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Author Branding (Part One)


 By Ashley Lister

 One of the key ways to assure author success is to undertake appropriate author branding. Obviously, success will mean something different for each of us: one person might consider success to be reaching the top of a bestseller list, whilst another person might consider it a success to have emotionally connected with a single reader. (I appreciate this is bullshit, and that we all want the bestseller list, but I have to pay lip service to the idea that we write for reasons other than money, so let’s pretend it’s to make an emotional connection).

Author branding is a term that’s often bandied around but it’s hard to identify its purpose because the branding can be seen to be fairly pointless. Having a website that depends on a particular colour scheme; using a particular font for text; working with a specific style for image: can all contain powerful semiotic suggestions. But is this going to make any impression on readers?

The short answer is YES. If an author goes to the trouble of presenting themselves with the identity of a professional brand, readers begin to respect the authority of that author. Readers come to associate certain features with the pleasure they’ve previously had from that author.

In the first instance, a brand can work as shorthand to capture consumer interest. Consider the images we associate with names such Starbucks, Mercedes-Benz or Amazon. With each of these three examples, we see an image and immediately understand the nature of the company responsible. We associate Starbucks with professional quality coffee. We associate Mercedes-Benz with high quality automotive engineering. And we associate Amazon with an inexhaustible range of services and goods (including books) that are available through very swift delivery.

It goes without saying that each of these three companies has invested a lot of time and money in their branding. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a costly process for those of us with time, imagination and determination. (I appreciate that sounds like shorthand for being cheap, but that’s only because I am trying to be cheap here).

Over the next few months I hope to go through some of the key points of author branding but I want to start with the most important question: who is your ideal author?

My initial answer to this question was a snort of disdain and the observation that my books were available for everyone. Why would I limit myself to an ideal reader when I really want every reader in the world to pick up one of my books?

The reality is, if you have a better idea of your ideal reader, you can better target such ideal readers and make successful sales. To illustrate this point, here at ERWA, authors are writing for an audience who enjoy explicit sexual content. This means your readership are going to be adults with an interest in descriptions of the erotic.

You can narrow the audience further by deciding if you’re writing for a predominantly male or female audience. The general guideline is, if your writing focuses on the emotional connection or a sexual liaison, you’re more likely to be writing for women. If your writing focuses on the physical description of that sexual liaison, you’re more likely to be writing for men. This is an egregious oversimplification and it’s not intended to describe women as more emotional and men as more physical: it’s simply a way to identify your typical reader so you can better market your work to an appropriate audience.

To narrow the audience further, look at the age range of your central characters and realise that readers like to read about characters of a similar age to themselves. This is not a rule that’s set in stone. I read the Harry Potter stories when I was in my forties (and that’s a book about a teenager) and, when I was in my twenties, I read Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire series (and those vampires are hundreds of years old). But, generally, we like to read stories that describe characters with whom we can identify and age is a significant factor.

Personal attributes are also worth considering when we’re looking at audience. If you’re writing about characters of a specific sexual orientation, or those with a specific fetish, those people are likely to be part of your audience. Who likes to read about spanking? People in relationships where spanking occurs.

There are other ways to identify an ideal reader but it does help to know who you’re writing for before you begin branding. Next month I’m hoping to write about developing a brand voice.

An Apology for Fanfiction

Some of my favorite authors have or are currently writing fanfiction (https://lplks.org/blogs/post/21-published-authors-who-write-fanfiction/). This medium brought me back into writing, and I believe it deserves more recognition. 

As we wrap up Pride Month, it feels appropriate to start with the fact that fanfiction is traditionally written by marginalized groups who don’t see themselves in the mainstream media. It can be an outlet for representation in race, gender, and sexuality. Writers can insert themselves, the reader, and/or experiment with non-traditional perspectives.

Mainstream media has begun to catch up to having diversity in their stories that so many people crave and find in fanfiction. It makes me wonder if fanfiction will ever receive a better reputation, or if it will just be forgotten that they did it first. 

Having a diverse pool of authors also creates differing perspectives on story structure and plot. I have long contemplated what stories would look like if their climaxes were more like a woman chaining one orgasm after another. So much of fanfiction is arcs full of lovely moments “not essential” to the plot. These are scenes most creative writing teachers would tell you to cut and an editor would cull. But to me, that is like claiming four play and after care aren’t necessary components of sex because it isn’t required for ejaculation. 

