Erobintica

January has been zooming by

2012-01-26T14:18:00.001-05:00

So, I came here to add the button for the Coming Together "Share the Love" February blog bash, and realized that I had not posted at all this month! And January's almost over!

I've been busy trying to catch up on stuff from last year. I let a few spinning plates fall. But luckily they didn't shatter, and I'm back at it. I've been submitting poetry, making plans, even writing!

So, I promise to come back and start posting again. Soon. Very soon. Honest. "Erobintica blog" is on my to do list every day. Yeah, yeah. I know. In the meantime, here's something I read that has really made an impression on me. (It's not naughty stuff at all so you can read it from work)

Here's what is sinking in:

"To put yourself forward as someone good enough to do interesting things is, by definition, to expose yourself to all kinds of negative judgments, and as far as I can tell, the fact that other people get to decide what they think of your behavior leaves only two strategies for not suffering from those judgments: not doing anything, or not caring about the reaction."

~ Clay Shirky, "A Rant About Women."

I don't think it's coincidence that since I've read this I've submitted 10 poems to 3 different journals.

A odd sort of thrill

2011-12-12T00:27:00.000-05:00

I almost gave up.

The book finder said they were there. I scanned the rack of "Fiction Anthology" in the 5th Avenue Barnes and Noble in New York City this past Saturday, but I couldn't spot any copies of Best Erotic Romance on the shelf. Best this, best that. But not BER.

It wouldn't be the first time I couldn't find a book I was looking for.

But something inside told me to look one more time. So I methodically, with neck craned sideways, scanned the entire bookshelf. Then, toward the bottom, there it was! Turns out they were arranged alphabetically according to the Editor's name. Kristina Wright.

It is an an odd feeling, the good kind of odd, odd meaning out of the ordinary, not everyday, not taken for granted, to pull a book off a bookstore shelf and know that your words are inside.

This is not the first time I've been published. Not the first time I've been in print. Not the first book I've held and turned to my words. But this IS the first time I've seen a book I'm in on a shelf in a bookstore.

Luckily, I was not alone, but with friends, so I was able to literally bounce over to where they were standing and jump up and down and squeal with delight (I honestly don't remember what I said) and turn to the Table of Contents and then to the page (179) that my story is on and then to the bios. I turned a bit too fast for my friends, LOL.

It was nice to be able to share that moment. If I had of been by myself, I would have been just as thrilled, but I wouldn't have been able to share it. I would have been jumping up and down inside, all the while just standing there. So thank you Kam, Charlie, Stacey, and Tim for being there. And thanks Stacey for taking this picture after I'd bought a copy, even though I know my contributor's copy is probably on it's way.

A taste from my Best Erotic Romance story

2011-12-07T14:40:00.000-05:00

Best Erotic Romance is now available to order, and I thought I'd give a little taste of my story "Till the Storm Breaks" to whet your appetite.

I'm pretty excited, because this will be my first print publication of any of my erotica. And seeing that "Best" there is just kind of tingly-feeling-giving. When Kristina Wright chose this story to be included, she didn't realize that it would be my first print publication. She called my story "lovely." Wow. :)

I think I'm ready for winter.

Excerpt from Till the Storm Breaks:

I tested a noodle. Not quite ready. I watched the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. Best laid plans. Best plans to get laid. I'd been looking forward to the guest suite that I knew Greg would have put me and Tim in, the one with the Jacuzzi and the floor to ceiling windows looking out at the ocean. I'd fantasized about Tim unzipping my red dress while I watched our reflection in the window. I loved to have sex when we were away from home. Hotel rooms with their matching beds to try out. Quaint bed and breakfasts with quilts on brass beds. On the floor at his parent's house (since they'd never replaced the boys' bunk beds). Tent camping. And here at our cabin. But not this time.
We were sleeping in the open loft and Teresa was on the pull-out. While I might have slid my hand into his pajamas, trying to interest him in something other than sleep, I knew that with Teresa so close downstairs, that Tim would just not go for it. He was a pretty vanilla guy, and not very forthcoming when it came to sharing fantasies or out-of-the-ordinary desires. But I loved him, and he seemed to enjoy my efforts to spice things up a bit for us. I realized as I stood there, that I was just a little bit aroused. That's what I get for thinking about sex, which I did on a regular basis.
"Hey, are the noodles ready?" Teresa looked over my shoulder. I stabbed one of the macaronis, held it up and blew on it, then fed it to her. "Done?" She smiled and nodded, and I watched her red hair sway with the movement. I felt an odd little rush as I became acutely aware of her breasts pressed against the back of my arm. Not wanting to move, yet needing to drain the noodles, I turned off the stove and emptied the pan into the colander in the sink. Steam rose, fogging the window. Just then the lights blinked. "Uh oh," Teresa said, "maybe we should light one of those candles in case…"
We were plunged into darkness.

Suite news!

2011-12-07T14:04:00.000-05:00

Today I got the news that my story "Return to the Nonchalant Inn" will be in next year's Suite Encounters: Hotel Sex Stories, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel for Cleis Press! Needless to say, I'M THRILLED!!! Due out the middle of next year, it will be my second print publication of my erotica. There's just something about a book with paper and pages and a cover and print. I wasted no time in signing the contract and sending it back. :)

I've been reading Rachel's anthology for years and it is most definitely an honor to be chosen by her for this second anthology of hotel sex stories. I can't wait to see the TOC!

This comes on the heels of the release of Best Erotic Romance, edited by Kristina Wright for Cleis. I've got a story in that, and my next post will be an excerpt from it!

Letting go of the old year

2011-12-07T13:43:00.000-05:00

Whoa. It's December already. It's been more than 2 weeks since my last post. Unintended.

I have more good stuff to announce, but that will be the next post, about looking forward to next year. This post is about letting go of the old one.

Back in late October I wrote about how this year seems to have been a lost year. In many ways it's also be a last year. Next year is truly going to be a "new" year for me. And as I stand on the brink, frost crunching under my feet (figurative frost - it's actually raining and almost 60 degrees!), just beginning to lean into what is coming, I've been slowly prying my fingers away from what I've been holding on to.

It's been a year of letting go. And I've still not let go of my fear of writing from the heart. I've been typing this paragraph over and over again. Shall I say it? Shall I not? Maybe some of it is still too raw and bloody. Things that have defined me, for decades or years or months or days, are being ripped away. By me. I've needed to let go of my attachment to activities, though loved, that had become stressful to the point that I'd come to dread them. I've needed to let go of my attachment to my wanting others to be what I wanted them to be, and not what they actually are. I've needed to let go of hopes and dreams that were not at all attainable. All of these things I was holding on to were holding me back.

Next year is about moving. Moving on, moving forward, moving in new directions, moving towards something rather than away. Moving rather than being frozen in place.

Best Erotic Romance now available!

2011-11-21T12:10:00.001-05:00

Best Erotic Romance, edited by Kristina Wright for Cleis Press, has been released! I'm excited because I will be able to hold the book in my hands and turn to the page my story, "Till the Storm Breaks," begins on.

It won't be the first time I've been in print, but it will be the first time my erotica has been in print. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to hold a book. The tangible object is as much of the experience for me as the words.

Don't get me wrong, I think online is great. In fact I think it's one of the best things to ever happen during my lifetime. Despite all the CRAP out there on the internet, one cannot deny the wonderfulness of being able to just go and write for all the world to see. Even if just a miniscule fraction of the world is seeing my blog, and hence my words, there are still folks all over the globe that have. Granted, they're not looking for "me." But I'd like to think that when someone types in one of the search phrases that lands them here, that even though what I've written isn't exactly what they're looking for, they still might spend a few minutes reading and enjoying what I've written.

Granted, I find myself a bit nervous too, now that this print book is out. I've yet to have the experience of having my writing commented on, other than by friends. While I have years of critique groups under my belt, I've never had my work "reviewed." So, yeah, I'm nervous about that.

Also, there's a few folks in my life that I haven't told about my Erobintica exploits (ha!) - namely my sister. Not that I think she'd going to wander into a bookstore on the other side of the country from me and pick up this book and turn to the bios and find her baby sister listed. But it's more that I'm proud of this. I'm proud of my writing. And wow, that was a difficult sentence to type.

This has been a year of transitions for me. As it draws to a close, I'm wondering what next year will bring. I hope I'll be able to point to more publications and more events/activities that I'm doing. I hope that my fears will start to fall away, and I can start to live up to some of the things friends and loved ones have told me about my writing.

Thank you everyone who is reading this!

Women In Lust: Erotic Stories

2011-11-14T09:27:00.001-05:00

Most of the definitions I found of the word lust were somewhat unsatisfying and bland.

Until the one at Wikipedia: "Lust is an emotional force that is directly associated with the thinking or fantasizing about one's desire, usually in a sexual way."

Lust is most definitely a force. A force to be reckoned with.

Lust is a craving so strong that reason flies out the window.

Lust makes us do and say things that make us shake our heads and say "Did I say/do that?"

For those of us who are Dante's Inferno fans, our lust can send us straight to the second circle of hell, to be endlessly tossed around by "the terrible winds of a violent storm." Yup, sounds about right.

While preparing for this stop on the virtual book tour for Women In Lust: Erotic Stories edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel for Cleis Press, I kept getting sidetracked when I'd type "lust" in the search engine. There was an awfully lot of links associating lust with sin. Thankfully, the women of Women In Lust don't tend to worry about that.

But one link led me to Valentine de Saint-Point's Futurist Manifesto of Lust, where I found my favorite definition of lust:

Lust is the expression of a being projected beyond itself. It is the painful joy of wounded flesh, the joyous pain of a flowering. And whatever secrets unite these beings, it is a union of flesh. It is the sensory and sensual synthesis that leads to the greatest liberation of spirit. It is the communion of a particle of humanity with all the sensuality of the earth.

The women who lust–Donna George Storey's Natalie, Brandy Fox's Brooke, Elizabeth Coldwell's Barbara, all of the women in this anthology–would embrace that definition wholeheartedly.

Over the course of the day, today, I'm going to come back and post a couple of lines about each story in the comments (a comment for each story). I'd post them all at once here, but it didn't occur to me till just now to do that as I read. I never liked taking notes while I read because I like to lose myself in the story.

For more about this book, go to http://womeninlust.wordpress.com/about/.

The full Women In Lust Virtual Blog Tour schedule is at that link, with links to past and future posts. It's running for the full lusty month of November, with a trickle over into December. Reviews, interviews, and who knows what's to come?

Hot water poured down the drain

2011-11-04T23:54:00.000-04:00

This morning I boiled water for tea. I didn't immediately pour it into a thermos carafe to keep it hot for a few hours and warm for many more. I poured some into my tea mug, swirled it to warm the cold ceramic, then poured it down the drain before pouring more over the tea bag. Have water available at the turn of a lever is something I usually take for granted.

This past Wednesday morning, I drove the less-than-mile to our local volunteer fire house to pick up a case of drinking water and fill containers with hose water for washing.

There was a one case limit, which was fine because it's only been my husband and me at home through this "disaster." I hadn't really prepared well for this storm, for various reasons that I'll go into shortly.

Back a couple of months ago, when Tropical Storm Irene came through, we'd had days to prepare, and I'd filled every suitable container I could find with drinking water, and some unsuitable ones. We collected pond water in a barrel for flushing toilets–though that wasn't so crucial because we set up a composting toilet like we use camping–and rain water (in a plastic bin) for use in our solar shower bag. We were without power for three days then, and there were four people in the house (this was a week before the kids went off to college). Though we could have gone and gotten water then, our power came on about a day before we needed it. I actually had some containers still filled. I didn't immediately dump them, but about a month later I did, because they weren't proper water storage containers.

Little did I know that I'd need those so soon. Two months later, we were faced with a "disaster" that has been calculated to be five times as bad (in respect to damage and power outages).

Now it was the end of October. I'd read there was a chance of snow on the weekend. We've had flurries this time of year before, even a little bit of "sticking" for a few hours. Some years it's been shirt-sleeve weather for trick-or-treating. This is New England after all, where if you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes, according to a Mark Twain saying.

Friday morning I woke up to forecasts of 6-10 inches of snow, and cautions that because so many trees still had leaves, that there could be massive felling of limbs and trees and resultant power outages. The hardships of Irene's aftermath fresh in my head, I was concerned. Unlike the end of August, snow meant cold. But my husband downplayed my "panic" and despite my better judgement (in hindsight), I ignored my very "bad feeling" about the approaching nor'easter, and did nothing to prepare on Friday.

He headed off on Saturday morning to drive two hours to where our kids are at school (he was delivering some things they needed and taking our son to an event as previously planned). The storm was supposed to start as rain, but instead, started off as snow. Heavy snow. Within an hour or so, we had 2 inches on the table on the deck.

In the meantime, I'd started filling up containers with water. I boiled some and poured that into our thermos carafes. I filled the bathtub with water part way (something I didn't do last time). I baked a batch of almond meal muffins (I should not eat wheat) as the power started blinking. While we had food in the house, it was the end of the pay period and stuff was low. It had taken me a couple of months to readjust my food-buying for only two people, and now that showed. Oh, we wouldn't go hungry–most of us have plenty of food on hand at any given time to survive quite awhile if we're not fussy–but my health-imposed diet is not one tailored for difficult conditions. By the time I knew that the weather prognosticators had been right this time, it was too late to head to the store. Our steep, uphill driveway was covered.

When the first casualty of the storm occurred–the old lilac pictured second in my post from yesterday–I started to get worried. I texted my husband and told him it was getting bad already, and that the lights had been blinking. As it got worse, and more and more limbs started to break and fall, each crrraaaacccckkkk made me flinch. Three summers ago, during a brief but violent thunderstorm, a huge willow fell on our roof. I was alone at home at the time (with my wrist in a cast), and had only moments before contemplated going out on the front step and watering plants. If I had of, the tree would have hit me. Our roof was badly damaged and was replaced. But ever since, I've been leery of the other tall trees (we can't afford to have them taken out) and as the afternoon wore on, I realized that I was suffering from a hardy case of PTSD.

My husband FINALLY headed back about 2:30pm, shortly before our power went out. I didn't want to call him (he was driving in treacherous weather after all), so I kept texting friends and family, trying to maintain a tether to sanity. At times my resentment of his leaving me alone during ANOTHER very stressful event (don't get me started - it's happened many times) was almost overwhelming. I was also disgusted with myself for not minding my intuition (that "bad feeling" about the storm) and preparing for what would turn out to be the longest we've ever gone without electricity EVER (at home - camping doesn't count - I once lived for most of six weeks without electricity when I was younger).

We take so much for granted. When our power returned and the lights came on and the heat came on and we could turn a faucet and have running water, my body released tension that had been carrying it for days, and I was so exhausted that I could hardly read (in bed with a light on rather than a camping headlamp).

