by Kathleen Bradean

In science news: subatomic particles have an odd habit of seeming to be in two places at once, or, disappearing then reappearing. A few scientists have guessed that this means there might be parallel universes that those particles travel through. Imagine finding a strange little kittenish thing and bending down to pet it, only to find that it’s the dangling lure attached to an angler fish the size of a garbage truck that we can’t see because it’s sitting in a fourth dimension that we can’t perceive.  Or, if you prefer, imagine the particles are Alice going through the Looking Glass, then popping back into the parlor nanoseconds later, only not in the exact same place she left it.

Writers and readers don’t need to be told that parallel worlds exist. The universe inside a story isn’t anything like this one. That scene where you stepped in gum and spent five minutes trying to get it off the sole of your shoe with flimsy napkins? Gone.

The tedium of traffic? That happened between scenes, as you magically time traveled to the next interesting thing.

Just a regular old day where nothing spectacular happened – good or bad – but filled with so much adulting that you surrendered to the couch, snacks, and mindless tv once you got home? Yeah.  Never happened. And yet, somehow, miraculously, there’s food in the fridge, gas in your car, clean clothes in your closet, and if there isn’t, it’s a plot device.

People might complain that it isn’t realistic to skip all the inbetween stuff, but real life can be so overwhelmingly dull that we try to escape it by… making up stories. Honor that by leaving out most of the moments that don’t move your story forward. A touch or two of real life in a tale is a good idea, but use it sparingly for greater effect.

As Lizabet touched on in her article on dialog, people don’t talk in logical, linear sentences. Their words wander all over the place, loop around, and waste a good deal of time. You don’t want to write dialog the way people actually speak but rather want to give the impression of reality. That’s true of all your story, from the meet to the seduction, through the sex, to the end. Get down to the essence of reality but treat it like a strong spice that can easily overpower everything. Give your readers a mirror to step through and a parallel universe that will leave them pleasantly mussed before they return to this one.

And whatever you do, don’t let them pet the quantum kitten.

by Kathleen Bradean

If you’re struggling with your writing, I feel ya. Family drama of ludicrous proportions has stolen my ability to write. (So much for the theory that one must suffer for art.)(Hey, that sounds like next month’s blog entry. Hmmm.) Finally, I was able to drag a first chapter out of myself, but it kicked and screamed the entire way, digging it’s claws into the ground. It’s a mess, but at this point I’ve decided to leave it be and circle back to it when the rest of the piece is done.

Which leads me to the second chapter. First chapters are difficult, but second chapters have challenges. If you’re writing multiple POVs, do you keep your reader in the same POV for one more chapter to acclimate them better to the world you’ve created for your characters, or do you switch to a “meanwhile, back at the ranch” scene? Do you stay with the same POV character or introduce new ones? I’ve read novels with both approaches. If I’m really invested in the first chapter, I get grumpy when I’m unceremoniously escorted out of a setting and given a bunch of yahoos to follow from then on.  I keep waiting for the writer to get back to the “real” story. Sometimes, they never do, and then I’m really angry. But should you care about reader expectations? Or should you just tell your story? That’s a decision that’s up to you. As a reader though, I’m asking you to give me something in the new setting or characters that’s as or even more compelling than your opening chapter so I lose that grumpy feeling quickly.

If you’re writing a linear story with a single POV, then your next move is to follow your character on their journey.   It sounds easy,  but even that presents a quandary. Do you help anchor your reader by starting them off in the setting you established in the first chapter, or do you heed the advice to start a scene in the middle of action and plunk your character into a new setting?

This is what I’m struggling with.  The first chapter was hard, and this second one isn’t coming any easier. While I suspect that much of my fretting has to do with many things other than the story I’m trying to write, it’s still effectively blocking me from moving on. I’m trying to convince myself that like the first chapter, I should simply throw whatever down to get on with it and take care of the mess when I’m done writing the first draft.

If chapter three is like this, I won’t give up, but maybe instead of not writing because I can’t seem to do it, maybe I’ll not write because I think it’s better to put it aside for a while.