Speaking of, fanfiction is known for its prolific amount of sexual content. Some erotic writers find this obnoxious competition since it is free. To me, I find it is a useful tool for finding the pulse on popular kinks and desires. Popular culture doesn’t need to be snubbed as a fad. Some of these “fads” last decades, because there is a truth in those stories that speak to people across generations. Erotic content is not exempt from this fact. Just look at the popularity of vampiric temptation from Dracula or Carmilla to “Interview with a Vampire” or even “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” There is a Master/Slave component, a submission to darkness. It’s relatable to wish a release from the day-to-day grind and give yourself over to the thirst of another.

Image by Junnifer Baya from Pixabay

 

If they want it in fanfiction, they’ll want it in other mediums as well. People don’t just read fanfiction because it’s free. They read it because sometimes its the only place you can get the creativity missing in corporate Hollywood or Amazon filters.

Ultimately, fanfiction is fun. It is writing for the sake of writing. It is the free and full of enjoyment in a world you want to spend more time in. And it is not just practice. I have read stories in alternate universes of the video game “Undertale” that have made me cry, laugh, and become completely absorbed. I have seen fanfiction of fanfiction. Inspiration inspires others. It builds communities of writers, artists, voice actors, and more. It can lead to original content creation, but it doesn’t have to.

Fanfiction is a celebration of the journey. It can connect writers and their readers in a shared joy of content. It can build a base, but it can also just be there to make you feel a little less lonely in a world that can sometimes be extremely isolating. 

Sex vs. the State of the World

I had several ideas for a blog post this month, but too many other events and news items have distracted my attention. When this happens, I ask myself how much of what passes through my stream of consciousness has to do with sex. The answer that comes to me is: everything! We all crave pleasure, but there are obstacles in the way.

I recently watched a documentary on the revival of Druidry in Britain. A ceremony to welcome the sun at Midsummer at Stonehenge was shown. A mature-looking man in a white robe held a branch of mistletoe aloft, and described it as the healing semen of the gods which never touches the ground in its natural state. Each person in the circle got a small piece of the branch, then they all cheered the sunrise and danced in a circle. At Midwinter, of course, mistletoe is supposed to encourage kissing.

My earliest ideas for erotic stories were fantasies about sex as a religious ritual, even though I couldn’t seriously imagine such a thing happening in the real world. Like most other people raised in the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam), I was brought up to think of sex as a necessary evil that needed to be contained. Even though my parents had a liberal approach to Christianity when I was growing up, and my father declared himself an agnostic later on, their warnings to me about sex were probably similar to the sermons they got from their more orthodox Protestant parents: sex is for making babies, and if I ever “let” anyone have carnal knowledge of me outside the bounds of heterosexual monogamy, I would “pay the price.”

In spite of all that, a spiritual connection with the forces of nature seems sexual by definition.

The Midsummer ritual I watched looked like a welcome change from a torrent of bad news: the discovery of hundreds of unmarked graves on the sites of residential schools for Indigenous children in Canada. Most of the people I know have decided not to celebrate Canada Day (July 1) because of the policies enforced by the Christian churches that ran these schools, and the federal Canadian government that funded them and forced children into them from the time Canada became a nation in 1867 to much later. The last residential school near me closed in 1996. The official rationale for these places was to “civilize” Indigenous children by teaching them Christian values and useful skills, but the high death rate in them was a clue to their real purpose: genocide.

While ground-penetrating radar is revealing an ever-growing number of small bodies whose families (in most cases) were never told what had happened to them, Britney Spears is fighting in court to regain the rights of an adult. Her apparent “breakdown” thirteen years ago served as a reason for her father to claim legal control of his adult daughter, supposedly for her own good, and to control her income. Like others in the “Free Britney” movement, I find it mind-boggling that she is able to maintain a gruelling schedule as an entertainer, but is officially considered incompetent to handle her own affairs.

Please note that I’m not equating the legal control of one person with a national policy that resulted in mass deaths, but there are some connecting threads. A traditional belief that certain people are too wild or irrational to make their own choices has been applied to people who are not white, not male, or not thought of as adult. (And on this note, I’ve blogged here and elsewhere about the flexible boundaries of “childhood,” depending on who is defining this state and for what purpose.)

To avoid sinking into a hell-pit of despair, I visualize the flow of sexual energy as something that can never be destroyed as long as human beings are still living on the earth, which still nourishes us. Those of us who write sexual fantasies can keep reminding ourselves and each other that pleasure is our birthright, and it doesn’t belong only to a privileged few.