I love camping. I desire to live much more simply than I do now–that's what our Maine dream is about. But I depend on my "stuff." For the first couple of days I'm fine. It's fun to "make do" and cook on the camp stove (with a window cracked to prevent carbon monoxide build-up despite the sub-freezing temps). We ate well. I bundled up and wore a scarf and hat in the house, which got up to 57 on the sunniest, warmest day with the basement woodstove going full blast. It takes much longer to do simple tasks, like washing dishes, when you can't just fill the sink with hot, soapy water. Keeping clean requires a sponge bath in a very cold bathroom. One of my reading materials was When All Hell Breaks Loose by Cody Lundin, which was a gift to my husband from our daughter this past August (before Irene - how prescient of her).

What I found out is that I go into a mode of "just surviving" and lose interest in most other endeavors. Why bother? was my attitude. I had all the time in the world (not really) to write, but every time I tried, absolutely nothing came and it seemed pointless to me. As did cleaning and sorting items in anticipation of putting our house on the market in the Spring (so we can move to Maine). All my emotional dramas of the past few years seemed so totallyfuckinglystupid, that my disgust with myself just grew. But I did have a lot of time to think.

And what happened? Well, when the stress was released, I began finding my voice again.

But then, as I typed that, the power went back off for an hour and a half. When it came back on, the internet did not come with it. I'm typing this from a hotel in another city where I'm staying with my daughter who has an important interview. While she's in that, I'm visiting a friend. And taking advantage of hotel internet! This musing will be continued.

Behind the times

2011-11-04T09:15:00.000-04:00

For a few minutes I cruised through my blogger "Reading List" at all the posts on blogs I supposedly follow, when I have time. I haven't, and there were so many interesting posts that I wish I had time to read. I feel out-of-touch and behind the times.

And I realized something, just as I was typing that. Because I haven't been reading as much, my mind hasn't been sparked by other people's thoughts as much as it used to. I've been lost in my own over-crowded-with-life-stresses head, and that maybe that has contributed to my lack of inspiration.

I'm going to be away from my day-to-day world for this coming weekend, so maybe it'll give me a chance to catch up some. And I'll keep a notepad handy to jot down ideas for blog posts, etc.

And now I'm going to make myself some tea and write another post. :)

In the dark

2011-11-03T12:06:00.000-04:00

On Oct. 29 the snow started to fall. The next morning we had 9 inches. The heavy, wet snow took down lots of limbs and trees. Power was out to just about the whole town for days. We were out for 5 days. It came on last night at 9:30pm. Still no internet (I'm uploading this from a place with wifi). That'll be another few days, based on our experience after Tropical Storm Irene came through two months ago (this was much worse). When it's cold and you don't have the "comforts of home" - it makes so much about our lives seem rather pointless. It took hours of my day just to take care of basic necessities (water, light, warmth, food). And it was just me and my husband. Thank goodness for cell phones. Those were our only way to get in touch with our kids at college (also affected by storm). I'm rethinking a lot. It will be interesting to see what the future brings.

The lost year

2011-10-26T09:48:00.000-04:00

It's turned chilly. The leaves are falling. Weeds are dying back. We may have some snow flurries this weekend. The end of the year will be here far too quickly.

When this year started, I had so many plans. Basically, almost none of them have come to pass. It's been "one of those years." Now it's almost November. Not much time to catch up, even if my life was all leisure and ease. Which it's not. Doesn't help that I beat myself up for procrastinating and not following through and being afraid. What happened to the Erobintica that posted things like this, the post with the most hits over time on my blog? Well, I'm more than just her, and life has left little time for her.

This hasn't been a completely wasted year. I have had a couple of acceptances, and nice things have been said about the stuff that was rejected. I've not written much at all, though I guess what I have written is good (because of those acceptances and comments). I have lots of ideas. But no focus. At times I want to throw up, throw up my hands, or just throw in the towel.

But I won't give up on this. Not sure why. Or maybe I am. This blog got started partly as my reaction to the giving up of a friend. Quite literally. He gave up. And because that's where this blog comes from, in part, I find I refuse to give up.

So, I'm doing things like taking part in Rachel Kramer Bussel's Women in Lust Blog tour on November 14.

And I'm going to submit to Joan Price's anthology.

As we "de-clutter" [read: MASSIVE] in preparation for putting our house on the market so we can get our asses up to Maine (see picture above - that is what I could be looking at most days), I hope to find plenty of inspiration for writing. And maybe it will have to wait till next year. But I'm not giving up.

Writing from where I am

2011-10-13T10:38:00.000-04:00

This morning I've pulled on a sweater, made a pot of tea, squeezed a bit of lemon in my cup, put on my favorite autumnal music (Autumn by George Winston), and prepared to work on a special story. Why special? Because I am going to write it from where I am right now. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. This is a story I'm planning on sending to Joan Price for her Senior Erotica Anthology (call for submissions here), open to writers over the age of 50. She's not looking for "youthful erotica with an older chronological age slapped on."

I'm 53. I'll be 54 by the Feb. 1, 2012 deadline. Though I don't consider myself a senior, I know I am no longer young. I've gone through menopause and have discovered that nothing seems to work like it used to. Also, lately I've been having a very hard time writing erotica (well, writing anything). And I realized it's because I haven't been allowing myself to write from where I am. To write from what I'm experiencing now.

So, when I first heard about this call (back before it was an actual call), I was excited. I'd already started writing with "older" characters, and look forward to being able to have some news along those lines. But I've been struggling to come up with a story (gee, no "theme" other than over 50, doesn't help). That's when I realized, that I really have to write what I know for this one. Maybe I knew that all along, but was resistant.

This blog post has been a loosening up of my fingers in anticipation of writing that story. I'll let you know how it goes.

Into the thicket

2011-10-11T21:12:00.000-04:00

Tonight while doing the dishes with my husband, I was compelled to just lean against his back and kiss him between the shoulder blades. We'd been listening to Marketplace and they had a story about online dating in China and modern matchmakers. "Glad you're not dating in China?" was his response. Yeah. Very.

And as soon as I write that, I worry that my single friends will think that's a dig at them. I don't want it to seem like a "ninner ninner lookie what I got and you don't" (as my heart cringes just to type those words). So many of my friends are divorced, widowed, never married, "retired," not dating, starting to date, whatever, and many of them are going the online route. All I know is that I have so many personal self-image and self-esteem issues that any profile of mine would probably be "you don't want me."

So yeah, I'm glad that I'm long-married (30 years on Oct. 4) and that we seem to have weathered plenty of storms so that hopefully future ones will also leave us standing. Have never quite been sure what he saw/sees in me. But enough time has passed that I've stopped really questioning it. We celebrated with a quiet dinner at home accompanied with champagne paid for by a friend and a couple of rounds of our newest evening entertainment–"dirty scrabble." Yup, now that the kids are gone (1 married, 2 at college), we can do things like make up our own rules (more about dirty scrabble another time).

Earlier today I commented on a Facebook post by Shanna Germain. She'd posted about some unwelcome attention that left her feeling icked out (my words). The comments ranged from the typical I'll kick their ass for you to ponderings about safety, being able to wear whatever you want, etc. A friend posted an apology for his gender. Some guys posted tongue-in-cheek replies that I was able to spot as such and laugh, but some of the other commenters didn't. There at one point seemed to be quite an undercurrent of us vs. them. Guys are mindless droolers who are incapable of controlling themselves. From there to Slutwalks and whistling and harassment. Although it was sorted out (use emoticons when joking), it still left me feeling a little sad that there is such a divide between men and women.

It's hard for everyone. Old ways of relating, how to approach someone, what's acceptable, what's not–all this is changing. Women want to be able to be themselves. They don't want to have to fear harassment or violence just because. Men, no longer sure of how to act, can end up stifling parts of themselves out of fear of being a "male chauvinist pig," to use a term from my youth.

Meanwhile Dominance/submission seems hot in the erotica world. And it's something I have trouble with. I've yet to really been able to write any. And often, reading them, no matter how hot, I feel a bit uncomfortable. Guess it's that thin line that bothers me. I still have trouble separating myself from my writing.

What has ANY of this had to do with anything else here? I don't know. It's just my mind's ramblings. I'm trying to connect my typing fingers to my brain again. I need to get writing again. But I've been going through enough changes that I'm not sure where I'm writing from anymore.

Being social.

2011-09-23T12:28:00.000-04:00

I was one of those many folks complaining loudly about the changes to Facebook this week. I'd not had much sleep the night before after traveling to and from Philly for The Erotic Literary Salon. I was in no shape on Wednesday morning to figure out what the hell they'd done. But now, with some sleep, and probably way too much time spent on the site, I think I've figured a few things out and actually find myself liking some of the new features.

The thing I like the most is that it is now easier to make lists of folks for sharing purposes. I'd tried before, but there was no easy way. But now I have an "erotica blog folks" list so that I can share these blog posts as well as posts from other folks that I've wanted to share, but didn't think my kids or old co-workers of my husband would care to see. That I found, was putting a serious damper on my Erobintica activities. And yeah, I know that I could have customized each post, but that's too much work! Easier to just not hit "share."

So, today I'm able to write this and share it. And I went in and checked something so that the buttons to share these posts (on Facebook or Twitter, etc.) show up. Gee. Duh. Did I think about that before? Nooooooooo.

Later today I hope to post about how the ELS reading went. But I must do some "real" work first.

Reading at The Erotic Literary Salon tonight!

2011-09-20T08:27:00.000-04:00

Last November I read at The Erotic Literary Salon (I wrote about it here) in Philadelphia. Tonight I'm reading there again, but accompanied by a couple of the women who are in a poetry performance troupe with me. Though one is not doing poetry, but rather reading a wonderful story she penned years ago. This will be the first time she'll get to read it for an audience.

Erotic work is funny that way. So many people like it, and so many people read it, and so many people write it, but places to share that work are few and far between. Susana Mayer is doing something about that.

I'll post about it, maybe even with pix, when I get back and things slow down a bit (yeah, right

Do I revive this blog?

2011-09-15T12:23:00.000-04:00

Since April ended, I have only written eight (8!) blog posts here. The reasons are numerous. And now I've gotten out of the habit of writing posts. And that makes it harder to pick it up again. And I've wondered whether that means that this blog's days are past. And that makes me sad. And sort of angry.

Why angry? Because I let this happen. I could point to this and that and the other in order to fix blame. But it simply comes down to this. I did not make room in my days to sit down and blog. And this wasn't always consciously. I'd have "write blog post" on my to-do list, but would always find some excuse to skip over it. Eight posts in four and a half months. And two of those months there was only one post!

Had this blog become unimportant to me? No, not at all. I take pride in the nickname Erobintica. I've made some very good friends through this blog. I've taken steps that I never would have without it. But I still have such a long ways to go.

This year is a year of transitions for me. Notice the word "smooth" is missing from that sentence. The way does not seem to be paved. I could make some four-wheeling comment here, but I won't. But I do need to keep moving.

For a bit, I pondered just closing up shop and dropping out of sight. I'd found that I was afraid to write what I wanted to write because... I want people to like me and it occurred to me that if I wrote as honestly as I ~~wanted to~~ needed to, that I could/would alienate not only strangers and acquaintances alike, but even the very people I love (and who love me). Yeah, wanting to be "liked" can be a huge hindrance. Limiting. Inhibiting. Paralyzing. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to say "fuck it all I don't care what anybody thinks!" Not sure I want to be though. Caring is what makes me me.

I honestly don't know what I'll be like in this next stage of my life.

So, possibly against better judgement, I've decided to revive this blog. I'm going to try to not let my low stats get to me. I'll try not to let a lack of comments get to me. I've always had a terrible case of no comment = negative reaction. Just ask the folks closest to me. Ha! It would be so nice to get a little bit of self-esteem before I'm history.

I have no idea what this revived blog will look like. I probably won't change how it looks right now. That's partly because I know that changing things always screws something up and I'm so fucking particular that I would waste inordinate spans of time trying to fix some mess-up in an innocuous post from 2 years ago that nobody reads! Also, I like the way my blog looks. Even though it's one of those black-background themes that so many people don't seem to like (hard on the eyes, pretentious, what-have-you).

So, welcome to my "new" blog. Erobintica.

Summer of too much to do.

2011-08-22T15:12:00.000-04:00

With no time for blogging, it seems. In ten days, the two remaining kids at home will be heading off to college. One for her last semester and the other, my "baby" for his freshman year. This summer has flown off at supersonic speed, and so many of my projects have been left waiting in the terminal. Hopefully, in September, I can play catch-up.

Best Erotic Romance!

2011-07-22T23:38:00.001-04:00

I am so excited about this! Recently, Kristina Wright released the Table of Contents for Best Erotic Romance and there I am, Erobintica, right there amongst some truly wonderful writers! Yes, I will pay the excess-use-of-exclamation-marks fine. Happily. !!! !!!! ;)

Got the photo loaded–finally!

Table of Contents

Introduction: Simply the Best

What Happened in Vegas   Sylvia Day

First Night   Donna George Storey

Another Trick Up My Sleeve   Heidi Champa

Drive Me Crazy   Delilah Devlin

Once Upon a Dinner Date   Saskia Walker

He Tends To Me     Justine Elyot

Guest Services   Angela Caperton

Memories for Sale   Andrea Dale

Blame It On Facebook   Kate Dominic

The Draft     Craig J. Sorensen

To Be in Clover   Shanna Germain

Honey Changes Everything   Emerald

Cheating Time   Kate Pearce

Our Own Private Champagne Room   Rachel Kramer Bussel

Till the Storm Breaks   Erobintica  (that's me!)

The Curve of Her Belly     Kristina Wright

Dawn Chorus     Nikki Magennis

Going "Adult Content"

2011-07-22T11:42:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I've decided to go with Blogger's "Adult Content" warning page, despite my not liking the idea, because of what I read here (about Google + and Google's NSFW issues). I am wanting my Erobintica blog to loosen up a bit, and I realized that fear of being shut out of here has kept me from doing that. Hence, not many posts of late.

So, yeah, I'm sorta pissed at myself for capitulating. I remember back when Alison Tyler had her blog reported and she put up the warning page and a bunch of other erotica folks did the same. At the time I wasn't being very daring in my blog, so I stayed open. But we seem to be going through another period of sexual hysteria (Emerald has a good Recommended Reading post on it here), and since I want to promote some stuff (announcement coming), without having to censor myself, I'm going to go behind the Content Warning door.

A lot to say, Part 2

2011-07-05T23:47:00.000-04:00

In the week since my last blog post (A lot to say, Part 1), I've read several things that have moved me and made me think. I finished up that post talking about how I'm still hesitant to be completely open about what I think of as my Erobintica work.

For instance: When I post something new here, I don't automatically post a link to my Facebook page. Oh, I have at times when I've been posting poems, but when I'm writing real introspective stuff, especially if it has to do with sexual stuff, I don't tend to post those links. Why? I mean, I'm writing it here, for anybody with an internet connection and the ability to search to find. If you search for "euphemisms for sucking dick," or "cock" for that matter, I am the top result with this post. In an odd way, I'm rather proud of that.