Share your writer’s block woes with me. You’ll get tons of sympathy.

by Kathleen Bradean

The first few years I wrote erotica, I didn’t think much about the reader, but a conversation with another erotica writer changed that. I casually referred to my writing as Wank Fiction. She giggled and said, “No one would masturbate to your stories. They’re interesting, but not porny enough.”

I’m still not sure if that was an insult, or if it was a spot on description possibly meant as an insult. Or maybe she thought it was praise. I don’t think she meant it maliciously.

Since then, I’ve wondered what readers want from erotica. It seems obvious, but I’m not sure that it is. So much visual porn is available now that reading a whole story seems like the long way around to self-pleasure, although I’ve always suspected that women (especially those with kids) have long used romance novels, and now erotic romance, as a way to carve out some much needed personal time in a day crammed full of doing for others. Those long soaks in the bathtub weren’t because they needed to scrub away layers of dirt, but rather to get a little dirty.

But I also wonder if here in the US, if people don’t use erotica as sexual education. Our society simply can’t bring itself to give anyone good information. We don’t want to hear it, and we certainly don’t want our kids to know. Ignorance, we’ve decided, is the best defense.

That leaves us in a terrible quandary when we’re adults in sexual relationships though. What is normal? What’s healthy? What’s the difference between enthusiastic consent for a D/s relationship versus lifestyle abuse? When I used to go to writer’s conventions, I always got shunned for writing erotica. People would actually get up and go to another table when I told them. But later on, people would corner me and whisper about the most intimate parts of their lives, then look at me with a mixture of hope and worry as they almost always concluded with the question, “Is that okay?”

I never set out to be a sex therapist. I’m no expert in human sexuality. What’s more, just because I write about sex does not mean that I consented to hear about their sexual practices. However, if someone can’t bear to ask their doctor, or a real expert in human sexuality, or a therapist, if I’m the only person they will ever dare talk to, what does it hurt to comfort them by saying, “So many people ask me that same question, so you’re not the only one. As long as everyone involved is an adult, everyone happily consents, and you’re all treating each other with respect and practicing good safer sex, then you’re probably just a normal person and you’re good to go.”

Maybe that’s what readers want to hear from us. Not as direct of a comment as that, but through our stories.    

By Kathleen Bradean

The need to write seems to run strong in the Bradean gene pool. My father, grandmother, sister, daughter, and cousins have all tried their hand at it. Recently, one of my cousins saw a comment on FaceBook I’d made about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and was intrigued by the idea, but like many people, was hesitant to give it a try. My first thought is always, “What are you so afraid of?” But that’s an easy thing to say when you’re already published. I don’t want to be flippant about new writer’s fears, so if you’ve always wanted to write but haven’t worked up the courage to try it yet, I’m here to give you constructive advice. NaNoWriMo is over, so if that felt like too much pressure, you can now work at your own pace.

So… you have a story you want to write. Last month, I mentioned that the stories we tell ourselves are like dreams. They seem to make sense, but once exposed to the harsh light of day, we can realize how fuzzy our grasp of it is. Maybe you have a detailed vision of what you want to do. If so, that’s great and you can plunge right in, but if you don’t have it mapped out that well, you can still get started as long as you know the following things:

1) The central conflict of your story.
This conflict will be created by:

2) What your main character wants.
Does she just want to go home (Wizard of Oz) or is she seeking something? (Winter’s Bone)

3) What stands in their way of getting it?
Society, culture, parents, a corrupt system, her own self-delusion, a crazed duck who won’t let her near her car… And it helps to know:

4) The cost of failure/success.
These are the stakes, and they should get more intense as the story progresses. Life is hard, and we like to read about people becoming their better selves when tested. But feel free to show people
corrupted by their desires.  Sometimes we get what we want then find out it wasn’t worth it.  Pick your moral and run with it.

That’s the bare minimum. You could get started with just those points in mind, but it’s also important to know

5) Setting.

