears; keep an open mind. If someone claims that immigrants are criminal degenerates, think about the immigrants you know personally. (And if you don’t know any personally, perhaps you should seek some out.) If you read that anyone who likes to watch porn is psychologically diseased and incapable of having normal relationships – well, ask yourself whether the examples you have in your environment confirm this claim.

Second, we can educate ourselves about the fragility of truth in our digital world, be skeptical about every claim, and examine the mustered evidence as objectively as possible. I noted above that almost any sort of information can be faked, but consistency is still a reasonable criterion for evaluating a story. It’s possible to construct an intricate edifice of lies to support a false conclusion, but it’s difficult to make all the pieces fit together perfectly – at least right now.

There is one prediction that shows up a lot in eighties and nineties scifi that hasn’t yet come to fruition – the idea that neural stimulation could create artificial sensory experiences so vivid and convincing that you couldn’t tell the difference between a stim-dream and real life. There are advances in neuroscience that point in that direction, but we’re not there yet.

I rather hope we never get to that point. Already I lament the way how so many of our experiences have switched from direct to mediated. Why go out on a date when you can chat on Messenger? Why bother to travel when you can browse Instagram or binge on YouTube? Why have sex when you can sext?

As I see it, some things can be imitated, but not truly replaced. I cling to that life-preserver as I navigate the shifting seas of today’s digital existence.

Nerds Make the Best Lovers

The recent lockdown has given me the largely enjoyable opportunity to reflect on my personal erotic history. One thing I’ve realized is that almost all my relationships have involved people who might be labeled as “nerds”.

That term has been twisted a bit recently, so that it has come to suggest pimply incels who spend all their waking hours playing video games. When I use the label, I mean guys who are might not be conventionally attractive, but who have above average intelligence. Nerds may be shy, unfashionable, or socially awkward. They’re not usually extroverts. Typically, they’re not sports- or fitness-oriented, preferring to read or tinker or hack away at personal projects. They’re the exact opposite of the alpha males so common in erotica and erotic romance. But believe it or not, nerds make the best lovers.

Nerds are grateful. They’re as interested in sex as anyone (maybe more), but in many cases have had less success with women because of their less-than-stellar physical appearance or their geeky interests. So when they do get some nookie, they make the woman involved feel really appreciated. At least, that’s been my experience. A well-fucked nerd is a very happy and generous guy.

Nerds do their research. A nerd understands that research can sometimes be compensate for lack of experience. My nerdy lovers have often known far more about sexual technique than I did – simply because they’d made a serious study of it.

Nerds are creative. They’re adept at devising interesting and unexpected erotic scenarios. Some of them even invent devious sexual devices for pleasure or torment.

With nerds, you have something to talk about in the afterglow. Nobody can spend every waking hour having sex. (Not even me.) When your lover is a nerd, the non-sexual moments can be just as interesting as the erotic peaks. Since I’m something of a female nerd (if that’s a concept that makes sense), I’ve often enjoyed long philosophical and/or technical conversations with my geeky partners.

Nerds are kinky and experimental. Okay, that might not be true of all nerds, but based on my personal experience I’d say the kink quotient is a lot higher than for supposedly masterful alphas. I had one nerd lover who enjoyed dressing up as Dr. Frankenfurter, corset, garter belt, stilettos and all. That same guy took me downtown to some seedy adult theater, where we watched dirty movies and played around in one of the booths. Then of course, there was the man who initiated me into dominance and submission, an Uber-nerd if there ever was one, who had degrees in physics and philosophy and a substantial private collection of BDSM porn.

My husband probably qualifies as a nerd. Certainly he’s brilliant, creative and able to fix any sort of machinery. He also looks a bit like a short Scandinavian troll (especially when I met him, when his face was obscured by a bushy red beard). Yet as we got to know one another, he told me story after story (at my urging) of all the women he’d bedded. Guess they’d figured out they should look past the surface! Alas, my DH is not one of the kinky nerds – but otherwise he’s willing to try almost anything.

Needless to say, nerds figure prominently in a lot of my erotica. One of my favorites is Dr. Theo Moore in The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. A brilliant computer scientist and a closet Dom, Theo is the virgin of the title. When he meets the gazillionaire, Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky, he has a lot of theoretical knowledge about sex, but no personal experience. Of course, that’s soon remedied!

Dr. Theo Moore

My current work in progress features so many nerds I can’t keep track of them all. The Pornographer’s Apprentice introduces the Toy Makers Guild, a secret society of Victorian engineers who design and build outrageous sexual contraptions for the rich and powerful. Gillian Smith is one of the few female apprentices to have qualified for the Guild – based on her intellect, her electrical and mechanical engineering skills, and her insatiable libido.

Her experience agrees with mine. Her geeky colleagues are more that capable of satisfying her – both physically and intellectually!

So let other authors swoon over gruff hunks with tight butts and six-pack abs, or pent-house billionaires with designer shoes and perfect hair. I’ll take a nerd every time.

 

Pesky Participles

Editor's Corner banner

When I’m reading, editing or critiquing others’ work, improperly deployed participles are a pet peeve. I’m utterly incapable of ignoring them. Other readers notice comma confusions, tangled tenses, or missing modifiers. They might be especially sensitive to excessive alliteration. I can sail past a lot of nits without noticing, but an incorrectly constructed participle modifier will jump out at me like raincoat-clad pervert from behind a tree.