But I don't go about boasting about it (well, except here) and I sometimes (often?) worry what people will think if they find out. I've yet to have a very bad reaction from someone, surprise yes, but I've yet to had to deal with outrage, or anything close. But I'm sure the day will come. And what will I do then? And why the hell do I worry about it so much??? I worry because I've seen what has been said about other women who have written (or spoken) openly about sexuality and I feel like I need to have the courage of my convictions before I go spouting off (to put it bluntly). As such, I'm a work-in-progress. But I also believe that nobody is truly ready for trouble, and I'm not getting any younger, so, what am I waiting for?

Last week, in the comments on Part 1, Emerald linked to an article by Dr. Marty Klein titled Censorship and the Fear of Sexuality. (Other cultures too, but that's not the point of this.) The article starts out with this:

"Most Americans don't want to discuss sexual issues rationally. Their sexuality poisoned by the culture, they just want their emotional pain taken away. To people afraid of sexuality, censorship looks attractive."

When I read this I thought of the book "Pornland" by Gail Dines (not linking on purpose). I've started reading it as part of an attempt to understand how this fear manifests in others. I wrote a little bit about my own thoughts on the porn thing back in March when I reviewed Erika Lust's "Good Porn" and got to interview her. Don't want to go off on that tangent right now.

Something else that Marty Klein said that I found intriguing was this:

"Because we live in a sex-negative culture, many people want eroticism kept private throughout society. This is their social policy response to their individual discomfort, similar to institutionalizing personal racism via the social policy of apartheid."

I've always wondered why I was vaguely bothered by the whole "TMI" response of people when someone reveals something about themselves that has to do with what I think of as bodily sexuality. Why is that too much information? Why is something that is so crucial to who we are as sexual human beings assumed to be something that shouldn't be shared?

When I write erotica, even as fiction, I am sharing a part of myself, sexually, with the reader. I can't help it. In order to write what I do, I have to think it first. And I'm thinking it because it turns me on. And while I have written vanilla, heteronormative, married characters erotica (back when just the act of writing down sexual thoughts felt transgressive to me), that's not what pushes my buttons and not really what I want to write these days.

So, should I, or other erotica authors keep these thoughts, these "stories" private, not share them, because they make someone uncomfortable? I talk about "eroticaland" and the folks I've met here fairly often. But right there I can see Klein's "aparteid" comment in action. This is the whole genre vs. literary fiction thing, but with the extra twist of private vs. public sex (which Klein talks about).

And I'm not just talking about fiction. I'm also writing personal essays (which my blog is mostly made up of if you think about it), and in those there's no hiding behind the "it's only a story."

It's almost midnight. I have lots to do tomorrow, so I'm going to stop here for now. But I'll be back with Part 3, in which I delve more into what Marty Klein wrote in this article.

A lot to say, Part 1

2011-06-28T20:47:00.000-04:00

It's been more than a month since I've posted anything here and I decided I better get my ass in gear and post something for June! This post will probably jump around all over the place, so fasten your seat belts!

Today I clicked on the the "yes, mobile template" button so that folks looking at my blog from a mobile device can hopefully read it easier, and so maybe more will read. Of course, I have to write something for there to be something to read, so I hope to remedy the lack of updates with various odd postings. If you are reading this on a mobile device and have read here before without the new fancy schmancy mobile template, I'd appreciate hearing if it made a difference or not.

This past Saturday (June 25), I read a few of my poems at Essensuality in NYC. Billed as "An Evening of Erotic Expression," this series run by Monica Day, is a wonderful venue for material that might not be appropriate to share at a "regular" reading venue. I appreciate venues like this, and The Erotic Literary Salon (run by Susana Mayer, a friend of Monica's, in Philadelphia), where I've read before, because I get to read the poems that I don't do otherwise, like this one. I'll talk a bit about why in a minute.

I'd attended Essensuality once before, back in March when Jeremy Edwards was a featured performer. Then, and again this month, the evening is a smorgasbord of erotic performances, including music, dance, poetry, fiction, memoir, skits, and more. It truly is an OPEN mike.

Which brings me back to why I don't read some of my poems for ... how should I put this? ... general audiences. I know that poems that erotically use the words cunt and cock in them would not go over with everyone (emphasis on everyone) at a plain old poetry reading. I am NOT in this for the shock value. Also, I am chicken. At venues like Essensuality and The Erotic Literary Salon, people are there expecting to hear stuff like that. *And if not, they make a quick exit. My hope is that someday, after reading enough times at venues like these, that I'll become more comfortable reading these sorts of works. Anyhow. It was a good evening. I think my friend enjoyed it. I'll be back next time (in September) when Emerald is scheduled to be a feature.

*****

One thing I've been dealing with over the past several years (at least) is how it feels to me that society in general STILL thinks that any and all expressions of our real sexuality should be kept behind closed doors, under the covers, and in the dark. I hear it in off-hand comments from friends, relatives, and acquaintances. I hear it in commentary from various self-proclaimed pundits. I heard a lot of it with the recent twitpic media frenzy. And all that reinforces the shame that I've been fighting against for way longer. It manifests in small ways.

For the past several months I've been working to revamp my personal website, the one for the "writer" me. For a few years, there was no linkage between there and here. Then there was a covert link on a crowded page. That page is gone now (too many broken links). My new site is going to fully meld all my various and diverse writing activities. It will link to this blog, and others. It will link to any poems I can link to. It will have video of my readings, including the one at The Erotic Literary Salon.

I've been having a hard time with this. Working very slowly. Part of the reason is that while I want to be completely open about the Erobintica side of me (as I put it), I still am a little hesitant.

Why? Well, I'd keep going, but it's evening and we're going to watch the special features disc from Pan's Labyrinth tonight and I have to be up very early tomorrow. So I'm going to post this and come back to it - hopefully tomorrow afternoon.

And so it goes

2011-05-23T22:17:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since I did a blog post here. I've been working on various other projects, submitting work, getting accepted, getting rejected. Business as usual. Also procrastinating.

Last week I held off on announcing the inclusion of my one of my flash fiction pieces, Strands of Imagination, in a new publication, The Other Dance. This short piece was paired up with a lovely erotic watercolor by artist Rod MacIver. The reason I held off was two-fold: 1) I wanted to find out if I could use some art on my post and 2) I just was busy enough to not get around to it.

Now, less than a week after my piece went out (it was a newsletter form of publication, with works supposed to be archived at the site), The Other Dance, as well as the erotic art site, Wild Artist Erotica, is closed (that link is to the notice of closure). Luckily I took a screen shot of my work and bio before it disappeared in the ether.

But the saddest part of all this is that Emerald had been hired to be the editor of this and she was so excited (and a bit nervous as well) about this endeavor. It's been hard watching a friend get tossed on the waves like this. Emerald had written a lovely post announcing this, as well as one today explaining the sudden closure. There's not much more I can add.

While I'm saddened that my work, and the lovely art it was paired with, is no longer accessible, I find that I'm taking this in stride. I do believe that at some level, the societal shame that surrounds the erotic had a hand in this. At least that's what I read between the lines at the closure statement.

But this has just made me more intent on getting going on a project that I've been mulling for quite some time. So, watch for an announcement, hopefully within the next month. Also, I'm more committed than ever to my erotic writing. I've said it before and I'll say it again, and again, and again.

Fuck Shame!

A cabin of one's own

2011-05-07T13:16:00.023-04:00

The walls may just be camo and tan tarps, the desk may be jury-rigged from a flooring scrap of oriented strand board, and I may not be able to see out of my "window" (because of the tarp), but I've got my laptop, my mocha, and a pot of purple and white pansies to help me christen my writing cabin.

Very early this morning, around 3 AM, I woke up, and despite the 38 degrees, I had to go out into the woods to pee. The stars were magnificent, and I was reminded why I want to be up here so badly–I can rarely see any but the very brightest stars anymore where we "live."

Just now a hummingbird flew in through the open door and just as quickly left. Early this morning, along with the owls and woodpeckers, we heard something different, and when my son got up, he discovered it was a spruce grouse, drumming it's call just outside the cabin. Right now the woods are filled with birdsong, and I can hear the water rushing over the waterfall down the hill.

This morning I wandered, found a blooming trillium, such a simple flower, yet one I've always loved, and there I was crouching on the ground trying to take a decent photograph of it (it's kind of blurry). It's still very early Spring here, no leaves on the trees yet, fiddleheads still unfurled, the landscape still mostly brown and gray. But the sun is warm on this south-facing slope, and a gentle breeze is crinkling the tarp walls.

I'm more relaxed right now than I've been in months. When I took my walk this morning, instead of flat pavement with SUVs whizzing by me and garbage in the gutter to look at, I hiked downhill, ducking under branches and stepping over logs to get to a small stream, where I took pictures of the water flowing over stone. Then I scrambled along it's bank till I came to a marshy area where I peered at the sparkling mica in the water before heading back uphill, over an old stone wall, to return to our picnic table. It was a much shorter walk than I normally take, but much better exercise and much more enjoyable.

This place feels more like home to me now than my suburban "home" where I've lived for the past eighteen-plus years. I want to be up here permanently. While I know I'll miss my friends, I hope they will come visit this beautiful place, and I know I will make new ones. In fact later today we're stopping in to visit neighbors up the road that have become friends, to say hi and get reacquainted after being away for six months.

Because it's been six months since I was up here last! When I realized that last night, as I lay in the sleeping bag, looking up at the ceiling of my cabin, with it's old barn timbers and silly, but oddly appropriate Mossy Oak camo panels, I felt a combination of grief–for being away so long–and rejoicing for being "home."

This is not a working trip. I'd just wanted to come up here for Mother's Day, to be in this place. There is much work to be done this year if my cabin is to be completed before winter. There are logs for the cordwood walls needing to be cut. I've been saving and collecting bottles for a couple of years to make bottle windows and those have to be made. I have to build window frames for the old windows we bought last year, and I want to build the door myself. Then there's the laying of the cordwood with mortar to form the walls. Stones need to be collected to use in the wall that will face the little pot-bellied stove I have already. The roof needs to be insulated and then have the final roofing put on (right now it's just tarpaper). Under the floor needs to be insulated too, and flooring laid down. Hopefully we can use old barn wood for that. A porch and stairs needs to be built. And I want to build some rustic furniture for the cabin.

When I write it all out, that's a lot of work. I will have to spend long stretches up here this year if that's going to get done. Some friends have said they'd like to come up here and help, and that would be nice. It will be good to sit here writing and look at the walls and know that friends helped and left some of their energy here. I'm not coming up here to run away. Though I have to admit that it's nice to be away from the hassles of what's come to be daily life.

This is my "room of one's own." Already, even with just tarps for walls and oriented strand board sheeting for a desk. I feel happy and at peace. I feel sheltered here. It is home.

A Fucking Shame

2011-05-02T20:28:00.000-04:00

*Note: There are no links in this since I wrote it as an essay, not a blog post. If you don't know what I'm referring to in the first paragraph, go watch this news video. I'm probably going to keep writing on this, but here's where I'm starting.

Incensed about the news story "outing" an English teacher who writes erotic romance in her spare time under a pseudonym, I blogged, commented, and shared links like a madwoman. My righteous indignation nerve had been set off and I was twitchy. I couldn't quite believe my ears when I heard it suggested that this woman choose between being an English teacher or being a author. WTF???!!! Probably most English teachers either are, or harbor a desire to be, writers. Surprise! The newscasters used words like "racy" and "salacious" with a tittering glee–wink wink nudge nudge–that bothered me.

I'd never read any of this author's work, hadn't even heard of her before since I'm not much into romance, erotic or otherwise. But I was filled with a fury, ready to fight for her right to write whatever she wanted to. Proudly proclaimed "I write erotica!" Yet, while reading the overwhelmingly supportive comments on the news site and elsewhere, I felt a vague unease. Over and over again people wrote that her life was "now ruined" in some way or another because her "cover had been blown." Reading comments like "only her imagination" and "she used a pen name" and "not like it's pornography" and even "she should have been more careful" bothered me.

The implication from the outraged parents was that this woman had done something wrong by writing about sex, that somehow she was a threat, especially to the "young minds" she was entrusted with. It seemed to me that this was akin to slut-shaming. But even the positive comments seemed ambiguous to me, and I couldn't help but sense some victim-blaming. Was I perhaps taking all these comments personally?

What bothered me the most though, was this: why could I get all fired-up for someone else, but not myself? Just a week before I'd been wailing, quite literally at times, about not being able to write anything. I'd sit down at the keyboard and

nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing, but I was most definitely stuck. I even blogged about being stuck. Yes, there is irony there. More than one person got after me to "stop writing about not writing!" But it seemed the only thing I could. The ideas and words were in my head, but I was afraid to put them down, make them solid. And I knew why, but I didn't want to admit it. What I hated seeing applied to another person was something that I had no trouble at all burying myself under.

It was shame. Or more accurately, is. An insidious, permeating sense that there is something wrong with me for wanting to write about sex. Oh, I'm continually doing battle with it. I have a custom-made necklace with the words "Fuck Shame" stamped in the metal. I'd won it in a contest, and was asked "will you really wear it?" I said sure! And sometimes I do wear it proudly. But sometimes, depending on where I am, I pull the pendant around so it's hidden by my hair. More often than not it languishes in my jewelry box for months. That pretty much sums up my internal conflict with not only writing about sex, but sex itself. I want to/I'm afraid.

Despite having what my husband calls a "one-track-mind," I was in my early thirties before I even wrote any erotica. It was a gorgeous Spring day and I'd taken a walk down by a creek that flowed near our house. I was acutely aware of the sensuousness of walking through the tall ferns and found a wonderful little spot under a myrtle tree where the sun dotted the ground. When I got home, I sat down with my journal out in the yard and wrote down a detailed fantasy/"story" involving a woman taking her husband to a spot like the one I'd found, and having incredible sex with him there. I wrote detailed and lush and found myself so turned on by the time I finished writing that I had to lock myself in the bathroom and quick masturbate. All good, right? Well, as I wrote it then, the woman snaps out of her fantasy. Also, I wasn't able to show the "story" to my husband. I can't remember why I didn't, though I know I wanted to. But I was scared, not quite sure where what I'd written had come from. And so I kept it to myself.

It would be another ten years or so before I typed it up and showed it to him. And though I wrote other erotic stories around the time I got up the nerve to share that first one, I couldn't share those. Why? Because I realized that even though the characters were fictional, the settings fictional, the dialogue fictional, the desire to experience the sex that I was writing about was real. I really wanted to do those things. Have sex outdoors, suck cock in the shower, have wonderfully uninhibited anal sex, and much more. But though I intellectually knew those things were not "wrong" or "bad," I felt shame.

