“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them
are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day.
Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.” –Margaret Chittenden

Maybe it was because of a
recent birthday – thank you very much,
that’s very kind – or perhaps it’s because I just realized that I’ve been
at this, being a ‘professional’ author for over 20 years – shocking, I know – or possibly it’s because of a few …. (ahem)
sad experiences recently but I want to revisit something I’ve said before.

I really wonder about
writers.  Okay, internet, let’s
hear what you have to say: artists, musicians, actors … how to you treat your
fellow creators?  I used to have a
wonderful roomie who was a musician. 
We used to chat all the time about this, that, and other things but a
lot about how even though there’s a sense of competition among his fellows
there was also a lot of camaraderie: he’d come home full of bright energy from
playing for hours and hours with other musicians … just jamming. 

Meanwhile I’d spent the night
struggling with getting a stubborn story to cooperate, but mostly dealing with
one insanely arrogant writer after another demanding they receive special
treatment (oh, as a matter of transparency, I work as an editor and a publisher
in addition to trying to deal with my own writing ‘career’).  This all came to a head when I realized
that for those two decades of being a published about I currently have only a
dozen or so fellow authors I consider to be ‘friends’ (and Facebook doesn’t
count).

Sure – as a writer myself – I
can understand why … but that doesn’t make it right.  Again, I’m not sure what it’s like to
be a painter, actor, photographer, musician, or victim of any other creative
pursuit, but writing is damned hard: we
get little or no respect, no money, and everyone and their Great Aunt Maude
thinks they can do it as well.  Our
years of work, the care and concern we put into our stories and novels, are ignored
unless we sell something – and then only if it makes millions – or if you take home
some pretty little trophy.  If you
have a day job – and every writer out there does, and if they aren’t then
they’re either lying or a member of the rare 1% of writers – you know the
deafening silence that comes when you mention finishing a work. 

But what’s worse is that far
too often it seems that the greatest barrier every writer must face … are
other writers. Like said, it’s understandable … but not excusable: we get our
teeth bashed in, our souls crushed, our work ignored – or slammed by trolls –
and so, wounded, we try to bolster our scarred egos by wrapping ourselves in a
cloak of supposed superiority. 

Write erotica?  I’m better than a pornographer.  Write science fiction?  I’m better than a romance writer.  Write romance?  I’m better than a thriller writer.  Write thrillers?  I’m better than a science fiction
writer.  Have 5,000 Facebook
‘friends’?  I’m better than someone
with none.  Won an award?  I’m better than anyone who hasn’t.  Write for a blog or site?  I’m better than anyone who
doesn’t.  Have an agent?  I’m better than someone who doesn’t have
one.  Write a novel?  I’m better than anyone who hasn’t.  Sold to a ‘big’ publisher?  Then I’m better than anyone who
hasn’t.  Sold a book for five
figures?  Then I’m better than
someone who hasn’t.  A
professional?  Then I’m better than
someone who hasn’t sold a word.  Become
a ‘name’?  Then I’m better than anyone
who isn’t.

It’s pathetic. 

No, it’s fucking pathetic.

Oh, I’ve heard all the lame justifications
for this arrogance: if I treated everyone equally then I’d never have time to
write, that everyone has to earn their stripes, that you should take public pride
in your accomplishments.  But
that’s exactly what they are: excuses. 
The bottom line isn’t taking time, or the fear of becoming a full-time
mentor or support system.  The
awful trust is that treating other writers poorly makes weaker authors feel
more important.

Like said, I understand it –
and, I’m ashamed to say I’ve fallen victim to be on more than once
occasion.  But that doesn’t mean
I’m not aware of it – as well as despising myself when I do it. 

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

The idea of basic human
kindness aside … actually, I should just stop there: why shouldn’t you help
other writers?  Answer emails, try
to help as much as possible, don’t treat others as less than what you are,
offer opportunities, be inclusive, don’t become cliquish, don’t ask for special
treatment … we are all in this
together. 