I know grammatical terms make a lot of people wince, so let me give you some examples from recent reads:

a) No longer aware of her physical surroundings, uncaring of the others watching them, he had become her world.

b) Nearly blinded, instinctively, Callie’s hand went for the gun in her purse.

c) Measuring the length of his dick still waiting to ravage her burning cunt, Nina’s eyes flew open.

Here are a few simpler, synthetic examples:

d) Panting with excitement, her heart pounded like a bass drum in her chest.

e) Entering the room unannounced, Joel’s attention flew to the naked woman sprawled on the couch.

f) Silenced by embarrassment, my cheeks flushed bright red.

I know some of you are probably thinking: What’s the problem? These are perfectly fine sentences. The meaning is crystal clear.

I beg to differ. The author’s intent is clear in most cases. However, if you apply the conventional rules of English to interpreting these sentences, you end up drawing some strange, even nonsensical conclusions. Silent cheeks? A blinded hand?

The complexities of English grammatical structures are the bane of many. There are dozens of different ways to express the same idea. A single sentence may consist of many clauses as well as modifying phrases.

In the face of this complexity, we fall back on the principle of proximity. When you have a modifier, that is, a phrase that describes some entity in the main clause of the sentence, we assume that the modifier is describing the subject of the main clause, which normally follows right after the modifier.

If the modifier is a participle (that is, a verb turned into an adjective by adding “ing” or “ed”), it is assumed that the implied subject of this verb is the subject of the following clause.

Here’s the crux of the issue in the ungrammatical sentences above. If we follow this convention in our interpretation, the results are silly or confusing.

In a), both the adjective (“no longer aware”) and participle (“uncaring”) modifiers clearly have a female subject. Yet the subject of the main clause is “he” – not the person who’s “uncaring”.

In b) the conventional rules would indicate that Callie’s hand was blinded.

Example c) is a bit more nuanced, since Nina’s eyes might well be what she used to estimate the length of her partner’s cock. More likely though, the true subject of “measuring” is Nina herself – not her eyes as suggested by the interpretation rules.

The three synthetic examples make the problem more obvious. In each case, the real subject is a person, while the implied subject is a part or aspect of the person.

Now at this point, you might be thinking: who cares?

Well, that’s your right. However, when I encounter this sort of ungrammatical construction, even in an otherwise well-written story, I cringe. Furthermore, my opinion of the author’s skill declines a bit. Perhaps that’s not fair, but I expect serious authors to be conscious of the rules of the language – implicitly if not explicitly.

Elitist? Maybe. However, I can’t help my reactions. I suspect I’m not the only reader who feels this way.

So – assuming you’re editing your tale, and notice one of these errors – what can you do about it?

There are three basic solutions:

1) Change the subject in the independent clause to match the modifier;

2) Expand the modifier into a clause that explicitly specifies a subject (which can then be different from the independent clause);

3) Make the modifying clause into a separate sentence.

Let’s look at example (b) and apply each of these solutions.

Solution 1: Nearly blinded, Callie instinctively reached for the gun in her purse.

Solution 2: As the flash nearly blinded her, Callie’s hand instinctively went for the gun in her purse.

Solution 3: The flash nearly blinded her. Instinctively, Callie’s hand went for the gun in her purse.

The best revision depends on stylistic concerns, as well as on the specific sentence. For example (a), I think the sentence should be split, since the subject of the modifiers and of the main clause are totally different.

She was no longer aware of her physical surroundings, uncaring of the others watching them. He had become her world.

In addition to fixing the grammar problem, this revision (I feel) increases the impact of the sentences.

Image by Jan Vašek from Pixabay

If you’re willing to admit that this sort of construction is a problem, how can you improve your ability to notice your own errors?

Alas, we’re all somewhat blind to our own faults. You can begin, though, by becoming more conscious of your choices when framing a sentence. Should you use a modifying phrase at the start of a sentence? A dependent clause? Would your ideas be better expressed by splitting the thought into two sentences?

Normally people use modifying phrases like this to convey a relationship. When you use a participle, you are implying a temporal relationship. A present participle (“ing”) indicates two concurrent actions. For instance, Joel noticed the naked woman on the couch at the same time as he entered the room. A past participle (“ed”, or “en” for some verbs) suggests sequential actions. A flash blinded Callie, then she instinctively reached for her gun.

Be sure that this implied temporal relationship makes sense, and is what you really want to convey.

You probably should not try to think about this sort of issue when you’re writing your first draft, or you’ll get bogged down. However sentence structure alternatives should be one of your considerations when you’re self-editing.

Of course, the best approach may be to have someone else read and critique your stories, helping to shine light on your blind spots. You can offer the same service to someone else, since their weaknesses are likely to differ from yours.

Luckily, you can do that easily at ERWA. Just sign up for the Storytime email list. Get sincere, balanced critiques from your colleagues. Share your own opinions and insights.

And get the chance to read some steamy and original erotica in the process!

Hot Chilli Erotica

Hot Chilli Erotica

Categories

Babysitting the Baumgartners - The Movie
From Adam & Eve - Based on the Book by New York Times Bestselling Authors Selena Kitt

Categories

Archives

Pin It on Pinterest