Yeah, about now I'm sure you're going WTF? Nothing wrong with ANY of that! Well, yeah, I know. But if sex is something that evokes shame, maybe because a person is an incest survivor, as I am, the shame surrounding sexuality can set up a nasty feedback loop. I'm ashamed of being ashamed, which makes me more ashamed of being ashamed, so, I'm ashamed, etc. etc. ad nauseum. And it's fucking hard to break out of that loop, because once it starts, it feeds on itself. The term "meltdown" is quite an apt description of what ensues.

So why do I want to write about sex if it causes me such distress at times? Good question. Maybe through writing erotica and stuff like this, I'm trying to figure out my relationship with sex and how that fits into my relationship with the world at large. It's also my way of fighting back, hopefully shoving the shame a bit further out of the way, so it doesn't constantly trip me up. Because it sure has sent me sprawling at times, and still does. And I'm sure I'm not the only one. The pavement is littered with us. Another reason I want to write about sex is I want to figure out why I didn't end up hating it. Even though some of my sexual interactions haven't been completely healthy (excuse me while I ROFLMAO), I love sex, and intend to keep fucking till the day I die. I can say that because I'm having a good day. But when I'm in a shame spiral, I want to never be sexual again. There I am, facedown on the ground.

I consider myself to be "sex-positive" and try to be open-minded when it comes to the wide range of sexual ways of being (though because of my issues, there are some things I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable thinking about–such as sexual age-play). But despite a gut-level ick reaction, I'm intensely curious about how people's sexualities manifest themselves. And that curiosity extends to myself. Spending time getting to know other erotica authors in blogland, I found that this curiosity is shared by others. Here were people who wanted to write this stuff for the same reasons I did.

But when I was dealing with my incest issues, I tended to think of my sexuality in terms of brokenness. I couldn't see my fantasies or desires (well, the non-vanilla ones) as anything other than evidence of my damage, and even took that as far as trying to rid myself of a particularly potent three-way fantasy. Even though it was more than twenty years old at the time, having been planted by a former lover, and pretty much guaranteed to either get me turned on or bring me to orgasm, I wanted to "get rid of it." At the time, I saw everything through shame-colored glasses, and this really hot fantasy was something that looked "sick" to me. I couldn't shake it though, and it would take quite a few more years for me to accept this as one of my hot buttons.

And this is where one of the oft cited comments of "it's only imagination" got under my skin. Because, while there are situations I imagine that I'm not all that interested in having happen "in real life," there are others that I do, and I can't explain why the difference. When I'm with other sex-positive type folks, I don't feel any conflict. I can feel good about myself. The shame fades into the background. But just let the question "how could you think those thoughts?" be asked, and I'm not sure how to respond. And I get afraid. It's rather circular. Brave, afraid, brave, afraid.

As for the pseudonym thing, when I first contemplated submitting some of my stuff for publication, I had a name all picked out. But because I worried that I was thinking of using a pen name out of shame (rather than practical issues like a job that could conceivably be lost, and don't get me started on that!), I used a part of my real name. Eventually I started using my full name. Why? Because I don't want to be ashamed. I shouldn't have to be ashamed. That's my thing. I have no problem with other writers using pen names. I know plenty of them and I know they've given a lot of thought to it and they don't use it out of shame. But it's a shame that they have to.

Is what I write considered by some to be pornography? I imagine so. And when I pull up my little dictionary widget and look up the word, here's the definition that I get for pornography: "printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings." Well then, yeah, I write pornography, since I sure hope it stimulates erotic feelings. Why is that not as valid as writing to stimulate aesthetic feelings? Poetry anyone? Or emotional feelings? Horror, mystery, thriller, chicken soup–the list goes on. Hell, even cookbooks can evoke strong emotions!

As for being careful, you can only be just so. I don't want to live in paranoia. Our society is pretty fucked up when it comes to sex. And hiding it and not talking about it just perpetuates the worst and stifles the best. I've always admired those folks that just don't give a fuck what others think of them. Yeah, maybe they feel shame at times, but they fight it. And you know what? I want to be like that.

And what of this piece of writing? What's the purpose of it? It's just me trying to figure out why the fuck I got so aggravated over the Judy Mays "outing" incident and then went into a major shame spiral about my own desire to write sex. Standing on the outside, I can say that I have every right to write about anything I damn well please. But when I'm in the maelstrom, there is nothing but the shame. I tell myself that I should give up writing, utterly and completely. Yes, deny and give up something that makes me who I am. Again, WTF???!!! That's shame talking, and I need to learn to recognize it and learn to talk back to it.

And those people who are so quick to condemn those of us who dare to put sexual thought to paper, or on the internet, my suspicion is that they feel the pull of the erotic too, but because of shame, they can't accept that in themselves or in others. They're like kids that aren't having any fun and want to stop the fun of others. It's like they're saying I can't enjoy my sexuality, so don't you dare enjoy yours! Well, that's just a fucking shame. So, I guess I'll keep writing. Imagine I'll outrage some, piss off others. But maybe somewhere, someone like me will read my words and think, I can do that! Wouldn't that be nice?

So what was that?

2011-04-27T08:08:00.000-04:00

Yesterday's e[lust] post was something new - for me. I'd submitted my "Inspired by MomentumCon" blog post to be included in that e[lust] edition, and in exchange, I post the edition on my blog. There's enough links there to keep me in reading material for quite some time!

I was alerted to the call for MomentumCon blog posts by Emerald (who also has a post included). I may occasionally send appropriate blog posts to e[lust] in the future. I don't really have a "plan" for my blog, not even sure I have a direction I'm going in. I'd like to have more folks reading, but I also don't want to ignore my other writing in order to do blog posts. It's a dilemma.

Anyhow, I need to try and focus on some writing this week. Yesterday I got a rejection (albeit a nice one) and it's something I sent last minute, which I've been tending to do. I need to stop that and get stuff out much sooner. So, that's what I'm gonna do. But still, there's deadlines looming which I don't want to let pass. It's almost more important to me that I actually submit something than get anything accepted. If that makes sense.

e[lust] #25

2011-04-26T16:33:00.000-04:00

Photo courtesy of Sadie

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether youíre looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, youíre going to find it here. And in this edition you can read all about the best sexuality conference of the year (ever?), Momentum, in a one-time-only Editor's Choice anomaly: I couldn't choose just one, so I chose them all! Want to be included in e[lust] #26? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Weekís Top Three Posts ~

Where We Are - It was only supposed to be about the fucking. I don't know how I convinced myself that it could be. I fretted before we began, about how I could ever possibly separate sex from emotion.

The Edible Slut - His hand made an audible crack as it connected with her ass, loud in the dim bedroom. Did he really sink his hand into her hair, turn her head to face him, and shout, ìStop being such a brat!î

Beyond Bisexual - I donít identify as bisexual, because I am interested in so many more people than just two of the variety of sexes or genders out there. Except, that is a word that a lot of people understand.

~ Featured: Momentum Conference Posts (Lillyís Picks) ~

An Extraordinary Gathering (and a Gathering of the Extraordinary)

Finally! A Real Momentum Post

Inspired by MomentumCon

#mcon Rehash

Momentum

Momentumcon, Part One

~ e[lust] Editress ~

To Be or Not To Be....Anonymous, That Is - If youíre out or decide to be outÖ.youíre not just outing yourself. Youíre outing them all. And did they give their consent? Probably not, Iíd guess. And even if they did give their consent could they even have a clue what consequences there will be?

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Bump In The Road - A Swinger Party Goes Bad

Bridging the Gap (Between Swinging and BDSM)

con-sent

Eating Pussy

Jane Says: What Does Sex Feel Like For A Man?

Let's talk about food

Safe Word

S&M And Abuse

The Rules, Revisited

The Wet Patch

Who Cares About Your Open Relationship

Where There's Smoke...

Kink & Fetish

BDSM Advice: Nipple Clamps

bloodfucking

Communicating by touch

Consent [Violated]

Debasement

getting ready...

He mixed pleasure and pain, and my body responded to it all

Invitation

Stolen

Safety Scissors

Topping From the Bottom: An Ode

Wantonly Restrained

You Can Make It Feel So Real

Erotic Writing

3. Wrath

Cunt Licking

Definition of Inspiration

Linger

Miss Me?

My Sex Life: The Journey Continues, Part 2

Silk Memories

Sexy Dance-Ing

teacher sweaters and the cock that haunts me

The Casino

The miseducation of Ms. Mullins

Wow. Confession #558

When I come

WWWednesday

You Want This

Fighting back by writing like a motherfucker.

2011-04-25T21:44:00.000-04:00

You can get one of these mugs here.

If you've known me lately, or read any of the posts here lately, you know I've been having a minor (or major depending on point of view) meltdown. Yeah, I've been a mess. And that's disappointed and distressed (and/or pissed off) those friends and loved ones who have any dealings with me.

Today, while ranting hysterically at my husband (who was incredibly patient with me through it all), I said "I sound like my mother." Then, "I don't want to become my mother." And it dawned on me, through the haze of overwrought emotion, that I had so internalized her own view of herself, that I was continuing with her self-imposed limitations and self-destructive tendencies. Yeah. That same old rut. She died unhappy and unfulfilled.

I don't want to do that. So, I'm gonna write like a motherfucker. That links to the signature Dear Sugar post at The Rumpus that gave rise to this saying. I've read that piece many times. Wish it would sink in. I have that mug. I drink mochas out of it (I also drink out of my fucking bunny mug, which I should take a picture of too). I have a lot of words in me. A lot of stories and poems and opinions and thoughts. All of which I've been deathly afraid of.

It's hard - next to impossible really - to grow self-confidence overnight. Realizing I don't want to turn out like my mother (long gone now) has planted the seed. I'm going to have to use anger to fertilize it and tears to water it. Practicing healthy selfishness (something I'm totally unfamiliar with) will have to be the sunlight.

I have to trust. We'll see what grows.

Stuck

2011-04-24T21:21:00.001-04:00

Bound by Randy Lagana

I have been unable to write anything for days. I sit at the keyboard and stare. These words are an attempt to break free of whatever is keeping me from giving voice to my thoughts and feelings and opinions and fantasies and desires ... and fears. Right now the fear seems to have the upper hand. I'm filled with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I mean actual, physical anxiety. And I'm hating this.

Ever since I got back from Momentum, I've been wanting to write so many things, but I haven't been able to. And just now, looking for that link, I discovered that my blog post about Mcon is featured on their blog round up here - and wow, they say "beautifully raw account"- and I'm sitting here kinda stunned. I've been struggling. There's a direction I want to take my writing, but all the negative messages I've received over the course of my life have frightened me into paralysis. And nothing anybody can say to me can get me moving again. Only I can do that.

And I know how. But I'm so goddamn fucking scared. It's gonna require me to be strong and sure of myself - two things I don't feel I am. It's going to require me to speak honestly - not that I haven't been, but I am quite guilty of the sin of omission. There are truths that I hold back, because "nobody wants to hear them."

Last night, at least I think it was last night, I clicked on a link that Violet Blue had twittered, and watched the video of the trans girl being beaten in a McDonald's in Baltimore. It's pretty upsetting to watch (I'm not linking - find it yourself). And watching it, the question is posed in one's mind (hopefully), "what would I do?" - and I knew, in my gut, without a doubt, that I would have gotten involved. In fact, I worry I would have gone a little berserker. And see? This is the kind of writing that scares me. It's almost too honest.

I've spent most of my lifetime hiding my "true" self (whatever the hell that is), and I worry I've hid it so long that I'm not sure even I could recognize the real me. When I got back from Momentum, I was all "fired-up" and thought I knew what I was going to do. But due to circumstances, I stifled myself (and I just remembered Archie Bunker telling Edith to "stifle"). I sorta understand why I did. And I don't like it.

Today I clicked on a link that Susie Bright posted on Facebook, about Jane Mecom, Ben Franklin's sister. In those days, a girl was lucky if she was taught to read. Jane never really learned to write. She had 12 children, 11 of whom she buried. This was another piece that hit me somewhere deep in my gut.

So, yeah, I'm stuck. When I finish writing this, I'm going to check a few things, shut down my computer and get into bed and read. And hope that tomorrow when I get up, I can at least start looking for the key to getting unstuck.

Bound Freedom by Randy Lagana

Poetry Catch Up: Day 14 through Day 16 poems

2011-04-20T16:34:00.001-04:00

This isn't too hard to do if you do it everyday. But once you start getting behind? It all falls apart. So now to catch up. I'm going to do this in order from oldest to newest, in the same manner as I've done them.

Shadows: Day 14 Poem (this day was Poem in your pocket day - I carried this one in my heart only)

Still Wall

Awake before dawn, still sleepy, gaze

held by patterns on the wall. Streetlamp's

glow paints itself into a corner, its amber

traps this moment, quiet but for early birds

and waking city sounds. This light is still,

unlike that of sun or moon with their cycles,

their travels. Dark angles are shadows of night

windows, their panes warmer against the wall

than against the grey, real world of morn.

While I stare at the lines that crisscross the wall,

poem words come to me, and in hope of remembering,

pull my camera from my bag, take a picture.

she wants to fold into him

like the warm, gold light folds

into the wall, so close as to be one

Weeks later, I still cannot write that poem.

Others are written while this image burns

itself into my mind's retina. I want to write

the truth of it, but what is real? The light?

The shadow? The wall? None of it?

____________

Motion: Day 15 Poem (this day's prompt was to use the words kinetic, tendril, embolden, blossom).

Movement

We are all kinetic energy: trapped, tapped,
tormented, vibrating particles of want.

This tendril climbs, hangs, tangles, sways,
wraps around our bodies, holds us tight.

I embolden me, saying move forward, look,
experience the world for it is fleeting.

There is only looking-forward-to, since it seems
I will not blossom until it's almost time to fade.
__________________

Pwoermd: Day 16 Poem (you have to read the prompt here to understand)

holshite

Well, that's all for today. I'm working on the Day 17 poem, but am having to quit to get ready for other activities. I think one of the contributing factors to my current "block" when it comes to writing things I need to write (blog posts, fiction submissions, reviews, etc.) is that I got behind on these poem prompts. So, if I can just get caught up, I'll be doing okay. Yeah, right!

Am writing, just not posting: poems

2011-04-14T12:48:00.002-04:00

I hope to be able to soon, but right now I just can't.

Always something missing: Day 12 Poem

2011-04-12T14:59:00.000-04:00

I missed Days 10 & 11, but plan on getting caught up this afternoon. I decided to start with today's prompt at Not Without Poetry from Gina Williams, which needed the last line of a favorite song, the main spice or ingredient in a favorite dish, and a geologic form. So, of course I had to do this one first (rather than the previous prompts). Any excuse to use geology in my poems! Thanks Gina!

I can't say I have A favorite song, but one of my longest-lived favorites is the Beatles tune In My Life. Go watch/listen. It's hard for me to hear that and not get choked up. So, I grabbed the last line, "in my life I love you more." Then a favorite dish. Tacos! Well-loved around our household and usually made by my husband. Maybe that's why I like them so much. And then ... geology! One theme I return to again and again in my poetry is the stuff that's missing, so I immediately went for the term unconformity, not the least reason being it's many layers of meaning. Unfortunately, thanks to Blogger, I can't get the formatting right in the second stanza. Oh well.