Okay, so you want a pragmatic
reason?  How about this old
chestnut: be careful of who you step on while you’re moving up – because you’ll
be meeting them on the way down. 
Every writer begins the same way, which means that not only do we all
share the same pain and frustration but that that annoying little upstart you’re
dismissing could very well be the person who be in a position to do some
tremendous professional good, or – even better – become a true and wonderful
friend. 

Money does not equal skill,
awards are pointless, popularity comes and goes … if you write, if you work
hard on your craft, and if you have the incredible bravery to actually send
your work out into the world then you deserve respect.  If you don’t
get it from other writers don’t blame yourself or your work: you’ve just
encountered the shameful side of the world of professional writing. 

But don’t let them beat you
down and certainly don’t roll that shit downhill.  Yes, wish those that treat you poorly into the cornfield …
but keep your door open, and offer the hand you wish you’d receive.  I’m an atheist but I do believe in the
maxim “Treat others the way you’d wish to be treated.” 

This can be a monstrously hard
thing to do – being a writer – but it
doesn’t have to be. 

And always, always, always remember that no writer is better
than any other … and if you disagree with that then face it: you’re part of
the problem.

The following first appeared on WriteSex

Whatcha Say? 

“Dialogue can be tricky—”

“Whatcha mean ‘dialogue can be tricky’? It’s just people talking, right? How hard can it be?”

“You’d be surprised. For instance, a lot of people think that dialogue should be … um … er … ah … accurate. But if you wrote down how people actually talk it’s kind of … muddled … youknowwhatImean?”

“Okay, I getcha: you mean people should have distinctive voices, sound like human beings, but not cram those voices with the stuff real people actually say when they’re talking.”

“Bingo! It’s also important to know some basic dialogue grammar and punctuat—”

“—like dashes for when someone gets interrupted—”

“—right! Or when you…”

“Trail off, right? What about ‘OK’?”

“Well, the jury is out on that one. Personally I don’t like two huge caps in my dialogue. I prefer the more natural ‘okay.’ The same with tags, some people think that you have to have at least one tag at the end of a line of dialogue, but others say you don’t need any as long as it’s clear who’s doing the speaking—especially if it’s just between two characters, like us. Just be sure not to go too long without a tag as readers can sometime lose track of the characters.”

“I’m hip. I heard someone say that you should know who’s doing the talking by their vocabulary or style, but not to be so obvious that it’s clumsy.”

“It’s tricky, to be sure, but it really helps bring a character to life. Also, don’t hesitate to use typographic emphasis in dialogue, especially when it makes what a person is saying clear. Just stay away from ALL CAPS—”

“Jeez, no need to shout.”

“Or too many exclamation points!!!!”

“Which just sounds weird.”

“It’s much better to use simple italics … just be sure and put them where they’re most needed and not just willy-nilly as, again, it comes off as … bizarre.”

“Right. What also gets me is when characters talk all stilted-like. I mean, come on: you can be loose and be hard to follow but too stiff and it’s like listening to two damned robots.”

“To be sure! Try listening to your characters. Pay attention to writers who do dialogue well, or to good movies or TV shows. That’s how a writer learns, after all. You can also use … what is it called? Oh, yeah: grammar as a way of giving a character life like … pauses, like that. Or (watch where you’re stepping, buddy) asides, like that, or [can you tell me the way to the train station], he said in French. Stuff like that. But, again, don’t try to be too clever ’cause it’ll just pull readers out of the story.”

“What about if you have someone who’s … what did Bob say? ‘Quoting from another character’?”

“Yeah, that can be tricky. Technically you just have to put a single quotation mark in there like you did, but I don’t like to have people directly quote another character. It’s confusing, and unrealistic since we rarely remember what someone exactly said: kind of pulls the reader out of the dialogue.”

‘Then there’s the Brits—’

“Oh, yeah; that can be confusing: British copy editors often have single quotes for dialogue.”

“You know what ruffles my feathers?”

“Do tell.”