Taking a break from social media and spending time outdoors is a good way to rekindle hope for a better future. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, this is the season for it. Happy summer to everyone living north of the equator, and may the Antipodeans find comfort in winter.

Awkward Conversations are Life

The first story I ever self-published, Carnal Theory, began as a comedic scenario where a woman, bluntly and in great detail, informs her lover that he is terrible in bed. That was it. That was all I had. I didn’t even have character names yet. I just loved the idea of a woman tearing down a man, not maliciously, but as a genuine attempt to tell him he sucked between the sheets (and not in a good way).

Slowly, and in fits and starts, details came to me, but so did many questions. Who was the woman? Who was the man? Could there be anything behind the comedy? And more importantly…could I build an entire story around awkward conversations?

It took time, which is a statement I think any writer will understand. But soon enough, the woman became Dr. Elizabeth Spencer, a brilliant behavioral researcher who’d spent years being disappointed by her lovers, until she encountered the one man who flummoxed her enough to make her fall in love.

Self-publishing was a long and arduous process, (I have all the computer savvy of a brazil nut) but in the end, it was one of my greatest achievements. I felt extremely proud, despite the fact that the story did not make a great splash. But the most interesting thing is what it taught me about awkward conversations.

For all the comedy and sex and heat, (of which there is a lot) I learned that awkward conversations are life in a way.

Think about it. What do you like? What makes you feel beautiful? What makes you feel safe? How do you like to be fucked?

Writing Carnal Theory taught me that whether you want it all the time, or never (yes, asexuality is a thing, fight me) awkward conversations about sex are going to come up at some point. We are human. We bang. It happens. But having awkward conversations is what leads us to discovering not only more about ourselves but what we can expect of other people.

I’m a mild-mannered office manager who loves to leave the windows open while we fuck.

I’m a tall, strapping man who loves to have his ass slapped while he is bent over a desk.

I’m a beautiful, self-contained woman and you know what? Sex really isn’t my thing. I just want to hold your hand. I hope that is enough.

Awkward conversations are awkward for a reason. They leave us vulnerable to another person. They make us turn red in the face. But the alternative is a kind of hell in its own right.

Now, I am by no means an expert at this. I have stuttered and ‘ummmed’ my way through several awkward conversations and I’m not going to lie and say that things always got better afterwards. All I’m saying is that the topic of spanking is unlikely to come up naturally around the dinner table and waiting around, hoping that one day your lover will just ‘get it,’ is akin to a cold day in Hell.

Talking hurts. Talking is scary. Sometimes, talking fucks things up.

But um…in the end…we um…I mean you and I should…you know, if you’re up for it…um…I think we should, um…talk?

Insta-Culture and the Demise of Desire

Image by lounis production from Pixabay

You’re probably familiar with the old joke about humor in the penitentiary. The convicts are taking their daily exercise in the prison yard under the watchful eye of the warden, when someone shouts out “Twenty two”. Everyone convulses with laughter. A few minutes later, another guy calls “Sixteen”. More hilarity ensues. Someone else counters with “Thirty seven”. Guffaws and catcalls ring out through the yard.

The punch line doesn’t matter. The point is that everyone is so familiar with all the funny stories, it’s not even necessary to spell them out anymore. Just the number, the label, is enough.

Erotica these days reminds me of that joke. Cuckold. Hot-wife. M-preg. MILF. First-timers. Hu-cow. Futa. Swinging. Femdom. Reverse harem. Billionaire. Breeding. Wolf-shifter. Bear-shifter. Polar-bear shifter. (Just saw one of those today…) Everything’s explicitly labeled. Titles leave nothing to the imagination, and just in case there’s some ambiguity about exactly the box in which a book belongs, there’s the always the subtitle to make things crystal clear.

Tell me the label, and I can predict what you’ll find in the story. Indeed, that’s the purpose of all these kink and genre categories. Given that thousands of erotica titles are published daily, people want a fast way to find the reads that will push their particular buttons. In today’s world of instant communication and information overload, it seems that readers don’t have the time or the patience to browse or to experiment. They think they already know what they want. Labels and keywords are intended to make sure they get it. In fact I know from painful personal experience that if a book doesn’t fulfill the expectations associated with its labels, readers will voice their displeasure.