Triad of Meaning

Meat sizzles in cast iron, seasoned

with salt, pepper, and chili powder,

the hot kind, liberally sprinkled, stirred

in with chopped onions and green chiles.

I can never get it right, the flavor always

just a little off from how everyone likes it.

That's what happens when you don't measure.

One past is measured against another past, found wanting. Something

missing. But something is always missing. Layers deposited, removed,

deposited, removed, deposited. Nothing stays the same. Where we

meet always changes. Close, yet separate. Never quite right. But just right.

In my life. Places. Remember. Gone. Remain. Changed.

I love you. Friends. Lovers. Memories. Meaning.

More. Accept the unconformity. Pass the salsa.

Inspired by MomentumCon

2011-04-12T00:36:00.005-04:00

For a week now I've been wanting to write about the MOMENTUM Conference, which was held on April 1-3 in Silver Spring, MD. Subtitled Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism, and Relationships Through New Media, it was one of the most inspiring weekends I've spent in a long time. But I haven't been able to write about it. Today I realized why not. But first about the conference.

Kudos to Tess Danesi and Diva for organizing this FIRST Annual conference! From the moment I found out about it, and decided to attend, I was impressed with all aspects of the conference, from the ease of registration, the continuing stream of updates as panels were set (not to mention the awesome topics and presenters of said panels), and maybe most of all, for me at least, the affordability of this conference ($55 for non-early bird registration). I'd had to pass up a writer's conference earlier in the year because I just couldn't afford it and I'd been quite depressed about that. But this one I could, and for that I'm eternally grateful, since this may have been a turning point for me. You can read Diva's account of the conference here.

I really liked how the schedule was set up. The conference began Friday evening with a meet & greet ice cream sundae bar (quite delicious) and the very funny Maria Falzone with an abbreviated version of her Sex Rules. Then there was the amazing opening keynote panel with Jenny Block, Reid Mihalko, Carol Queen, Tristan Taormino, and moderator Lynn Comella. The next day was filled with interesting sessions and I only wish I could have been in more than one place at a time. I'm not going to go into the individual sessions here (that would take me all night to write up), but to get a sense of what was available, you can go here and check them out.

There were several aspects of the weekend that were special. My friend and I stayed with Emerald, and so I got to spend more time with a good friend that I've made through the wonderful world of erotica blogland. I got to get books signed: Jenny Block's Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage, Carol Queen's PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions about Gender and Sexuality, Tristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women, and Susie Bright's memoir Big Sex Little Death. And I got to sit in on a panel on Sunday morning, Sex Positive Interventions: The Feminist Sex Wars and Beyond, that was not only amazing, but while I listened, gears clicked into place in my head and a bunch of vague ideas I'd had started coming together.

Okay, I've gone on and on. So, why did I have trouble writing about this? Well, besides the fact that it's impossible to condense a weekend full of information into a short blog post, there's been a vague sadness that I've been experiencing since the conference. Some of that is normal, there's always a bit of a letdown after a great event when you realize it's over. But for me there was more.

And this is where I start to get nervous. Because one thing that I realized in that panel on Sunday morning is I have to write as honestly, stark and raw, as I possibly can. If I try to hide at all, my writing will be mediocre. So, here I go again, stepping out of my comfort zone.

The whole weekend of the conference, I absolutely LOVED being amongst myriad sex-positive folks of all persuasions. It just felt GOOD. I was impressed by the maturity and thoughtfulness of everyone - presenters and attendees. I kept wishing I could magically materialize various people I know and say "look at this! isn't it wonderful!?" Yet, in the back of my mind, there was the constant knowledge that there was no way I could have had the guts to attend myself even just a few years ago.

WHY? Well, the title of the conference gives me all the reasons.

Making Waves - I avoid conflict like the plague. I grew up trying (and failing) to be the peacemaker in my family. I rarely express my opinion aloud if I'm sure that someone will disagree with me. Not because I don't lack conviction, but because standing up for what I believe in scares the shit out of me. Right now I'm scared that someone (that amorphous someone) will read this and be angry/disappointed/whatever at me for something I say here. I must say I've gotten better over the past few years, but I still get almost sick to my stomach when I think of actually disagreeing with someone. So me make waves? Scary!

Sexuality - My life has been shaped in both good and bad ways by sex and sexuality. For most of my life I was ashamed of my sexuality and it scared me. Yeah, you'll see the word scared sprinkled liberally through here. But now that I feel I'm starting to get my shit together around my sexuality, I've reached menopause, and my sexuality is changing, and I almost feel gypped. And I've got to come to terms with that. But still, sex and sexuality are so important to me, that I've realized I can't just let it go and take up something else, say counted cross-stitch? [trying to be funny]

Feminism - I've been a stay at home mom for most of my adult life - only worked for odd times and have no "career" to go back to now that my kids are pretty much all grown. Unless you count writing, which I've only come back to in the past 10 years and you really couldn't call it anything more than a hobby till now. And some might still call it that. I've always felt a jab of anxiety whenever someone would ask me "What do you do?" because I always assumed the "correct" answer to be something other than "I'm a mom." Nowadays I answer "writer," but even that makes me feel like I'm telling a fib, because it's not something I could support myself through, at least not now. So, does that count? Yeah, I've got a lot of self-worth issues surrounding my choices. Can I claim "feminist" if I haven't even made enough money over the course of my adult life to qualify for social security? I can't help but feel I flunked some test.

Relationships - Lots of poly-positive (poly meaning polyamorous) folks and topics at this conference. And though that was wonderful, it also made me a little sad. Probably because poly folks stress communication, and in my long-term, monogamous marriage (which I'm very happy in), communication is something that isn't a strong point. Probably because we both were raised in families that didn't talk about stuff. And though I've brought up the subject of polyamory, I've never felt that I've really been able to explain my thoughts on the subject, probably because of my fear of "making waves." But I keep trying to understand myself and my sexuality, and maybe I'll even learn to communicate in the way I'd like to. There's also very personal reasons why this makes me a little sad, but I'm choosing to not go into that here.

New Media - My writing is a constant struggle. I've got self-esteem issues (nobody wants to read what I have to say) and I have focus issues and there's also that good-buddy of mine, shame, because what I want to write about is sex. I'm envious of those whose lives have brought them to a place where they can operate from a place that isn't hip-deep in shame. I believe that shame is the reason we have such fucked up ideas about what constitutes "proper" sexuality (like that could ever exist!). Despite my Fuck Shame necklace (which I wore all weekend as a talisman of sorts), I still carry that shadow. I don't feel it as much, but I know it's been there and it's left it's high-water mark on my life. But I have to write, so I have to write over the shame.

Which brings me to my inspiration. Like I said, I'm envious of those who can be so openly sex-positive. I want to be. But I still carry a life-time of sex-negative messages. One of the strongest, most pervasive is DON'T TALK ABOUT IT! Sex is private. Naturally, right? No. I've come to believe that it's wrong to keep it all quiet, hush-hush, under wraps, etc. etc. ad nauseum. So, I figure I have to start speaking up. Speaking out. And that's fucking scary. All too often I've felt that people (those amorphous people) see me as naive, and someone who doesn't know what she's talking about, probably because whenever I've been questioned, I've caved, afraid of the conflict that might come from standing up for whatever it is.

Most of the time I feel like I don't really have much to offer. That others can say things much more eloquently than I and with much more conviction and intelligence. So I've held my tongue. But during this momentous weekend, after that Sunday morning session, I was speaking with Carol Queen and tried to put my ideas into words (I didn't think I did that great a job) and she said "your voice is needed." Then later, she wrote in the book I held out to her: "For Robin! Write your heart out - I look forward to reading it!"

So, now my question to myself is this: Will you have the guts Robin? Will you be able to write honestly even if what you write might (or most certainly will) make the people who love you squirm? Will you be able to speak your truth, even if it's not socially accepted in our current culture? Can you have the courage of your convictions?

Only time will tell.

Stepping out: Day 9 Poem

2011-04-09T11:16:00.001-04:00

A Word With You

Free association, does that count?

When I hear the word word spoken,

or see it written, what do I think?

The phrase can I have a word with you?

immediately brings on anxiety.

This word is never just one word,

and never good. It's what the teacher,

boss, disapproving friend says to you

before they launch into a verbal barrage

detailing all the ways that you've ventured

outside the status quo. It would be nicer

to have a word with someone about words

such as love, affection, desire, peace.

I don't know where I'm going with this.

Today I am nervous, stepping outside

my own status quo, into the words

unknown, brave, curiosity, future.

Today's prompt introduced me to a new word: metonymy. This was Shanna Germain's prompte at Not Without Poetry. I'm real curious to see what others do with this.

And I swear my next post will be about the MOMENTUM Conference I went to last weekend, and not another friggin poem!

Dear Life: Day 8 Poem

2011-04-08T18:10:00.000-04:00

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry, from Nikki Magennis, was "What do you hope will save you?" The only thing I can think of is writing. Not sure that's what this poem is about. In my estimation, it's fairly dark. I don't have a lot of hope these days for "things" (read "life") to turn out at all like I'd like it to. But I'll keep scratching away.

Tooth and Nail

There is no fight in her–

she is nothing but fight.

Constant tides, the push,

the pull, the shame, the pride.

Inside, all molten, all stone.

Outside just brittle shell.

Desire is her swirling wind,

stroked by butterfly wings,

howling through her primitive

forests of all she cannot let go.

Storms will rage and die away,

change her landscape, expose

her soil, her bedrock to touch,

to fingers that trace her edges,

and she will cling for life, sink

into her own flesh, in order to hold on.

Like Magic: Day 7 Poem

2011-04-07T21:16:00.000-04:00

Slight of Hand

flip and twist, a beckon

one thing, then another

always a shift, of hand

of eye, keep me guessing

don't let on, reveal nothing

reveal everything, pause

keep me waiting, manipulate

your fingers, cunning, palm

trick me once, trick me again

I fall for it, easily, hopeful

slowly learn, ignore the twinge

recognize I've been fooled

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry is from Mike Ferguson, and it included this short movie. It was amazing how quickly this poem came. Raw, very raw.

Where I went: Day 6 Poem

2011-04-06T12:46:00.000-04:00

Wild Iris

Now that I'm free to be myself, who am I?

~ Mary Oliver, "Blue Iris"

Memories, tugged like stuck socks behind a drawer,

come flying at me as I scroll through floral images.

I think of waves, my mother's eyes in the mirror.

Newly married. I walked home from work, up the road

from coastal terrace to the ridge. Blooms I had thought

were planted, never having seen wild ones before.

Years later. Mother of two girls. Another pacific town.

These iris were planted, had grown into a tangled crush

through years of neglect. A friend showed how to divide.

Off another coast. April evening on Block Island. I listened

to Mary Oliver read in her quiet way. Next day I ventured

a signature. Chose the Red Bird over the Blue Iris to offer.

Another Spring. Blooming. Birds nesting. Birds in flight.

Birthing of horny crone. Full of fear yet unafraid. Rooted

yet tossed by wild wind. Contradictions. I wish to see

my own eyes.

Today you must go to Bill Noble's blog to see his lovely pictures of the native Douglas Iris.

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry was an interesting one. These images brought back a number of memories. Of small Pacific Coast towns where we've lived and the irises seen growing there. And then I thought of the book of poetry "Blue Iris" by Mary Oliver and how I got to hear her read a few years ago in April on Block Island. And the first line in that poem. And my eyes, and what they've seen. What they see now. What they hope to see.

Share and share alike: Day 5 Poem

2011-04-05T20:50:00.000-04:00

Share

our space

our lines

our gaze

our bowl of cereal

share the fact that we don't know how

we got here, or what will happen next

I love today's drawing by Jeremy Edwards that is the visual inspiration for today's Not Without Poetry prompt. What it inspired was a short little ditty, rather spare, but exactly what I was feeling.

Momentary poetry: Day 4 Poem

2011-04-04T22:31:00.000-04:00

One Moment in Many

In the beginning there is going

pink cadillac rain

fluttering jazz hands rain

summer storm rain

white spider rain

telephone pole wires rain

cinnamon and nutmeg rain

In the end there is returning

***

Today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry was my own, and wow, was THAT hard. I couldn't separate my memory of the moment when I took that picture from the poem. All I could do is remember that rain. The poetry book I grabbed was "Sightseer" by Cynthia Marie Hoffman.

A Day Late: Day 3 Poem

2011-04-04T21:52:00.000-04:00

She Just Can't Make Up His Mind

Where's my top hat with jaunty

slant? A half dozen spout mindless

drivel, voicing their thoughtless

opinions, and her naked soul pleads

for quiet, wishes to be shucked of all

their wrong-headedness.

Yeah, yeah. I'm a day late with this. Yesterday I was in a conference all day and then driving home. Got in at 2 AM. I just could not write then (plus I was already late with my poem).

Not Without Poetry Prompt # 3 from Kirsty Logan.

When you desire more time to write: Day 2 Poem

2011-04-02T20:22:00.000-04:00

Dear Self

don't be so afraid
to write to yourself
the world will not end
if you are truthful

learn to loose the grip
holding on for dear life
only makes your fingers cramp
hold your own hand

these are what I want for you
can you allow yourself
to be who you fully are?
can you love yourself?

Today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry was a wonderful one (on desire), but I've been at a conference all day and sorta wrote the poem during a short break and it was not at all what I wanted to write. I have another poem in mind and maybe that will come out sometime soon.

Mindful: Day 1 Poem

2011-04-01T08:00:00.000-04:00

This was today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry.

This is what I got. Very interesting.

The Mind

Think hard. Will that truck to stay in it's lane,

that spark in dry grass to snuff itself, my heart

to open. I have done what I've done and what

I haven't done. There will be no dying of regret.

There is air. Grass, trees, bugs crawling in weeds.

This is the world, changing and not. Safe or not.

Over and over, your face looking at me, your voice

dead. Away, away. Why this dream? This fear?

Thank you for not. Still here.

I'm not going to talk about this one. I am going to talk about prompts. Last year, for poem-a-day, I didn't use any provided prompts, other than what life handed me that day. But often I like what prompts do. They stretch me. Turn my mind into silly putty to press down on the prompt and then use deformation to arrive at something new.

Hard to understand: Day almost 1 Poem

2011-04-01T00:38:00.002-04:00

Understand

my complications, contradictions, those convoluted

thoughts that drive me, make me who I am, who you love

that I've decided to stop fighting myself, stop the struggle

against my nature, allow myself to be happy with my self

how much I love you, and how often I wonder
what it is

that makes what we have, something
different

something that makes both of us see that despite
our many

faults and failings, we will continue, because we both

try to understand

This isn't the official poem-a-day poem. I'll write that one (from the prompt) later. It's a little after midnight on April 1, and this is my first poem of the month. I admit that it started forming in my mind a few hours ago, while I drove. I'm heading to a conference that I'm pretty sure my husband thinks is a little weird, but because he knows me, I think he understands why it's important to me. And for some reason, that just warmed my heart as I drove through the rain. Earlier today, someone spilled guts all over his morning. This person is getting divorced, and it's not going to be pretty. At one point we just leaned against each other, quietly treasuring what we have. I know that I'm not a paragon of virtue. But what I hold in my heart, I will never let go of.