A character working at a high school has much different challenges to face than one working in a tattoo parlor, with different norms of behavior and rules to follow, not to mention working hours. Winter in Boston isn’t winter in Tallahassee. Mass transit in NYC and San Francisco are integrated well into the cities but don’t work the same way, and don’t even think of trying to get around in Los Angeles on the trains even though they exist. As Harold Hill’s nemesis says in The Music Man, “You got to know the territory!”

Of course you’re going to add much more as you write. I’m talking about the absolute least information you need to know about your story.My process, if you can even call it that, is that from nowhere, I’ll envision a snippet of a scene. Then I’ll go What was that? And replay it in my mind. Each time, I’ll push the timeline a little longer or try
to fill in more of the details. As I’m playing with it, I’m asking myself questions such as “Who the hell are these people and what are they doing?” If they’re working together, what are they working for. If they have a conflict, what is it about and why do each of them have a valid reason for their opinions? I’m noticing where they are. If they’re in a hut, is it because they were traveling and got caught in a storm so they took refuge there, or is that hut home? So what I’m doing is searching for the five information points I mentioned above. Other writers may feel differently. I’d love to hear their input.

by Kathleen Bradean

Since it’s November, the month of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I thought I’d check in to see how everyone is doing. Oh sure, you might not be an official NaNoer, but you might be working on  something anyway. Or you might not. Maybe words just aren’t flowing for you right now. They sure as heck aren’t for me. But I’m still cheerful and optimistic.

I know what you’re thinking. “How can this be?”

Here’s the thing. I don’t think it’s possible to fail at NaNoWriMo. (Or whatever your current WIP schedule is). Sure, you can miss the word count goal by a wide margin. You can get so far behind that you feel hopeless and quit. You can even finish writing 50,000 words two days before the end of the month but realize you just wrote a steaming pile of gobshit. (That last one would be my NaNoWriMo experience several years ago.)  But WHY are you feeling bad about that? You didn’t really fail. The only scenario listed above that’s actual failure is quitting and giving up forever, but you’re not going to do that. And you know why? Because you’re a writer and you can’t help yourself. You know you’re going to write again eventually. 

So what did you accomplish even if you’re on hiatus? Well, you learned that writing a novel is hard. That’s actually a good lesson. So many people talk about writing a novel but never write the first word. If you wrote something, anything, you’re ahead of many.

You learned that the story that you tell yourself in your head is like a dream – it seems to make sense but there’s a lot of fuzzy logic in there that doesn’t work in the harsh light of day. This is a good thing. So now you know you need to take some time away from tappa-tappa-tappa typing to think about the parts of your story that aren’t working. Firm them up a bit. Flesh them out.

Maybe you learned that you need to outline. Or you learned that writing an outline sucks all the fun out for you. Whichever one of those lessons you took away from the experience, both made you realize that every writer finds a method that works for them and whatever works is the “right way.”

Do you rewrite as you go? That’s the right way.

Do you leave the rewrite until after you’ve finished the first draft? That’s the right way too.

Did you have to step away? Damn right you’re going to take some time to let that story ripen before you hit the keyboard again. You’re going to think long and hard about what your characters would do next if they were real people in this situation. You’re going to make sure you understand them before you plunge ahead. Then when you go back to writing, you’re going to have them do that. Or you’re going to decide that plot is king and you’re going to force those stupid characters to do what the plot demands even if it’s like Cinderella’s step-sisters trying to cram their feet into that glass slipper.  

All of which is simply a way of saying that writing isn’t always adding to word count. If you’re thinking about your story, you’re writing. Maybe that doesn’t get you a little word count badge on November 30th, but it’s going to enrich those words when you finally do get them on the page. So be of good cheer, my dear lagging NaNoers. You can do this, in your own sweet time.

by Kathleen Bradean

I recently re-watched the movie Pal Joey, starring Frank Sinatra, Kim Novak, and Rita Hayworth in a love triangle. Kim loves Frank; Frank loves Kim; Frank loves Rita’s money; Rita loves Frank’s cock. Of course, they aren’t as obvious about that last one as the rest of it. They even cleaned up the lyrics of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered so audiences wouldn’t be scandalized by her remarks about his pants fitting his hot body so well. But the story makes it clear that once Frank fucks Rita, she’s willing to do anything for him.