Erotica has become predictable, compartmentalized and homogenized. Today’s insta-culture tags on-line stories with phrases like “10 minute read”, as well as the inevitable keywords. Erotica is something to consume, like gossip or popcorn. (See my post last month about serialized fiction for more about this.) And orgasms are absolutely required. A story in which the characters have some sexual interactions but don’t climax violates the requirements of today’s readers.

Most erotica I encounter now barely revs my engines. It’s too obvious, too stereotyped, too manufactured. I like my sex veiled in a bit of mystery. I appreciate a tale that keeps me in suspense. The build-up of erotic tension can be as pleasurable as its release, and an unexpected twist can be deeply satisfying, even when that tension is unresolved by orgasm.

When I started writing and publishing erotica, more than twenty years ago, things were very different. Variety was given far more emphasis. A single erotic novel could include all sorts of sexual scenarios: ménage, BDSM, exhibitionism, cross-dressing, same-sex interactions, toys and taboos. You couldn’t sum it up in a couple of keywords. Cleis published themed anthologies, but within the flexible boundaries of the theme, the challenge was to write the most original, surprising and arousing tale one could manage.

If you’d like a glimpse of the amazing richness available in erotica ten to fifteen years ago, grab one of the volumes from Maxim Jakubowski’s Mammoth Book of Best Erotica series. Or take a look at Cream (https://www.amazon.com/Cream-Erotica-Readers-Writers-Association/dp/1560259256), the anthology of ERWA authors I edited in 2006. (The reviews of this book on Amazon show a lot of disparity; the more recent the review, the lower the rating!) Or if you’re looking for arousing novels, consider K.D. Grace’s The Initiation of Ms Holly (2011) or Portia da Costa’s Gemini Heat (1995/2008).

It seems that thematic complexity, narrative sophistication and sexual creativity have gone out of style. I mourn their loss. I miss the stories that inspired me to tell my own, full of yearning, dripping with desire.

At the same time, I try to adapt to the current market of meticulously enumerated genres and key phrases. Every book I’ve published recently has a sub-title. What else can I do, if I want anyone to read my lascivious imaginings?

I’m not very good at it, though. I keep wanting to tear down the walls, shatter the boxes, break the rules. I long for the sensuousness and subtlety of two decades ago. Which is probably why my stories don’t sell nearly as well as Hot Erotica Short Stories – 32 Explicit and Forbidden Erotic Taboo Hot Sex Stories Naughty Adult Women: Filthy Milfs, First Time Lesbian, Dirty Talking Position for Couples, Horny Bisexual Threesomes (Amazon rank 11 in erotica anthologies today) or Erotic Sex-Story: Daddy Dom, Menage Explicit Adult Couple: Wife Ganged Bi-Strangers Hard Husband Forced Watching Gay (Amazon rank 237 in bisexual erotica) or our own Larry Archer’s House Party 4: Swingers Swap More Than Their Partners at Hot Erotica Sex Parties with cuckolds and Hotwives.

No surprises here. But I guess that’s what today’s readers want.

The Soundtrack To Your Life

I’ve heard the term “facing the music” for years and never gave it much thought. My research revealed that it means “To accept the unpleasant consequences of one’s actions.” The phrase has been used by writers to the point where it’s become a cliché. Irving Berlin even wrote a popular song called “Let’s Face the Music and Dance.” Why he thought dancing was the best way to atone for your sins is a mystery to me, but Fred Astaire choreographed it beautifully in a movie.

It is thought to have originated in mid-19th century America, and came from the tradition of a soldier being “drummed out” of their regiment. Another popular theory refers to actors taking the stage facing the orchestra pit (i.e. facing the music). Still another theory claims roots in British culture, where common peasants had to sit in the west end of a church, facing the higher status folks in the east wing when singing hymns.

I have long been influenced by music in all phases of life. I studied it in college, taught it for a few years, and even had a brief professional fling as a jazz trumpet player and singer. When I hear a particular song, it often brings back a memory. Some are good, some not so pleasant, but they comprise the soundtrack to my life.

When I hear Sinatra lament “I’m a Fool to Want You,” I find myself remembering someone from the past. Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” will forever be associated with a sensuous turn on the dance floor many years ago. I’ve never been one who laid claim to a melody and claimed it as “our song,” but I used to joke that Marvin Hamlisch had me in mind when he wrote the James Bond tune “Nobody Does it Better.”