And as for "April Fools" - I say fuck that! Let's have some April Truth!

On the verge of poetry

2011-03-31T23:27:00.001-04:00

It's about thirty minutes till the clock ticks over and April 1 arrives. April Fools? I don't think so. It will be National Poetry Month! And like last year, I'm going to write a poem every day and post it here.

This year I'm taking part in Not Without Poetry, which Shanna Germain decided to put together to take the place of one of the poem-a-day sites from last year. Each day there will be a prompt. On Monday, April 4 the prompt will be one that I came up with. I'm rather excited to see what folks come up with for that.

So, I'm ready. Now just waiting for April!

Plus, I'll be blogging about Momentum: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism, and Relationships, the conference I'll be attending this weekend down in DC.

No Oxymoron: A Sorta Kinda Review of Good Porn, A Woman's Guide and Interview with Erika Lust

2011-03-28T20:30:00.001-04:00

I write erotica. Or do I write pornography? Does it matter? Lately, it hasn't to me. It's all quite nicely blurred. I do, for whatever reason, tend to think of erotica as printed and porn as visual, just for simplicity's sake.
Can porn be good? Can it be good for you? For some reason, in the past six months or so, I've been pondering my relationship (or lack of one in the past) with visual porn. I'll probably be visiting this topic frequently in the near future. This review of Good Porn: A Women's Guide and interview with Erika Lust (yes, she answered some questions I sent her!) is the first of these musings on porn.

When I came of age, and by that I mean became interested in sex, the closest I got to pornographic movies was driving by a certain "adult theater." I'd read the titles on the marquee with a mixture of attraction and repulsion. This was before the internet, before Beta and VHS and home players, even before we had cable. Yes, that long ago.

But I remember reading about X-rated films; films like Deep Throat, Behind the Green Door, The Devil in Miss Jones, etc. I remember the fuss about Last Tango in Paris. Now, I can admit to having wanted to see them (though I wasn't old enough then). But I also remember shame for having any interest in dirty movies. I remember being oh-so-impressed when a high school friend mentioned her mother taking her to see Emmanuelle. My mother never would have. I was married before I saw my first cable porn and I was glued to the TV set, though I pretended it was because I was astonished. I was a young mother before I rented my first porn video for a co-worker's bachelorette party (Around the World With Johnny Wadd). While I laughed derisively with everyone in attendance, I found some of it a turn on, even though a lot of it was stupid.

Fast forward mumblemumble years. I get a copy of Good Porn: A Woman's Guide by Erika Lust (translated by X.P. Callahan), published by Seal Press, in the mail, white with a huge Barbie-pink X on the cover. This book was written with us porn novices in mind. While it's been mentioned that the cover image might discourage someone from picking it up in a store, since ordering online is how most folks do their book shopping these days, that probably isn't that big an issue. It's also available in various electronic forms. Note: It's taken me a hell of a long time to get around to writing this review. I received the book last summer, and promptly read it and enjoyed it. I wanted to write a review, but until now, I just couldn't for some reason. I'll probably write a follow-up post to this in an attempt to figure out why.

Erika Lust is an award-winning adult filmmaker, founder of Lust Films of Barcelona, and the author of several books. When she was first introduced to porn, she found that she just couldn't identify with it. In the preface of her book, she says "Obviously, there was something about the images that turned me on, but there were also a lot of things that bothered me." But rather than just let them bother her, she eventually decided to produce and direct porn herself.

Last year she published Good Porn as part of her "mission to open women's eyes to the wide world of x-rated videos, including alternative films that feature confident, sexual women who turn us on instead of turning us away." She even has a Manifesto. For me, the book has definitely helped me get past some of the blocks that kept me from openly acknowledging that I wanted to watch porn.

The book is written in an easy-to-pick-up-and-just-read-a-bit style. There are sections that: compare porn for men with porn for women (somewhat generalizing); talk about what "modern women want in adult films," dispelling the myth that women are not visual, and that we want to see ourselves, not a male fantasy of who and what we are; answer a bunch of FAQs ("Why do the men always ejaculate outside?" & "What's the difference between eroticism and pornography?" are a couple). There's a "Dictionary of Porn" terms, a great "History of Porn," and most importantly, a guide to all sorts of porn films, with good descriptions, and where to find them.

This is probably not your book if you already know all this stuff. But for someone who's maybe been very curious, but a little (or a lot) hesitant to seriously check it out, and not knowing where to start, this book is definitely good. It's most definitely geared towards women, but if you know a guy who's not afraid of pink, I think it would be worth his while to read too. Good Porn: A Woman's Guide by Erika Lust can be found at Amazon (both paperback and Kindle) and most booksellers.

*****

Erika Lust answers a few of my questions!

What did you set out to accomplish with this book? Did you? Or are you already thinking of another book? ;-)

Inform. Show that the world of porn is more than what people assume in the first place. Go beyond prejudices and really show what problems there are with porn, but also that there is a variety of pornographic imagery. Usually when people talk about porn, if in private or if it’s a public discussion, they just lump everything together. Being unable to differentiate in making judgments has a reason, which is not just that people were ignorant or prude, but usually a lack of information, which again is a lack of access. I wanted the book to be easily understood, kind of dealing with it with a relaxed attitude, to make the book easily accessible. Especially not nourish fears. And of course the book is especially dedicated to women, because in production, as well as consumption, it is still a male domain. When it comes to positions where decisions are made, there’s much more men than women in the porn business, but as well for consumers it seems much easier for men to approach porn, to watch it, to talk about it. But there’s no reason for it to be a taboo for women. Freeing from taboos is giving information. But because of all the fears and worries a lot of people seem to have when it comes to porn, especially women, the book needed to be easy going, entertaining, humorous – to be easily accessible for those who have least access. And I think I accomplished it quite well when I see the result, and the feedback I get from readers.

And ‘Yes’, I already published two other books, ‘Erotic Bible to Europe’, which is trying to make erotic places in Europe visible, but talking about those who are not the gloomy and grubby places people might have in mind, but stylish and in a way special places, that are not hidden, but in the city center or some busy street, not full of nooks and crannies, but open and well illuminated. And places with a certain philosophy, like boutiques especially for women, to give an example of something that has driven me many times, and also for the other book I just released, and wrote together with Fetish Artist Venus O’Hara, ‘Love me like you hate me’, which aims at introducing fetish and BDSM to women who don’t have a clear idea of what it is, and might never dared to ask.

While reading it, I realized that even just five years ago, I probably would have been "afraid" to read it (even though I knew I was turned on by visual images). Now I'm much more comfortable (though not entirely) with the concept of porn. Who did you see as your intended audience with this book? Where you hoping to reach women like I was a few years back, or were you more interested in reaching women more like I am today, or was your intended audience those already comfortable with the actuality of porn?

I think it should work for both, don’t you think? I aimed at people who were not really informed about porn or had misconceptions, and not so much whether they felt comfortable with it or not. It was about to show a that porn is not stable, it is what people make of it. So it is an introductory work, but as well a little manifest for ‘good porn’. It was to show what’s out there, and what one could like and what not, what’s there to criticize and what’s worth seeing. It’s not an eulogy on the industry, I wanted to make people comfortable with the idea of sex on film, I didn’t want to make everybody comfortable with the state of the industry. The question is not whether porn is good or bad in general, the question is what’s good or bad in particular. Some is also a question of taste, and therefore of orientation within the genre, which needs information, a point of reference, to know what exists, what one could probably like, and where to find it. It’s about getting to know porn, to be able to approach it open minded, but with a critical attitude.
But of course the book is within the context of feminisms paradigm shift when it comes to porn. So my intended audience is women, and I try to explain that porn and it’s industry may be chauvinist and sexist, but that’s not in the nature of the genre, so let’s think about how we can do better, and get down to it! Let’s start to produce the porn we like, the way we like it, and change not only the ways of the industry, but also the images! Let’s start to confidently watch the porn that serves us! And if it’s one of the independent productions, the better, because that again supports further productions!

The issue of "shame" doesn't really come up in the book. A friend of mine, the sexologist Susana Mayer Ph.D., did her dissertation on the use of explicit sex videos to spark libido in post-menopausal women. Shame was very much a factor in their reactions. In the section in your book "I Believe In Porn," you write: "And porn can be an instrument of education and liberation for women who are still struggling with shame, guilt, and sexual repression." I understand what you're saying, and I do believe it. But the "porn is bad" is so ingrained in so many women, not only those of us that are older, that it's quite likely that many women who could benefit might never even pick up your book or watch any porn. Do you have any ideas on how to break through the shame so that older women would not be as afraid of porn?

You are part of the answer! What helps? To talk about it! To show that there’s more women into it, that it’s not dirty, and not unnatural for a woman to do, to show that watching/ liking porn doesn’t mean supporting your own suppression, but could even be supporting a feminist goal – if it is your choice and something you like, of course. It is to show that you’re not consumer and therefore part of a shabby and shady industry if you watch porn, but that you are audience of a genre of film, which has a certain style and serves a certain taste, and which might be covered in the edition of VOGUE or the Guardian on your coffee table.
What I try to say is that different porn is already out there, and more and more independent pornographers pop up. That means that a bigger variety of tastes can be served. So that women won’t be too ashamed to have a closer look, we need to spread the word that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and to show what might be worth having a look at. And your work is part of this, and I sincerely appreciate that.

I found much of the information in your book very educational. It helped me feel less "stupid" when it came to thinking about, and eventually writing about porn. But one problem I saw, with it being a guide-book of sorts, is that new porn is being produced and so the book becomes more of a history book really. Are there any online resources that you would recommend for providing the information like is in your "A Smorgasbord of Adult Films" for newer films?

The Internet made a more direct connection from filmmaker to audience possible, so most will have their proper channels, like I do as well. To follow up the newest releases it helps for example to bookmark the websites and blogs (http://www.lustfilms.com/blogEn/ of your favorite filmmakers, so you won’t miss any news, or add their page on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/erikalustbcn) or follow them on Twitter (http://twitter.com/erikalust), to be automatically updated on any upcoming project. If it is about finding out about new people entering the ‘new porn movement’, it helps to follow concerning film festivals, like the Porn Film Festival in Berlin, the CineKink in New York, the Indie Erotic Film Festival in San Francisco, and many many others. If it’s not possible to attend the festival and see the films first hand, just check the website for the program to see which films and filmmakers seam interesting to you.

~ I'd like to thank Erika Lust for taking the time to answer these questions just as she released her newest short film, Room 33 (watch it for free! there). Here's a very hot still from it. Um, yeah. Good place to end the words.

Busy behind the scenes

2011-03-26T15:46:00.001-04:00

I haven't been blogging regularly because I've got so many projects going on. Hopefully my next post will be a review of Good Porn: A Woman's Guide along with a short interview with author/award-winning filmmaker Erika Lust.

I take writing reviews seriously. As a result, they take me a long time. This one has taken longer than most, and I'll be writing about why that is in an addenda to my piece.

I'm also working on several pieces of erotica for various submission calls, revamping my website, and trying to get a new erotic poetry blog/journal up and running in time for April - National Poetry Month. And next weekend is Momentum!

In the meantime, if you're dying to read something from me (ha!), you can go to We Who Are About To Die and read my review of The Wide Road by Lyn Hejinian and Carla Harryman.

Be back soon!

Reflecting, mulling, pondering, considering, contemplating

2011-03-19T13:42:00.001-04:00

All words for what I'm doing right now. There are stresses, both internal and external, in my life right now and I'm trying to figure out how I want to engage with them. As strong as is the desire to hide, I just can't do that in good conscience.

It would seem that it would be nice if our lives always went according to plan. I do get tired of "the unknown" and wish for calm and predictable. For a bit, anyhow. I know I'd get bored real fast. But uncertainty is also a hard place to be in.

I've spent a large portion of my life trying to be someone other than who I am, trying to be something I want to be but am not. I am emotional. I get way too wrapped up in inconsequential things. I'm always questioning and doubting myself. I've been told I have good instincts, but when I go with them, it seems that the whole world comes down on me for not only going with them, but for having them in the first place.

This post is about personal stuff. My family. It's always unsettling to me when my children don't get along. I come from a very dysfunctional family and so I think I desire something more for my own children. I want them to pull together and see past their individual differences.

Before I had children, I'd fantasize about family get-togethers when they were grown with children of their own. Me as grandma. They'd all have their own lives, as individual as they've all turned out to be. But there wasn't any of the antagonism and lack of understanding that there seems to be in reality.

I'm trying to reconcile that in myself.

G is for Giving Up (the quick fiction)

2011-03-11T20:11:00.001-05:00

With today's earthquake and tsunami in Japan (where one of my daughters is living and studying right now - though not in the area directly affected), I just can't even get my mind into the space to do these quick fictions. When and if I'm able to start them back up again, I'll start posting them again.

Quick Fiction 6: F is For

2011-03-10T22:45:00.000-05:00

F is For

WTF? Where did today go?

*my brain is fried. Gotta rest. And yeah, once again, this ain't fiction.

Say the word, rape: A Rant

2011-03-10T22:13:00.000-05:00

Since it's beta days, I've been reading The Rumpus. And every so often, something I read there hits me where I feel it most, right in the gut.

Today, shortly after it was posted, I read Roxane Gay's piece The Careless Language of Sexual Violence (please read). She writes about her reaction to this New York Times article about the gang rape of an 11-year-old girl in Texas. Roxane takes issue (rightly) with the tone of the Times article since it seemed to be more about how the town is being torn apart by this and almost dismissive of the girl and how her life. Some 18 suspects have been arrested with possibly more to come. And as is usually (unfortunately) the case, there's been victim-blaming by some of those in the town.

After reading Roxane's post, I went to comment on it, but sat there blank, not knowing how to put into words what I was feeling, what I was thinking. By the time I was able to post a short something, eleven other folks had already posted, and as I type this there are more than 4 times as many comments. This piece hit a nerve. There are plenty of women out there who have been "sexually assaulted" in some way or another. Including myself.

When I was growing up, "rape" was something that strangers jumped out from behind bushes in the dark with guns and knives to do to girls and women who were foolish enough to be where they were alone. In high school I suffered through the "self defense" unit wondering why I thought it was stupid. The "final test" was to walk into the girl's locker room where one of the guys from the football team would be waiting to grab you and you had to use the moves we'd been shown and try to ... to what? The teacher was sitting there with her grading sheet. Somehow I instinctively knew that this wasn't how it happened in reality, hence I didn't do well on the test. Though I still carry my car keys in a way to gouge the eyes from any would-be attacker waiting in a darkened parking lot. My hyper-vigilance was not acquired in that class though.