“When people think you have to have a whole new tag at the end of each line of dialogue, like repeating ‘said’ is some horrible rule to stay away from. I mean, come on, it can get real silly real quick: people ‘said’ then ‘uttered’ then ‘proclaimed’ then ‘spouted’ … sheesh!”

“I hear ya. The same goes fer people talkin’ way too much with whatcha might say is an accent. Get with it, folks: if ya can’t understan’ it it ain’t gonna work—”

“Or when youse puts in whatcha think is ah poinsonal style a’ talkin’ and all da happens is it’s either confusin’ or insultin’—youse catcha my drift?”

“Oh, yeah! Nothing worse that a character you can’t understand, or one who sounds like a poorly constructed stereotype. I understand wanting to show off someone’s character through their dialogue, but ya gotta do yer research and keep it down to a dull roar.”

“Like with historical characters. Oh, man, that gets my goat: when you got this Roman legionnaire saying, like, ‘okay’ or something like that. Or a Victorian British character using 21st century terms. Sure, too much accuracy is just as bad … ’cause I doubt anyone would ever understand a word they were saying … but that doesn’t mean throwing a bunch of anachronisms into a story, either. So, what about sex?”

“Here? Now? With all these people watching?”

“Ha-ha, Mr. Comedian. No, I mean what about dialogue with sex scenes?”

“Oh, that. Well, stay the hell away from onomatopoeias—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Now who’s the comedian? Onomatopoeia: ‘the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named’, according to Webster’s. In erotica it’s oooooh, aaaaah … stuff like that. Sound effects, you could say. Always horrible in erotica. You can just write that someone laughed or moaned.”

“Oh, yeah, I know what you mean. Like you said, too, I guess: make sure your characters use the right words for what they’re doing.”

“God, yes. And research is important but, again, don’t let it get in the way of being clear about what’s happening. Back to the Victorians: they used a lot of slang for sex and body parts—so you can have fun there … just not too much or it can either get confusing or make you look like a show-off.”

“Okay, Mr. Expert: what advice can you give a writer about dialogue?”

“Well, for starters, feel your characters. Listen to them. Don’t worry about avoiding grammatical mistakes—you can always fix that later—just get their voices down on the page. Use your own life: the way you and your friends talk … just don’t be too literal. Try to push yourself: if you feel your dialogue could do with some work, read plays or listen to movies or shows with the picture off to get a feeling for how people talk.”

“Sounds good to me … but you forgot an important one.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“Write nothing but two people talking to each other.”

***

Calling M.Christian versatile is a tremendous understatement. Extensively published in science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, and even non-fiction, it is in erotica that M.Christian has become an acknowledged master, with more than 400 stories, 10 novels (including The Very Bloody Marys, Brushes and The Painted Doll). Nearly a dozen collections of his own work (Technorotica, In Control, Lambda nominee Dirty Words, The Bachelor Machine), more than two dozen anthologies (Best S/M Erotica series, My Love for All That is Bizarre: Sherlock Holmes Erotica, The Burning Pen, and with Maxim Jakubowksi The Mammoth Book of Tales from the Road). His work is regularly selected for Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and others. His extensive knowledge of erotica as writer, editor, anthologist and publisher resulted in the bestselling guide How To Write And Sell Erotica.

In addition, he is a prolific and respected anthologist, having edited twenty five anthologies to date. He is also responsible for several non-fiction books, notably How to Write and Sell Erotica.

M.Christian is also the Associate Publisher for Renaissance eBooks, where he strives to be the publisher he’d want to have as a writer, and to help bring quality books (erotica, noir, science fiction, and more) and authors out into the world.

He can be found in a number of places online, not least of which is mchristian.com.

The inclination is obvious, especially considering how much pressure writers can be put under to get themselves out there. But even though I call myself a Literary Streetwalker, I want to take a few hundred words to talk about when, in my opinion, it’s not a good idea to sell your creative backside.