The story goes like this: Frank comes to San Francisco and looks up an old acquaintance who  isn’t terribly thrilled to see him, because Frank is a jerk. After presuming his way into a job performing at the nightclub where this guy as the band leader, Frank starts hitting on the guy’s female friend, Kim, in this odd way where he treats her like shit. Girls dig that, don’t you know. He even takes a room in her boarding house so he can scam his way into her pants. The performers are hired to do a gig at Rita’s house as she’s raising funds for a children’s hospital. Frank recognizes her as a former stripper who married well, so, following his ‘chicks love to be treated like crap” routine, he announces to all her wealthy friends that she was a stripper and now she’ll perform the number that made her famous. She’s furious, but sings and dances, only she limits her stripping to tossing away a glove. Later, she humiliates him in retaliation, then he fucks her so well that she decides to help him open his dream night club – as long as he fires Kim. Instead of firing Kim, he tells her she’s going to do the strip number. Kim decides she’ll do what he asks because he obviously loves her and needs her to do it, but at the last second, Frank stops her. Rita gets pissed off and tells him the club won’t open. It ends with Frank and Kim walking away.  Really a shitty story. Why was Rita the villain? Frank was using her. He treated both her and Kim horribly. Rita was fine until he barged into her life and she was poorer in many ways for having met him. But she was the villain, because she was a woman who wanted, and enjoyed, sex.

That got me thinking about the politics of desire.

For the recent Disney movie Tangled, the writers created a whole new story rather than going with the original German folk tale. In this day and age, it was dismaying to see that they chose – once again – to make the villain an older woman who so fears aging that she’s willing to go to any length to retain her youth. (But I love Terry Gilliam’s vision of the price of that quest in his brilliant movie Brazil)  Why do writers reach for that plot device so often? Sure, it’s rife in fairy tales, and Countess Elizabeth Bathory provided a real-life example (if that wasn’t a political put-up job. I mean, the person writing the stories about her was in the employ of the King, who owed her so much money that he had reason to smear her then have her walled up in a tower as sort of a personal debt-forgiveness plan) but why use it nowadays? An equally powerful story – and one even kids would understand – was if the witch had kidnapped Rapunzel initially for ransom but had come to fear being left alone again so much that she decided to keep the princess as her daughter. Or maybe that’s too real-life scary for kids. How about she sold Rapunzel’s hair as a magical elixir and didn’t want to lose her source of income? That worked in Pinocchio.  There are a million different ways to handle it, none of which requires trotting out that old story that older women are the natural enemies of younger women, or that they’re pathetic, evil, and devious.

Why would a woman want to look younger? And why would she seek to destroy younger women? In stories it’s usually because of lovers – although that makes no sense in Tangled because the two women live alone in an isolated tower, but whatever. Older women are portrayed as predatory hunters of men, but ones who can’t compete with the natural purity of younger woman. Their desire is shown as a warped thing. Is that because women who act on their desires have agency? Is this the real crime here?

Desire is the driving force in erotica. Most non-readers don’t get this, but erotica generally celebrates women for expressing and acting on their desires. It’s such a healthy mindset, and a real boon to our readers who get such negative messages from the rest of the world about their sexuality. Thankfully, our genre also seems more age-positive than many other genres. If there’s an older woman and an ingenue in an erotic story, they’re much more likely to run off together than make fools of themselves over a guy.

Erotica – it’s more subversive than you thought, and not just because it graphically portrays sex. No wonder Amazon and their ilk keeps trying to hide it from everyone! It’s a political move as much as a religious one. No one in charge wants a bunch of confident women feeling as if they can take on the world and win. Because they will. So carry on, you radical writers. We’ll find our readers, and our readers will find us. Desire is one of the most powerful drives in the universe. Let’s embolden our readers to follow theirs.

by Kathleen Bradean

While I agree with Remittance Girl’s assessment of the state of erotica, I also wonder at times if there ever existed such a genre as literary erotica. There were exceptional works: The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Little Birds, Story of the Eye. But was it really a genre? Have we been forever looking back to a golden age that never existed, and did we do that while we were in our own golden age for erotica?