While reading Roxane write about how often rape is a theme on television, it occurred to cynical old me that maybe they use rape because they can't use sex. She also mentioned the use of the word "rape" for "all manner of violations, great and small." The examples she used made me wonder "who would ever use them?" yet just a little bit later, someone I know used the term rape in such a manner. It was all I could do to not call him on it. Why didn't I? I'm not sure.

Like it or not, rape and sex are confused, very often, all over the world. Young girls have been raped and abused and then accused of adultery and lashed or stoned to death (when I googled "stoned to death" trying to find the incident I remembered, I got more than a million results, which in itself is sickening). And then there's that business in Georgia - oh good, no more victims! [insert sarcasm here]

And we're all too familiar with the "she was asking for it" line of reasoning. That's the case here too, this girl is said to have dressed "provocatively" and was "wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s." As if THAT was reason for the attack, as if it's only her age that makes this not okay.

Oh yeah, I've got my hackles up. Because there's way more to this story than any of us will ever see from news stories. And this kind of story has been repeated way too many times. At least she didn't end up dead. And yeah, I'm sparing you the links. Not because I'm trying to protect anyone's sensibilities, but because I just don't want to go find them. But they're there in my mind. I remember them.

So why am I ranting? Because, when I commented, I didn't link back to this blog like I usually do. Because I was afraid. Afraid because I write about sex in the fictional, the poetic, and more and more, the non-fictional. Because those lines blur for me. I've always been interested in sex, and I realized that it will be a major topic of my writing for the foreseeable future. But there's a subtle but false dichotomy when it comes to writing about sex. One can write about sex from what I call the intellectual standpoint, somewhat removed from the actuality, the down and dirty of it. To do otherwise, to write erotically, brings the whole "intent to arouse" into it. And that's what erotica is, intended to arouse. Just like porn. But there's a lot of folks that think that's a bad thing, that intent to arouse, and is a cause of stuff like what happened in Texas.

And right now I'm thinking I should just stop now. Delete this whole post. Go chill. Write my silly quick fiction piece. But I won't delete it, but I am going to stop writing for a bit.

I have a whole shitload of topics that I've decided to tackle here on my blog. As soon as I can work up the courage. I've got quite a backlog of links and ideas. Not all to do with sex or sexually-related things, but most are. And that scares me. Because in the back of my head, there's a voice whispering "you shouldn't write/say/talk about this." That's the shame voice talking. And I know where that voice comes from. It comes from inside the head of a little girl who thought she was to blame for the things that happened. And so whenever I encounter that kind of mixed up thinking (like in one of the news articles where someone suggests this 11-year-old-girl "knew what she was doing"), something snaps in me, and part of me wants to go all Lisbeth Salander on folks. But I rarely do, except maybe in words.

So, I'm going to be using my words. I'm going to use them to figure out where I stand, how I feel, and what I want. I'll weigh in with my probably-more-than-two-cents. Because I'm tired of listening to that voice telling me to shut up.

Quick Fiction 5: E is for Erratic

2011-03-09T17:48:00.001-05:00

Even though she wasn't from here, she belonged here. The woods were quiet in that not-so-quiet way she liked. Leaves rustling in the breeze. Songbirds chirping in the treetops and woodpeckers knocking away at snags. Chipmunks scurrying. Water burbling over stones. Her breathing as she hiked down the hill. Her heart beating.

It was a warm day, and the sun beckoned her to allow it's gaze as she reached the spot she'd been looking for. A giant boulder, bigger than two of her cars, sitting where it had been dropped by a glacier oh-so-many eons ago. She had to walk around to the other side in order to climb it.

But before she did, she answered the sun's request. Boots left her feet, as did socks. Her jeans unzipped and slid down her legs. Her t-shirt pulled itself over her head. Her bra and panties retired to the soft ground. She felt a slight chill, as the breeze brushed over the little bit of sweat that had been gathered on the way there.

On top of the boulder, in a patch of sun that warmed the stone, she first sat, then lay back, looking up through the trees at the sky. There, naked, she let her senses relax and become nature again. The warmth played across her breasts, down her belly, then urged her legs apart. The breeze touched her gently at first, making her hips undulate as her body welcomed the erotic wind.

*Part of this challenge: http://yearofthebooks.wordpress.com/2011/03/05/quick-fiction-a-to-z/

Quick Fiction 4: D is for Done!

2011-03-08T23:51:00.000-05:00

She hit publish and breathed a sign of intense relief. She hated wordpress. It made her feel stupid. It made her upset. It made her want to tear her hair out and smash her laptop, the one she can't afford to replace. She was sure that everything she wrote sounded imbecilic and so she did her one last task and then called it a night.

Quick Fiction 3: C is for Cup

2011-03-07T21:59:00.000-05:00

You can get a mug like this here.

C is for Cup

All she wanted to do was go to bed. She was tired and just wanted to escape into sleep. But something was nagging at her. Something she needed to do. Something she'd promised herself.

She stood at the kitchen counter and began the ritual. She poured the beans into the grinder, plugged it in, then hit the button and covered her ears as the beans screamed their protestations. She would measure the coffee, tamp it down. Unscrew the lid and pour in water. Tighten the lid as much as her weak wrists could manage.

Into a small pan, she'd spoon some unsweetened cocoa powder while she ran water in the sink till it was hot. A small splash and she'd stir the cocoa till it was dissolved, then place it on the stove. She'd fill the cups with hot water to warm their porcelain.

The plug to the espresso maker would find it's outlet, and she would tip the switch, making sure the little red light came on, because all to often she plugged the wrong cord in and wondered why she didn't hear the steaming.

When the wetted cocoa powder started bubbling, she'd stir it well, then pour milk into the pan, add a few drops of sweetener and then stir. She had it timed just so. The cocoa would be hot just as the espresso maker stopped hissing.

In the meantime, she would pour heavy jersey cream into a small bowl, add a splash of sweetener, and with an old-fashioned egg beater, whip the cream. While stirring and waiting for the cocoa to be hot, constantly testing to make sure the liquid was almost scalding, she would dip a small spoon into the soft cream, and let the buttery texture melt on her tongue. Over and over again.

Soon the hissing would stop, and she would combine the two liquids, stir and pour them into the warm, waiting cups. With a large spoon she would ladle the whipped cream onto the steaming surface, then sprinkle a small bit of cinnamon on hers.

After delivering the other cup, she'd sit, knees tucked, sip the elixir, feel it warm her.

Soon she'd tuck herself into bed, maybe to dream of a cup filled.

*For Shanna's Quick Fiction challenge. Oh, I'm lazy tonight. Not not not wanting to do this. But I did.

Quick Fiction 2: B is for Blindfolded

2011-03-06T23:10:00.001-05:00

Waiting by Randy Lagana

B is for Blindfolded

Yup, I should've known that we wouldn't see eye-to-eye on this. There was a time when I never would have had the nerve to mention it. When you wouldn't' have known what was going through my mind at all. They say "love is blind," but what they really should say is that love is a blindfold.

We kept each other in the dark. Both afraid to admit to those twisty little thoughts we were sure would send the other running. Bumping around, bruising shins and knocking over breakables, that's how we managed for a long time. But one day I got tired of the stubbed toes and decided I wanted to see for a change. What point is the world if one never comes out from behind the mask?

"Here," I said, "let's take these off and see what difference it makes." Yeah, I was scared. Who wouldn't be? It's one thing to walk off the cliff by accident, and another to jump with eyes open. You know I'm scared of heights, get nervous just climbing a ladder. Yet, I love looking down from skyscrapers, planes.

For some inexplicable reason, after so many years, I needed to be able to see me for who I really am. And I couldn't do that without looking at myself. And yeah, I could have just taken my blindfold off, and left you to keep yours on. But what would be the fun in that?

We can still take a scarf and wrap it around, tie it snuggly behind our head. We can still close our eyes and touch.

*Part of Shanna Germain's quick fiction challenge for the rest of the month

A is for Ack!

2011-03-05T20:03:00.000-05:00

This afternoon on Facebook, Shanna Germain posted a challenge of sorts. On her blog, she's doing a quick fiction A-Z. And like the fool I am, I decided to try it. Now, maybe today is the only one I'll do. We'll see. I'm not promising anything. But I did respond to her Facebook post with "A is for ack!" and so that's what I went with. Wrote for 20 minutes and this is what I got:

A is for Ack!

"There's no way in hell that I can do this!" the writer said aloud to her laptop, which sat wagging it's tail of cords on her desk.

She shook her head and scolded the keys. "You can't make me do this! I have a blog post to do, and reviews to write, and a new novel to think about, not that I've forgotten the old one, well, the older ones, because I only forget things like why I walked into the other room or what else I needed at the store or what I'm supposed to do in a couple of days."

The digital time on her computer stared at her with what probably was a semblance of pity. The hard drive purred, just happy to not be overworked.

"What? What are you looking at?" she said to the clock. Eleven minutes left to go and still there wasn't anything happening. Ping! Oh, there's an email! Maybe it will be something inspiring. No.

And that damn cursor is just blinking at me. Six minutes left to go.

She thought about the email she should write, the difficult things she needed to say. She thought about how good news isn't always good news. She thought "I must be crazy!"

Would she do this another day? Or would today be the only one? Would she forget? Would she find herself writing things she wouldn't want to post? Would anything of any fucking worth come out of it or would it just be the random upchucks of her overtaxed brain? Would she have the guts to do what she needed to do when she finished procrastinating by writing this twenty minutes away?

She watches the clock. One minute, or less, to go. There is no second hand on this digital number up in the corner of her screen. PM. Charged. Whew. Finished!

Impermanence

2011-03-04T18:48:00.002-05:00

You know that gut-stab feeling you get when you realize that something you've maybe taken for granted is suddenly gone? It can be as huge a hurt as a loved person gone, and as small as a place where some words resided in this ethereal place we call the internet. But those are both places on the continuum of lost. And sometimes those hurts may be for the good in the long run, but when they hit, it can stop all motion.

Gazing at an empty place is like gazing at endlessness.

NOTE: I'm saying this because somebody wrote to me all concerned - everything's okay - it's just that I had an interesting reaction to the hopefully-temporary disappearance of a friend's blog.

Falling in love

2011-03-02T17:34:00.002-05:00

with your characters, that is. Has that happened to you? That happened to me with this last story I wrote, and it was a problem of sorts.

I'd struggled with this story from the very beginning. I had an idea, inspired by a trip to an art museum. There is an exhibit of women artists in their permanent collection and some of the works especially moved me. My mother was an artist, albeit a frustrated one (long story not-for-here), and so I've always been drawn to stories (and movies) about artists. One of my characters is an artist.

I started the story, but then was interrupted by about 36 hours when I couldn't work on it at all. When I came back to it, I found that my characters started becoming more than I'd intended. As I wrote, I started to get lost in them. And I found myself falling in love. Which I don't do easily, in real life or on the page. I tend to be a bit cynical and untrusting, as well as quite insecure.

Now, from talking with other writers, having your characters move in their own direction is not all that uncommon. And this wouldn't have been a problem, except I had a deadline to meet, and they just weren't cooperating! So I found myself very disappointed with my story. In fact I almost chucked it yesterday morning as I tried to finish it. Because my characters did not want to be finished.

But thank eros for that deadline, because I'd promised Shanna that I would get a story to her, and so my not-wanting-to-let-someone-down forced me to commit myself to submitting SOMETHING. But I wasn't all too happy with this something (see "insecure" above). So I sent the story to Emerald to read over, and she made such a wonderful comment about my characters, that I squeezed past my insecurity to hit send and get my submission in before the deadline.

Afterwards, I sent the story to my husband to read. He's a professional editor, and you'd think I'd want him to have a look before I sent my story, but that would make sense, wouldn't it? No, because of my insecurity (yeah, that again), his comments can send me over the deep end. I have a story that I wrote a few years back and gave him to edit and I've yet to be able to go in and make revisions without feeling like the whole piece is a big pile of crap and shouldn't be inflicted on anyone.

When he gave me some feedback (when I got home from a poetry event I'd gone to in the evening), I found myself feeling very defensive. He'd wanted more, and well, I had too. But my characters weren't having it. He also had some problems with some tense changes and while I was tempted to pull it up on my screen and having him point out "problems," I realized I'd already submitted it and so it was out of my hands for now. A couple of times during the "conversation" I was on the verge of tears. I get pretty emotionally invested in my writing.

It's not that I want undeserved praise, it's just that sometimes I feel like what people are telling me is "do it differently - do it my way" and even if I think they're right, the stubborn little writer in me gets to feet-stomping. no no no!

But my husband also complimented my characters. And I realized something. The reason I'd fallen in love with them was because they were "real" in the sense that they had that whatever-it-is that makes you love a character. And that the reason I had such a hell of a time finishing the story, was because I didn't want to leave them. Didn't want to say goodbye. But you know what? I don't have to.

This is my post

2011-02-28T21:15:00.000-05:00

I am still working on that story. So this is my blog post for today. Hoping I'm done tonight so I can sleep. Back when I've hit SEND on the submission.

Slow words

2011-02-27T18:05:00.000-05:00

Certainly I can't be the only one who finds that sometimes, even though an entire story is floating in the foggy reaches of my mind, I cannot find the words to pull it down and make it firm enough to solidify on the virtual page.

That's been happening this weekend, as I struggle to meet a deadline, one that I promised Shanna Germain that I would send something for. I'd already missed Kristina Wright's deadline for her steampunk call. I'd resolved (sorta kinda) to submit my work this year. And it's the end of February and I've done nothing to meet that resolution.

So, I'm sorta disappointed in myself. Which is not hard for me to be. Though sometimes I think that maybe that's needed to help drive some of what drives me (when it drives me - often I've felt like I'm in neutral lately).

Nawashi Shadow

Anyhow. Tonight, while everyone (just about) are watching the Oscars, I'll be staring at this image and trying to get my story finished.

Whoops! So much for everyday

2011-02-26T06:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday got away from me. I'd intended to do a post late afternoon after spending time writing, but we had some unexpected, unwelcome news and that was it. Then we were out in the evening and by the time we got home and I got to my computer, it was after midnight. And today I'm gonna be occupied too for the entire day and evening, so here's a link that should keep you busy enough for yesterday AND today.

http://oglaf.com/ Trudy Cooper's NSFW comic.

I clicked that link the other day on Violet Blue's blog and proceeded to waste enormous amounts of time.

I'll be back tomorrow.

It's dawning on me...

2011-02-24T23:44:00.005-05:00

February dawn

There is no one direction my writing is taking me, and rather than fight that, I have to allow myself to wander. there is so much in this world that I find fascinating, why should I limit myself? Do I have to have a niche?