I’ve brought this love of music into my writing by working it into a scene to enhance the atmosphere. You will often read references to some of the piano jazz masters in the Nick Seven series, and the reason is simple. I like that kind of music, therefore my leading character does, too. I’ve dropped in little bits like “Nick scrolled through pages on the computer while the soothing sounds of Oscar Peterson’s piano jazz played in the background.” In my mystery “The Other Woman,” the action takes place around Christmas, so naturally I had to include holiday music to set the mood.

I actually did use the song-as-a-memory thing in one of the Nick Seven spy thrillers. He requests a certain song to be played by the jazz trio at his club, and when Felicia asks him why he chose it, he reminds her that it was being played the first time they went on a date several years earlier. It forged a prominent place in his memory, and was forever associated with that special night. Yes, I know that’s straight out of “Casablanca,” but at least he didn’t request “As Time Goes By.”

I’ve also used my knowledge of the music business as fictional fodder. One of my recent thrillers, “The Neon Jungle,” tackles the dark underside of the entertainment industry in Miami. The person Nick Seven is helping is a popular local musician trying to get out from under the control of a supposedly legit music mogul who is using his business as a cover for criminal activity. Do these things actually happen? Maybe, maybe not. Is any of it based on my personal observations and experiences? I’ll rely on the disclaimer at the front of the book.

This story gave me the chance to include song references within the plot, and some of them were used to enhance the action. A character longing for the gal that got away? I trotted out the ballad “Here’s That Rainy Day” to emphasize what he was feeling. When it was time for the happy-for-now ending, “Never Gonna Let You Go” is featured. When I was writing the action sequences, I loaded the stereo with CDs by Buddy Rich and Henry Mancini to help me set the mood and pace. If only I could transfer those tracks to the book.

Times and tastes change with each generation. There’s a scene in the comedy “10,” where Dudley Moore played a successful middle-aged songwriter lusting after a much younger Bo Derek. At one point, he’s lamenting to a bartender about changing musical tastes. He says “One day, a couple will be listening to a band and the woman will say ‘Honey, they’re playing our song!’ And the band will be playing ‘Why Don’t We Do It in the Road’.”

We’ll always have Bogart, Bergman and Paris.

Measuring Success

 By Ashley Lister


 They say that those who fail to plan, plan to fail. Although this is one of those trite truisms that are usually thrown at us by a disgruntled boss after we’ve committed a major workplace SNAFU, I have to agree that there is some weight to this claim.

I’m a great advocate of planning. I spend an hour at the gym each morning, listening to an audiobook that I’d selected the previous evening. Once I’m back at home I grab a shower, feed the dogs, and then try to get a thousand words down on the latest WIP.

I came across a great planning tip the other week from an author who types notes into a blank Word document and uses those notes as chapter outlines to guide where his novel is going to go. I’ve been writing for decades and never come across such a good idea before. Usually I have notepads on my desk and sticky-notes covering every surface. This method means I simply sit in front of the PC, open the WIP document, and I can tell what needs to be written.

A couple of hours of writing usually allows me to hit my target and maybe get a little ahead of myself.

That means I can then take the dogs for a walk (ideally on the cliffs by the seaside) before returning to the office to work on other things. If I’m not working on the 9-5, I’ll spend some time looking at my social media presence. I try to maintain a presence on FaceBook and Twitter, dipping my toes occasionally into the waters of Instagram when I’m feeling young and trendy. The young and trendy feelings aren’t as predominant as they once were. I made the mistake of visiting TikTok recently and that made me realise I’m a veritable dinosaur.

The social media planning all ties in with product branding and is scheduled to reach my audience at optimum times throughout the week. This isn’t about selling my books to an audience. This is all about engaging with readers on a social level.

I’ve got index cards on my desk that remind me what sort of social media engagement I’m using on different days of the week. At the moment I try to keep closed questions to Monday and Thursday (Tea or Coffee? Beer or Wine?) Tuesdays and Fridays are there for open questions (Best novel ever? Favourite James Bond?). Note that these questions don’t particularly relate to my genre. And not all of the questions will relate to every reader. But the social media engagement is allowing me an opportunity to chat with people who read my books and develop a strong relationship with my readers as we discuss things other than the fiction I’ve created.

Later in the afternoon I’ll find time to organise blog content which, again, is to be scheduled for consumption throughout the week. As before, the important thing here is to keep the image branded so that everything conveys a uniform feel of cohesion. At the moment, because I’m writing in a horror genre that deals with blood and ghosts, I’m trying to keep images colour-coded to a gradient between blue and red.