Must over those questions if you wish, but what I’m more interested in is the future. If erotica – literary erotica – is forever changed and not in ways that we like as writers, what the hell are we supposed to do? The publishing world is in a constant state of upheaval. Most of the publishers who put out literary erotica aren’t supporting it anymore. So many annual anthologies are falling by the wayside.

Under a different pen name, I write a series of science fiction thrillers. I’ve kept it rather clean since my father, kids, nieces and nephews read them, but I feel constrained. There are scenes I imagine going much further. It feels dishonest to fade to black when I could so easily scorch the pages instead. I’ve even thought about doing fanfic of my own work and writing those scenes to purge them from my imagination. I’m sure some of my fans wouldn’t mind reading those scenes.

But what about other writers who don’t have an alternate outlet? Or what if writing fanfic of my own work isn’t in the cards for me? Things look bleak.

I’m tired of bleak. It isn’t a good look on me. So here’s what I plan to do:

Many of you know that I’ve long wondered if erotica is really a genre. Sometimes it fits into other genres, but generally it’s literary fiction. Meaning that it’s written in the genre style of literary fiction. (As opposed to the genre style of romance, which is the style erotic romance is written in). So I’m going to (after I write the next two books in my scifi series) write a story. A literary novel. It is not going to be a series of sex scenes loosely tied together by a story. But unlike my scifi novels, it will not fade to black when and if my characters have a sexual moment. It will probably use sex and sexuality to explore my characters. Most of all, it will be decadent with desire and sensuality. It will be lush. It may never be published. I’m fine with that. Really, at this point, I’m only writing erotica for myself.  

by Kathleen Bradean

There seems to be two types of erotica (actually many more than that, but let’s pretend the world is simplistic). There’s the sort that’s about sex. Then there’s the kind of story that’s about something else but that something else is revealed through sex.

I have nothing against stories that are just about sex. There’s something rare about that honesty. But I’m thinking lately a lot about the other kind because that’s what I tend to write. Often times, especially when the sex is BDSM, the story is about an inner journey, which when you think about it is empowering and positive for the reader.Sometimes the story is about revenge, which can be fun to read. it’s two self-indulgent fantasies wrapped into one.
 
Less often, I see stories about alienation, guilt, or depression. In the hands of a skilled writer, those emotions can lead to shattering works. I’d like to see more of them.

The one emotion I can’t recall ever seeing is anger. More specifically, female anger. In her novella Beautiful Losers, Remittance Girl touches on it, but it’s coupled with shame. I fully understand why. That’s the way women are socialized to experience it. We get angry then immediately try to deny it and turn it against ourselves. I don’t see female rage expressed in non-erotic works either, unless it’s an extremely negative portrayal of a woman being unreasonably bitchy just for the hell of it  Or because she’s mentally unstable  due to hormones. It’s always an insulting portrayal.

Why is that? Can’t we ever just be angry because the situation is enough to make any reasonable person mad? And can women ever express anger without it being a negative portrayal? What is this huge taboo against female anger?

I don’t know. I wish I had answers. Have you ever written a story where a female character had every right to be angry and she expressed it in a healthy, mature manner that didn’t make the reader think she was in the wrong for feeling that emotion?  

by Kathleen Bradean

There’s no such thing as writer’s block. That was invented by people in California who couldn’t write.
– Terry Pratchett

I always say, if you can’t think of anything to write, go meta and talk about not being able to write. Okay, I never say that. But I am having a difficult time writing at the moment, and I’m in California, so here I am evoking writer’s block as a topic.

According to legend, the lyricist for the 70s band Chicago was up all night trying to write a song. He looked across the room at the clock and saw that it was about 25 or 26 until 4 in the morning. I’ve heard that song maybe a hundred times but didn’t realize it was about writer’s block until recently. I still don’t like the song much, but at least now it makes sense.