One of the coldest rules of being an erotica author is that it’s a sexist genre: women have a slightly easier time of it than do guys— unless you’re penning gay stuff, of course. Straight men still remain the primary buyers of erotica, and they usually don’t enjoy stuff written by men. Is this homophobic? Certainly. But them’s the breaks until our society grows up. Women also don’t seem to trust anything written by a man, being suspicious that a man can’t write about sex. Is this wrong? Absolutely. But again, that’s simply the way the world works—for the moment, at least.

In this world of literary female domination, some women authors have made the mistake of selling themselves rather than their work. The temptation, like I said, is clear: turning yourself into a desirable product makes it easy to sell just about anything you do, whether it’s a book or your own underwear. Becoming a sex personality means that you carry your catalog with you; you don’t have to trouble yourself with showing people what makes you a writer worthy of reading.

There are other benefits as well. Celebrity has a special allure. There’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of people saying you’re sexy or clapping when you walk on stage. Writing, as I’ve said many times before, is a spectacularly harsh mistress. With the low pay, generally poor treatment, and little artistic recognition, it’s no wonder that so many women are seduced by the quick and easy fame—or at least recognition—of becoming a product or personality, rather than a writer.

Now I should qualify what I mean by “selling.” I’m all for writers marketing themselves and their work. Becoming an expert on something is an established marketing technique and lots of people do it very well, but there’s a huge difference between becoming an authority and actually peddling your ass: if you write articles and essays on sex and sexuality, or give advice on it, then you’re an expert; talk about who you took to bed last night and you’re selling yourself.

There are two good reasons for not crossing that line between publicity and soliciting. The first is more professional: if you create yourself as a sexual superstar, you’re severely limiting what you can do as a writer. Your sex life might get you attention, but walk away from that spotlight and you’ll find yourself in the dark: your audience having been used to you as a sex object, not as a writer, and won’t respond when you’re not writing about being a pro-dom, sex activist, or porn star. Flexibility, after all, is key to being a writer because it gives you a plethora of genres and venues in which to expand and play. Your erotica didn’t sell? Try horror. Horror didn’t work? Try romance, and so forth. Unless, that is, you turn yourself into nothing but a sex object—then that’s all you can be.

If you want to turn yourself into a sexual superstar, don’t let me stop you: it’s your right as a free person. But I sincerely recommend that you resist the temptation to market yourself and not your work. Besides being a potential dead end career-wise, the other reason for not writing about your own sex life and putting it out there for hundreds, maybe thousands and—who knows?—millions of people to read: fans.

Not to put down the handsome and well-groomed reading world, but way too many of my female writer friends tell me that having die-hard admirers of their sexual personas, rather than their stories, is more a curse than a blessing—and really, really creepy. I’d say unwelcome advances are another reason to write stories about all kinds of things, and not about how wonderful it was jerk off the entire swim team.

It’s a huge no-duh that we live in an Information Age: from
high speed Internet to 4G cell networks, we can get whatever we want wherever
we want it – data-wise – at practically at the speed of light.

But sometimes I miss the old days.  No, they weren’t – ever – the Good Old Days (I still
remember liquid paper, SASEs, and letter-sized manila envelopes … shudder), but back then a writer had a damned
long time to hear about anything to do with the biz. 

If you were lucky you got a monthly mimeographed newsletter but
otherwise you spent weeks, even months, before hearing about markets or trends
… and if you actually wanted contact with another writer you either had to
pick up the phone, sit down and have coffee, or (gasp) write a letter.

No, I’m far from being a Luddite.  To borrow a bit from the great (and late) George Carlin:
“I’ve been uplinked and downloaded. I’ve been inputted and outsourced. I
know the upside of downsizing; I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a
high-tech lowlife. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bicoastal mutlitasker, and
I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.” 

I love living in The
World Of Tomorrow.  Sure, we
may not have food pills or jetpacks but with the push of a … well, the click
of a mouse I can see just about every movie or show I want, read any book ever
written, play incredibly realistic games, or learn anything I want to know.