On an evening I might look at promotional materials or marketing strategies. Building media kits is never an easy task. Recording audiobooks can take time. And reaching out to reviewers and different markets involves research and specialist knowledge that costs a substantial investment of time and effort. However, it’s all allowing me to create the stories I want to write, for an audience who appreciate what I’m creating.

Does this mean I’m living the authorly life of my dreams? Of course not. Does this mean I’m trying to humble brag about all the great things I’m doing and achieving. Not really: we all use different scales to measure success. I’m just trying to point out that a handful of organisational strategies have helped me to forge some semblance of order from the chaos that is a writer’s life. If there’s anything you use to help focus your creativity, I’d love to hear about it in the comments box below. 

Creating a Monster Lover

Teratophilia, exophilia, monster-fucking erotica goes by many names these days. Some people stick with the traditional monsters, like vampires and werewolves. Those lovers have long traditions in fiction with an established lore of their strengths, weaknesses, and love-making. (And who doesn’t indulge in a little blood-swapping romance of lustful destiny? Or relish a primal, knotted, mating session in the woods?)

Other writers, like myself, find creative freedom in tackling to the ground (or soaring in the sky) with some of the less conventional creatures, elementals, and ethereals. Monster erotica with lesser known species can be intimidating, but also fun. It’s a world-building exercise with anatomy, kinks, and pleasure. The limit is your own imagination, and the guidelines, I believe, can be found by observing nature.

“Human subtlety will never devise an invention more beautiful, more simple or more direct than does nature, because in her inventions nothing is lacking, and nothing is superfluous.” – Leonardo da Vinci

It is through observation that we can form erotic monsters that include just enough  realism to pull in the reader. 

Consider a fire elemental, who takes on a humanoid shape in order to fit in, controlling the temperature of their body so as not to be overly destructive. Scientifically, the hottest flames burn in bluish hues while cooler flames are reddish orange. What if this monster changed color with their emotions? They try to remain in a controlled burn, but might blush in blue. Or maybe they try to hide the sudden discoloration below their midsection when you arrive wearing something sexy? 

Flame is mesmerizing. I cannot count how many hours I have spent staring into a bonfire. Imagine an elemental with roiling currents of explosions inside their arms as they reach for a book on their shelf. You hold your breath, watching them open the cover and turn the pages with the utmost care so as not to singe a single corner. And maybe you’ll bite your lip, wondering what it would feel like to be under those fingers yourself. 

Will you get burned?

More importantly, will you mind?

We know we’re not supposed to play with fire, but that doesn’t stop all of us. Wax and candle play can inspire thematic scenes, and so can its opposite. What if the elemental enjoyed ice dripping over their body? The water pops, sizzling across their chest as they moan for more. You oblige until you’re sweating from the humidity of the session. They lick your skin, and you jump from the heat of their tongue. They apologize for losing themselves in the moment as they fetch the aloe for that burn. 

It’s those imperfect moments in a sexual encounter that make it real. The complexity of the creature becomes a reflection of our own relationship with flame or a metaphor of forbidden knowledge, punishable by everlasting suffering from the powers above. Truly the possibilities are as endless as the space between us and the last star at the other end of the universe. 

So why not explore your own curiosity? Choose a monster that’s always appealed to you and dive deep into their nature (and your own). Have fun. Read myths or make them up. Go outside or investigate indoors. Pull in your experience or those of others. Make a lover like no one has ever seen before. Be the precedent. 

And if you feel like sharing, leave a comment below with your favorite monster lovers. Be as descriptive as you’d like. It’s much more fun that way. 

It’s Complicated

El Baile de los quarenta y uno (The Dance of the Forty-One) is a recent Mexican movie, dubbed in English, which is currently available on Netflix. My Latina spouse, Mirtha, read about it and proposed that we watch it on TV during the Victoria Day long weekend here in Canada.

Here is the Wikipedia explanation of the real-life incident on which the movie is based:

During the presidency of Porfirio Diaz, an illegal police raid was carried out on November 17, 1901, against a private home in Mexico City, the site of a dance attended by a group of men, of whom nineteen were dressed in women’s clothing.

“The press was keen to report the incident, in spite of the government’s efforts to hush it up, since the participants belonged to the upper echelons of society. The list of the detainees was never published. Only 41 men were officially arrested. However, there were rumors that Ignacio de la Torre y Mier, son-in-law of President Diaz, was also in attendance. Of the 41 men arrested for “offense to morals and good manners,” most paid for their freedom and only [!] 12 were eventually sent to work in the Yucatan.