I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something you can be judged.
– Erica Jong

I’ve been trying to write the next novel in my series. The first scene has defeated me. Maybe I expect too much from it for a first draft even though I know better. I asked other writers how they get past this sort of opening scene paralysis. Some said they skip writing the first scene or chapter until the rest of the novel is finished. This makes sense, because by then a writer should understand the bigger theme of their work, the tone, etc and how best to bring the reader to that. Others say they just write anything, knowing that they’ll throw it out later. 

My own experience is that once a story has been written, one has to cross out the beginning and the end. It is there that we authors do most of our lying.
– Anton Chekhov

Another writer confided that many of her writer friends can not get past their first chapters. Ever. The pursuit of perfection kills their creativity. I’m not trying to be perfect. All I want is to know I’ve got it mostly right.

 The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.
– William Faulkner

I’m a terribly inefficient writer. I’ve mentioned this before. I write to find the story and toss out the thousands of words it took to get there. I’m like Thelma from Scooby Doo, touching everything in search of my glasses. The difference is that she knows when she can see. I have sight, but have no confidence that I can create my vision. The first scene poses a question. The rest of the story answers that question. How can you even begin to ask when you’ve lost your voice?

From Kathy’s Song by Simon and Garfunkel
….and a song I was writing is left undone/ I don’t know why I spend my time/ writing songs I can’t believe/ with words that tear and strain to rhyme 





How do you get past writer’s block? Do you believe it’s real?

by Kathleen Bradean

Like Donna, I had a topic in mind this month, but after I read Garce’s entry on dialog a week ago, I was inspired to switch too.

During my morning commute, I’ve been listening to old radio programs from the late 40s and early 50s such as Suspense, The Shadow, Gunsmoke,  The Falcon and Johnny Dollar. I’ve also listened to broadcasts of movie scripts such as Treasure of the Sierra Madre that were edited for radio and performed by the motion picture casts. No matter what genre it is, each of these programs are masterpieces of tight writing. Every line establishes or reinforces character and moves the plot along. With only the help of a foley artist and actors, the illusion of action is created. It’s really quite miraculous and wonderful.

On the other hand, in a novel or short story, you can’t get away with some of the crutches you can in a play, tv, or a movie.

For example, it’s considered bad writing to have an “As you know, Jim” passage where a character explains something to another character for the benefit of the reader rather than for the other character.  

“As you know, Jim, you were my college roommate. After graduation, we went to work together here. We were the best of friends. Then I dated your sister and after not-fully-explained-bad-event-in-the-past-that-caused-your-sister-to-take-up-with-a-yak-herding-cult there was a big rift in our relationship but we’ve got to put that behind us right now because the fate of the entire planet hangs in the balance!”

But that sort of dialog is often in plays and movies. While I grit my teeth at it, I’m sure most people in the audience don’t realize how ridiculous it is for, say, a CSI tech to explain to another CSI tech why they’re lifting latent prints off an item found at a crime scene.

That’s not the only way prose writers are more constrained by  the form they work in.

While His Girl Friday is an amazing movie, writing overlapping dialog in a short story rarely works well. (I tried to write an example. It sucked. If you don’t want to take my word for how difficult it is, watch His Girl Friday or any other Howard Hawks movie then try to recreate one of the more manic scenes on paper and see how far you get.)

Dialog in prose has the disadvantage of not being spoken. (Although I strongly suggest reading all your work, not just dialog, out loud before you submit it anywhere.)  Tone and meaning have to be conveyed through the reader’s imagination rather than benefiting from the skills of an actor to bring out that meaning for the audience.

Dialog is a strange form of art. The writer isn’t trying to replicate the way real people talk, Real people take too long to get to the damn point, say um a lot, and spend far too much time talking about things that aren’t the exciting plot points of their lives. So what we’re aiming for is a completely artificial construct that serves the story but is worded in such a way that the reader could imagine a real person saying it. No. They have to be able to hear it in their imagination in that character’s voice and it has to ring true or your readers are going to roll their eyes.

No pressure.

If you can, try to listen to a few old radio broadcasts and pay attention to what those writers were able to do with dialog, a foley artist, and maybe and organ riff or two. It’s not the same as writing prose, but it will give you new respect for the power of dialog.