Here it comes, what you’ve been waiting for … but
… well, as I’ve said many times before, writing can be an emotionally
difficult, if not actually scarring endeavor.  We forget, far too often, to care for ourselves in the manic pursuit of our writing ‘careers.’  We hover over Facebook, Twitter and
blog-after-blog: our creative hopes of success – and fears of failure – rising
and falling with every teeny-tiny bit of information that comes our way.

I miss … time.  I miss weeks, months of not knowing
what the newest trend was, who won what award, who sold what story to what
magazine, who did or did not write their disciplined number of pages that
day.  Back then, I just sat down
and wrote my stories and, when they were done, I’d send them off – and
immediately begin another story so when the inevitable rejection letter came I
could, at least, look at what I’d sent and say to myself Feh, I’ve done better since.

I’m not the only one. 
Just this week I had to talk three friends off rooftops because they looked
at their sales figures, read that another writer had just sold a story when
they’d just been rejected, heard that the genre they love to work in is in a
downward spiral, that they’d been passed over (again) for an award, or that
someone else had written ten pages that day … and all they’d managed to do
was the laundry and maybe answer a few emails.

It took me quite a while but I’ve finally begun to find a
balance in my life: a way to still happily be – and now we’re bowing to the
really-dead Timothy Leary – turned on, tuned in … by dropping out. 

Far too many writers out there say that being plugged in
24/7 to immediately what other writers are doing and saying, what their sales
are like moment-by-moment, or the tiniest blips in genres, is the way to
go.   While I agree what we
all have to keep at least one eye on what’s happening in the world of writing
we also have to pay a lot more attention to how this flow of information is
making us feel – and, especially, how it affects our work.

By dropping out, I mean looking at what comes across our
desk and being open, honest, and – most of all – caring about how it makes us
feel.  You do not have to follow
every Tweet, Facebook update, blog post, or whatever to be able to write and
sell your work.  You do not have to
believe the lies writers love to tell about themselves.  You do not have to subscribe to every
group, forum, or site.  You do not
have to hover over your sales. 

I’ll tell you what I tell myself – as well as my friends who
are in the horrible mire of professional depression: drop out … turn it off.  If the daily updates you get from some writer’s forum make
you feel like crap then unsubscribe. 
If you don’t like the way another writer makes you feel about you and
your work then stop following them. 
If the self-aggrandizing or cliquish behavior of a writer
depresses you then stop reading their Tweets, blog posts or whatever. 

You do not have to
be a conduit for every hiccup and blip of information that comes your way.  You
Are A Writer … and, just like with flesh-and-blood people, if something diminishes
you in any way, punches you in the emotional solar plexus, or keeps you from
actually writing, then Turn It Off.

This is me, not you, but I don’t follow very many writing
sites.  ERA, here, is wonderful, of
course … but beyond the true, real professional necessities, I only follow or
read things that are fun, educational, entertaining, uplifting, and – best of
all – make me feel not just good about myself and my writing, but want to make
me sit down at my state-of-the-art machine and write stories.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what it’s all about …
and everything else either comes a distant second or doesn’t matter at all.

My name is Chris – though my pseudonym is usually M.Christian – and I have a confession to make.

I’ve written – and write – a…what’s the technical term? Oh, yeah: shitload
of erotica. Some 400 published stories, 12 or so collections, 7 novels.
I’ve also edited around 25 anthologies. I even have the honor of being
an Associate Publisher for Renaissance eBooks, whose Sizzler Editions
erotica imprint has some 1,300 titles out there.

I’ve written sexually explicit gay stories, lesbian stories, trans
stories, bisexual stories, BDSM stories, tales exploring just about
every kind of fetish, you name it and I can all but guarantee that I’ve
written about it. I like to joke that a friend of mine challenged me to
write a story to a ridiculously particular specification: a queer
vampire sport tale. My answer? “Casey, The Bat.” Which I actually did
write…though I dropped the vampire part of it.

Don’t worry; I’m getting to the point. I can write just about anything for anyone – but here comes the confession:

I’ve never, ever written about what actually turns me – what turns Chris – on.