The movie begins with the courtship of Ignacio de la Torre, an aspiring politician, and Amada, the illegitimate (a term much used in the nineteenth century) daughter of Porfirio Diaz and an Indigenous woman, Rafaela Quinones. In a racist, patriarchal culture, Amada has an ambiguous social position: her father is powerful, but she is a woman born “out of wedlock,” and she is darker than her white half-brothers and sisters. Her own mother is not welcome at social events attended by Senor Diaz’s legitimate family.

Ignacio de la Torre promises Amada a respectable life, but she is his means of marrying into the First Family of his country, and she can serve as his “beard,” the wife who will presumably protect him from dangerous gossip. At night, he spends much time in an exclusive club of men-loving men, all of whom are sworn to silence about their activities.

Amada is no fool. She paces the floor in the echoing mansion her father has provided for herself, her husband, and all the children her father expects them to have. She opens desk drawers, and finds the love notes to Ignacio from “Eva” (Evaristo Rivas), the man with whom he dreams of eloping.

The men’s club is shown as a luxurious site of orgies and balls. In a room full of claw-foot bathtubs, naked men wash, massage, fellate and fuck each other in twosomes, threesomes, and foursomes. In the gaming room, they smoke and play cards. In the ballroom, they dance together in imitation of the social lives they conduct with their wives on more public occasions.

When Amada confronts Ignacio with the evidence of his secret life, he is furious. Getting caught wasn’t part of his plan. She is willing to continue playing the role of contented wife in public if he gives her a child to focus on. She prays over him, hoping that God will “cure” him. Ignacio gets violent. It seems clear that he only stops short of seriously beating her because he is afraid of what her father could do to him.

Amada invites Evaristo to visit her at home for tea and conversation, and Ignacio is mortified to find him there. Ignacio continues to spend much time at his club, and Amada complains to her father, who assigns bodyguards to follow Ignacio everywhere, supposedly for his safety. A big reveal and a public scandal seem inevitable.

The scriptwriter is a woman, and the viewpoint from which the melodrama is shown looks balanced: the eye of the camera is not completely on one side or the other. Ignacio’s desperation, and his love for “Eva,” are poignant, but so is Amada’s loneliness and humiliation. Even though Amada is warned by other society matrons that a new husband’s devotion declines over time, it seems unlikely she had the faintest suspicion that she would be effectively dumped right after the wedding night.

The true history of “forbidden love” in all its forms generally seems to be this messy. Before it was safe for anyone to admit that they were sexually attracted to members of their own gender, a supposedly heterosexual relationship made a good disguise. This meant that one person was the dupe, the one who was lured into a commitment that the other person never meant to honour.

Several gay ex-husbands I’ve known in real life have told me how disappointed they were when their ex-wives turned out to be “homophobic.” I always ask the man whether he warned the woman what she was getting into, and what he expected when he “came out” to her or she found evidence of his extramarital activities. Usually this happened when he was no longer willing to sneak out only on weekends, or no longer willing to hide his feelings for a Significant Other.

Thinking of the harm done by the gay men I know, I wouldn’t want them to stay “in the closet” forever because that would mean burying a part of themselves. On the other hand, I really wish that no one’s sexual awakening had to hurt anyone else.

There are also women-loving women—including me—who were previously married to men. In most cases that I know of, the marriage fell apart under its own weight before the ex-wife “came out” and began dating other women instead of repeating a losing formula and possibly having more children who (on average) would be their mother’s sole responsibility. There are exceptions to this rule. I heard of a woman who rebounded after a painful breakup with another woman by finding a dating site and quickly getting engaged to a local farmer who was looking for a wife. Before the wedding date, the woman realized that she had not really “straightened out,” and ghosted her fiance, leaving him wondering what happened.

Even though the LGBTQ community now enjoys a degree of social acceptance that our predecessors could only dream of, there is still a certain pressure on those who tell “queer stories” to make them as “positive” as possible. The lesbian romances from Cleis Press that enchanted me in the 1980s tend to end with all the loose ends wrapped up, the happy couple planning a future together, and the exes either supportive or at least resigned. Stories like this are comforting, but they don’t capture the complexity of real life. A poly, pansexual lifestyle is not for everyone, and a person who just discovered they have been deceived is unlikely to want an intimate connection with their deceiver’s side piece, or preferred lover.

Sexual ecstasy doesn’t rule out emotional pain. I wish more editors of erotic anthologies would recognize that showing some heartbreak is not a warning that Lust is a slippery slope to hell. Betrayal and disappointment can just be setbacks on the road to better things.

————

How Erotica Helped Me Discover My Sexuality

Way back in high school, during one of those brief minutes between one class and the next, I was sitting  at my desk thinking about nothing when some of my friends started laughing and passing around a piece of paper. Now, being a typical teenager, I wanted to know what was so funny, so they passed me the paper.

On it was a short paragraph, no more than four or five lines, about two men having sex with each other and the moment I read it, two things happened. One, I instantly became aroused and two, I instantly had to hide this fact from my friends who continued to laugh and say that the story was gross. I remember mumbling that I thought it was too before handing it back. But I also asked who wrote it, while simultaneously scanning the classroom to see who it might have been.

No one knew.

Now, I’m sure some of you are wondering why I did not simply flaunt my erection in front of my friends. The reason being that long before this day happened I had been taught three cardinal ‘rules’ at that vaunted institution of extracurricular learning otherwise known as…The Playground.

1.      Stay away from all gay men because they’re all dirty kid touchers.

2.      There are no such things as lesbians. Those are just women who’ve never had their ashes hauled properly.

3.      There are no such things as bisexuals. Those are just folks trying to be greedy.

(I also learned a fourth rule to never flaunt your erection under any circumstances, but that is another story.)

It may surprise some of you to learn that I went to Catholic school from kindergarten to 8th grade and learned that we Catholics tend to be a heavy-handed people. We know guilt on a molecular level. It is written into every prayer we say and despite however distant we may feel from our faith, the fact remains that one cannot spend so many formative years swimming in the same waters without swallowing some of the lake.

However, as I have gotten older, and with the more that I have written, the more I have found that it is not just my characters who are unwilling to stay within the roles prescribed to them. In my most recent story “I’m Her,” which will be appearing in Cleis Press’ Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica anthology on 7/13/21 (shameless plug), the main character is a woman with neither the time nor the inclination to explain her needs to anyone. As a divorced mother of two, all she wants, all she needs, is a round of impersonal, anonymous, wall-shaking sex. (If you wish to know whether or not she gets it…BUY THE DAMN BOOK.)

It was by writing this story, and many others like it, that I began to accept not just the fantasies, but the needs that I have lived with all my life. Erotica not only helped me cut my teeth as a writer, it helped me grow as a person. It even helped me come out as bisexual to both my wife and my mother, which was the most frightening thing I have ever done. Full stop. I did it because I knew that not talking about it was no way to go on living and because I wanted to be a good role model for my daughter.

There were tears, of course, I won’t lie. My wife feared she wasn’t enough for me. My mother was abjectly terrified I would leave my wife and daughter.  It took time to calm them down. To reassure them that I loved my wife and  daughter and that my feelings for them had not changed. Eventually this sunk in and several days later, my wife turned to me and said that I was a great father and a great husband and that was all that mattered.

In the end, coming out as bisexual did not break me, but it did leave me with more questions than answers. Why did opening up about my sexuality somehow also open up my integrity? How could they believe that I would tear apart my family? Why is there a part of me that is still angry about this? I don’t have answers to these questions but I do know where to go from here.

My mother, though also accepting of my sexuality, went on to advise that I should keep it to myself. That it isn’t anyone else’s business but my own, and to an extent, she’s right. I will never tell my father about this, nor my brother. Both have been making gay jokes for as long as I can remember and neither conversation will end well, I assure you. However, if there is one thing I know, it’s that my problems get better when I write them down. They become less numerous, more manageable. I can get a better grip on them when I put pen to paper.

Please don’t misunderstand. This is in no way a call to arms, nor is it a treatise on how life is better outside the closet than in. Do what is best for you. Let me say that again. DO WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU. Your sexuality is your sexuality. If you want to shout it from the rooftops, you be my guest. If you want to live with it quietly, your way, then more power to you.

But this post right here, isn’t for anyone else but me. It’s my way of saying (with a small apology to my mother) that I’m going to be writing this one down. It is not the scariest thing I have ever done, but it is up there. All I ask is that you please be gentle with me. After all…this is my first time.

Hot Chilli Erotica

Hot Chilli Erotica

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