This kind of makes me a rather rare beast in the world of
professional smut writing. In fact it’s pretty common for other erotica
writers to – to be polite about it – look down their noses at the fact
that I write about anything other than my own actual or desired sexual
peccadilloes. Some have even been outright rude about it: claiming that
I’m somehow insulting to their interests and/or orientations and
shouldn’t write anything except what I am and what I like.

To be honest, in moments of self-doubt I have thought the very same
thing. Am I profiting off the sexuality of other people? Am I a
parasite, too cowardly to put my own kinks and passions out into the
world? Am I short-changing myself as a writer by refusing to put myself
out there?

For the record, I’m a hetero guy who – mostly – likes sexually
dominant women. I also find my head turned pretty quickly when a large,
curvy woman walks by. That said, I’ve had wonderful times with women of
every size, shape, ethnicity, and interest.

So why do I find it so hard to say all that in my writing? The
question has been bugging me for a while, so I put on my thinking cap.
Part of the answer, I’ve come to understand, relates directly to chronic
depression: it’s much less of an emotional gamble to hide behind a
curtain of story than to risk getting my own intimate desires and
passions stomped flat by a critical review or other negative reaction
from readers. I can handle critical reviews of a story – that’s
par for the course in professional writing – but it’s a good question
as to whether I could handle critical reviews of my life.
But then I had an eye-opening revelation. As I said, I’ve written –
and write – stories about all kinds of interests, inclinations,
passions, orientations, genders, ethnicities, ages, cultures…okay, I
won’t belabor it. But the point is that I’ve also been extremely blessed
to have sold everything I’ve ever written. Not only that, but I’ve had
beautiful compliments from people saying my work has touched them and
that they never, ever, would have realized that the desires of the
story’s narrator and those of the writer weren’t one and the same.

Which, in a nice little turn-around, leads me to say that my name is
Chris – though my pseudonym is usually M.Christian – and I have yet
another confession to make.

Yes, I don’t get sexually excited when I write. Yes, I have never
written about what turns me on. Yes, I always write under a name that’s
not my legal one.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel when I write. Far from
it: absolutely, I have no idea what actual gay sex is like for the
participants; positively, I have not an inkling of what many fetishes
feel like inside the minds of those who have them; definitely, I have no
clue what it’s like to have sex as a woman…
I do, however, know what sex is like. The mechanics, yeah, but more
importantly I work very hard to understand the emotions of sex and
sexuality through the raw examination of my own life: the heart-racing
nerves, the whispering self-doubts, the pulse-pounding tremors of hope,
the bittersweetness of it, the bliss, the sorrows and the warmth of it,
the dreams and memories…

I’m working on a story right now, part of a new collection. It’s
erotic – duh – but it’s also about hope, redemption, change, and
acceptance. I have no experience with the kind of physical sex that
takes place in this story but every time I close its file after a few
hours of work, tears are burning my cheeks. In part, this emotional
investment is about trying to recapture the transcendent joy I’ve felt
reading the work of writers I admire.

When I read manuscripts as an anthology editor, or as an Associate
Publisher, a common mistake I see in them is a dedication to technical
accuracy favored over emotion. These stories are correct down to the
smallest detail – either because they were written from life or from an
exactingly fact-checked sexual imagination – but at the end, I as the
reader feel…nothing.

I’m not perfect – far from it – but while I may lack direct
experience in a lot of what I write, I do work very, very hard to put
real human depth into whatever I do. I may not take the superficial risk
of putting the mechanics of my sexuality into stories and books but I
take a greater chance by using the full range of my emotional life in
everything I create.

I freely admit that I don’t write about my own sexual interests and
experiences. That may – in some people’s minds – disqualify me from
being what they consider an “honest” erotica writer, but after much work
and introspection I contest that while I may keep my sex life to
myself, I work very hard to bring as much of my own, deeply personal,
self to bear upon each story as I can.

They say that confession is good for the soul. But I humbly wish to
add to that while confession is fine and dandy, trying to touch people –
beyond their sex organs – is ever better…for your own soul as well as
the souls of anyone reading your work.