I've always loved being out in the open, the sky filtered only through trees. And I've never questioned that love. But when it comes to my writing, I'm constantly putting shackles on myself. Telling myself I can't write something because... well, because... I should be writing something else, I don't know anything about whatever it is I'm thinking of writing about, nobody wants to know about what I think, that my interests are too eclectic and it's better to have some "hook" that people can hang their interest in me on.

But that's all bullshit I tell myself because what it comes down to is I'm afraid someone will question my knowledge, intentions, morals. They'll question ME. Who I am. And to put myself in that position would require that I stand up for my views, for what I believe in. Because I'm pretty damn sure that my views and beliefs will be very different from those of many people I know. I guess I'll have to grow a pair.

"Certainly you will write things that I won't be comfortable with. That's okay." This is something my husband said to me in response to my questioning him about his views on the direction some of my writing seems to be taking me. I want to say "I'm lucky" but really, what does luck have to do with any of it?

This is all in preface to what this blog post is really about. Yeah, I'm long winded. Those of you who really know me know that, hahaha.

Back on January 1, I started eating paleo. No grains, beans, legumes, white potatoes. In January I avoided dairy also, but have now added a little back in. Lots of veggies, meat, fish, eggs, nuts and seeds, fruit. I'm doing it for health reasons, because grain and other starchy carbs really do a number on me healthwise, and I want to live a good long time.

So, along with reading several books and lots of blogs about paleo, I signed up for an email newsletter that alerted me to this blog post at Mark's Daily Apple on "8 Health Reasons to Have Sex (As If You Needed Them). The post is pretty SFW, with health info that for the most part I already knew. But it was nice to see it brought up. All too often, sex is overlooked as a topic for the reason that it's a very loaded topic. What was that old cocktail party advice? No talking about politics, religion, or sex.

What I found interesting were the comments. There was the full range from snarky & sexist to sincerely interested. One of the comments linked to this article at Newsweek about the book Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality by Christopher Ryan, Ph.D. (that links to his blog at Psychology Today) and Calcida Jetha', M.D. This reminded me that I'd been interested in this book last year (I'd put it on my Christmas list, but I guess Santa was too embarrassed to bring it), and had been reading Ryan's blog on occasion already. Here's a bit from the website:

"In the tradition of the best historical and scientific writing, SEX AT DAWN unapologetically upends unwarranted assumptions and unfounded conclusions while offering a revolutionary understanding of why we live and love as we do. A controversial, idea-driven book that challenges everything you know about sex, marriage, family, and society."

So, I'm going to order it tomorrow, probably read it non-stop when it arrives, and write about my impressions of this supposedly controversial book. I can't wait!

Have any of you read it? What did you think?

So, yeah, it's almost midnight and this post is supposed to be a Thursday post! More tomorrrow!

NOTE: And thanks Craig for letting me know about that posting flub - Blogger was being weird last night and wasn't letting me save my post as I typed, so I typed the whole thing again before posting it finally. Apparently it was saved. It was very weird. So if you read the post during my night, there were duplicated paragraphs. Gone now! :)

My profile's up at Erotica For All!

2011-02-24T19:59:00.000-05:00

After dragging my feet, and various other body parts, for months and months, I finally sent my author profile stuff to Erotica For All. The brainchild of Lucy Felthouse, it's a wonderful resource for both writers and readers of erotica, and I'm very happy to be there!

Just a teaser

2011-02-23T16:54:00.000-05:00

Some days I can't think of anything to post when I have plenty of time. Today I got an idea for a wonderful post but don't have time to do it up right. So, this here wonderful song is a teaser for what's in store tomorrow!

Today is Lady Porn Day!

2011-02-22T14:35:00.007-05:00

Call it serendipity or synchronicity. Today I found out, via Violet Blue, that today is Lady Porn Day! And through that link I discovered the Rabbit Write blog ("A public discourse on private matters"). It's also Erika Lust's birthday. Let me explain how this is seems synchronous to me.

*see note below

Last year, after doing the Please, Sir blog tour for Rachel Kramer Bussel, I was offered a chance to review Erika Lust's book Good Porn: A Woman's Guide. I was excited when it came in the mail, and proceeded to read through it. And I enjoyed reading it, but...

I felt totally unqualified to review it, or even talk about it. Why? Because, as a woman in her early fifties, I found myself conflicted when it came to even thinking about viewing porn, much less actually doing so. Oh, I'd seen enough clips here and there (like at the Museum of Sex), that I knew that I found visually explicit images a turn on. But a lifetime of messages that porn is BAD, along with my own issues surrounding my sexuality and all the myriad influences over the years on said sexuality, kept me from actually diving in and watching anything more than just those random clips.

But last night, I finally started working on my "Good Porn" review and sent some questions for Ms. Lust (that I'm hoping will be answered). Why did I suddenly get back on the ball (so to speak) and start working on this? Because, for the first time, EVER, this past weekend, my husband and I sat down together and watched Erika Lust's first film The Good Girl (2005).

I'll be writing more about that, and about a lot of other things soon. My brain is working overtime. Let's just say that by the time I attend the Momentum Conference in April, I think I'll have gone through a sea change when it comes to what I'm able to write about. Should be interesting!

*Note: Today (Thursday), I just read a great post over at Kristina Lloyd's blog (with some great links to other blogs) about how at first all the promo pix for Lady Porn Day were of women (like the one above). That's been remedied I gather. I have to say, it has me thinking a lot about what I like and want to see.

A departure of sorts, though maybe not

2011-02-21T12:08:00.000-05:00

When thinking about what I realized I had to write about today, this image of a woodpecker designed birch log came to mind. Because something I read this morning made me want to beat my head against something, repeatedly, in the hopes of knocking it all out of my brain. So this rant will probably be a departure of sorts from my usual writing here. Though I'm probably the worst judge of what I write.

What I read was about a certain Georgia House Republican (I'm not linking or even writing his name because I don't want to be linked to this foolishness) who has introduced a bill to the state that includes something that basically says that all miscarriages would need to be investigated (just to make sure they weren't really an abortion, which of course the bill is outlawing, etc. etc. ad nauseum).

Yeah, this is insanity. It has no chance in hell of passing (let's hope). But still. Even though I don't reside in the state, never have and never will, I felt personally attacked. Because I am a woman who had a miscarriage.

That miscarriage happened almost twenty years ago. It was traumatic, both for me and my family. It happened at home. So, under the provisions of this bill, I would have had to have been investigated! My mind boggles!

How can ANYONE think this would be a good idea? And as this comes on the heels of all the other anti-women legislation and news at home and abroad happening recently, I can't help but feel the threat, just because I am a woman.

So, I'm waiting for them to bring back burning at the stake.

Flawed

2011-02-20T20:23:00.000-05:00

So often I want what I do or make to be perfect. Because I want to be perfect. And not be the incredibly flawed person I am.

And so, I place roadblocks at every step of the way for myself. But I hurtle myself at them.

This post makes no sense. It's a Sunday night and I'm tired and more snow is on the way and tomorrow is a holiday so there's no school and I'm glad but I'm not getting the things I need to get done, done.

And I don't understand why. What are those roadblocks made of?

I am the queen of procrastination. I've raised it to an art form. Hell, I should do these blog posts early in the day so I can be done with it and not find myself in the evening with nothing to say.

And yeah, doing this blog-post-every-day thing is a drag. I know that once February is over, I won't be posting every day.

I'm glad February is a short month.

At a loss for words

2011-02-19T21:46:00.000-05:00

At least to write here tonight. Oh, I have lots of ideas. Lots of projects in the wings. Subjects to tackle. But right now I just want to relax. It's Saturday night. It's windy. I'll write more tomorrow.

Finally!

2011-02-18T14:54:00.000-05:00

I sent my bio to the wonderful site Erotica For All. Not sure why it's been so hard for me to do. I worked on this damn thing for days! And now that it's sent, it's like a weight off my shoulders. Whew! I promise to post when it is up on the site.

I'd write more, but I have two more items to cross off my list for today, so I'll just leave you with this slightly suggestive picture. Maybe it will inspire some writing!

Thinking about those red pins

2011-02-17T17:58:00.000-05:00

Folks from all over seem to visit my blog. This is just "recent" visitors. There seems to be two clusters of what are probably my regular readers, those on the East Coast of the US and those in Northern Europe & UK. I've always found it interesting that I don't have more readers on the West Coast.

Out of the last 500 visits, roughly since sometime in January, about 85% are from the US. No surprise. Then in descending order: United Kingdom, Canada, Ireland, India, Germany, Australia, South Africa, Mexico, Luxembourg, Italy, Peru, Croatia, Switzerland, Morocco, Czech Republic, Republic of Korea, Vietnam, Columbia, Chile, Japan, Netherlands, Russian Federation, Spain, Portugal, Malaysia, Belgium, and Indonesia. (Note: I'm not sure of the timeframe of the above map, but it sure doesn't reflect my last 500 visitors.)

Over the past couple of years of doing this, I've probably been missed by a few countries (don't think I've had any hits from Antarctica), but not many. I've not kept track of the states, I'm sure that I've had at least one visit from each of the 50.

I know who some folks are, since they leave comments and I can match them up, but most visitors are unknowns. I often wonder if they like my blog, or find it so-so, or find it a complete and total disappointment because they were looking for porn, and did not find it here. I even recently wrote a search word poem using the most common search words.

In the past year, I haven't worked that hard at promoting my blog. Not sure why. Maybe because I'm happy with it being somewhat small and intimate. Not sure I'd want an insanely popular blog. I know I could do things to make mine more popular, but that's never been my aim. Though I admit that I've always liked seeing the numbers of visitors creep up at times.

But more than that, I like it when someone "discovers" my blog, and reads back in it, comments, and keeps coming back. I've made "friends" that way. Connections with other writers. Probably because it's other writers who connect with what I write here.

Sometimes I feel guilty because I haven't been able to keep up with other's blogs. Blogs written by friends that I enjoy when I do have the time. I wonder if they think the same things I do as they type away: Who the hell is going to read this and will they care?

But, that's not why I do this. Yes, it is, but not completely. I do this because I have that writerly compulsion to "not shut up." Even when the greek chorus of voices is telling me to stop. Stop writing, stop sharing, stop going on and on when nobody is listening (that's the evil voice that I listen to far too often).

I do this because I have to.

Lazy blog post

2011-02-16T23:14:00.000-05:00

Well, I was going to do something, but it's late, and I keep doing it wrong because I'm tired. So, this is going to be my blog post for today. Tomorrow it will be much more interesting. ;-)

Quiet

2011-02-15T10:05:00.000-05:00

Not much to say today. Some days dawn better than others. Today is not one of those days. Lots to think about.

To the heart

2011-02-14T16:54:00.001-05:00

This is my third Valentine's Day post here at Erobintica. In 2009 I was still very new at this blogging thing, with only a couple of months under my belt. Last year, I posted a picture of a bright red lily, and wrote a poem (which I centered on the "page" despite really not liking centered poems - it just seemed appropriate), so I think I'll do that again this year. About ten days later I posted about my actual Valentine's Day evening activity (trying out Susie Bright's I Dare You cards). Don't think I'll have anything quite so interesting to post about tomorrow, other than my insane attempt to bang out a story on deadline for Kristina Wright's steampunk erotica call.

So, without further ado...

Flushed crimson, scarlet, palest pink
lovers dream of lovers, of touch
fingers on convex, in concave
pressure, sensitive
dermis
capillary lust
awaken to the dream
pulse to feed what is alive
come, be not afraid of what lies ahead

Happy Valentine's Day!

On the eve

2011-02-13T20:48:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. A day filled with heart-shaped everything. So, just because I didn't know what else to do, I googled "heart."

First up was the official band site for Heart. When I was a young woman, I really liked them. Still like their older stuff, because listening to it makes me feel young again.

Next was the Wikipedia entry for this myogenic muscular organ. Very romantic [insert sarcasm here]. I started thinking about my age, and before I knew it I was clicking on heart disease and starting to feel old again.

None of this is what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about the heart in the metaphorical. A heart swollen with joy. A heart skipping a beat in fear. A heartache.

The metaphorical heart is a complicated beast. True only to itself.

Tomorrow there will be chocolate! It's good for the heart.

A few things to read

2011-02-12T20:35:00.000-05:00

Today I'm just going to post some links to stuff I've read lately that either I enjoyed or got me thinking.

Just read a few minutes ago, so of course it's first: Every Time You Orgasm, An Angel Gets It's Wings by Heidi Anderson over at Good Vibrations Magazine. Thank you to Emerald, who linked to this in her wonderful Recommended Reading series (every Wednesday) at her blog The Green Light District.

This wonderful post, Brainstorming, over at Sharazade's blog. How would you handle being outed as an erotica writer? Assuming you did not necessarily want to be outed.

A lovely rant from Janine Ashbless; Family Matters. I just loved this:

"spends his whole screen time submitting patiently to the impossible demands of her ridiculous tribe of relatives, because he loves her sooo much ... and I just thought, 'Oh, for fuck's sake grow a pair.' "

How men's and women's sexuality is alike. Emily Nagoski ::sex nerd:: both alike in dignity.

Another wonderful rant. The Vegetarian Cannibal watches a film and wonders 'when did "bisexuality" become such a dirty word?' Puccini for beginners (Rant).

Okay, that's probably enough to keep ya busy the rest of the night.

On a cold winter's night

2011-02-11T23:02:00.000-05:00

This curtain of icicles has been dissolved some by the sun over the past few days. But while it lasted it was beautiful. I don't have much to say here tonight. I've been writing, but that work has ended up at another blog. I interviewed a poet and reviewed (sorta) his new poetry book.

I promise tomorrow I'll try to return to some naughtiness.

Tangled thoughts

2011-02-10T20:10:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I read a piece in the The New York Times online, that really has my mind in a tangle. I can't decide how I feel about it. So, I'm contemplating writing something about it, maybe a short essay, as a way to sort things out.

The thing is, I can't decide where to post it. Here? I don't think so. It's a controversial topic, and while I'm not trying to avoid that here, this just doesn't seem like the venue.

And it seems to me that writing this will further blur any lines that I've attempted to use to delineate my various different writing activities. When I was younger, I always tried very hard to color inside the lines perfectly. Now I don't like lines.

Is that the wisdom or the folly that comes with age?

Down to the wire

2011-02-09T23:56:00.000-05:00

It's been a crazy day, and I was just about to shut down my computer when I realized that I hadn't done a blog post! Oh no! So, here's a real quickie.

And Then There Was String ~ Randy Lagana

sometimes we can't see the connections

what ties us together

holds us down or holds us up

voice or typed words

these are what I believe in

Shocked

2011-02-08T20:53:00.000-05:00

Today, a poem I wrote, stories eat me, was posted by Shanna Germain at her blog. It's a "cut up" poem, based on some of the search terms that land folks on my blog, specifically, one certain post. That post was the one I did for the Blow Hard Tour 2009, on April 2 of that year. It was titled Today's Lesson: Swallow one's sword and other euphemisms for sucking cock.

Yes, I used that word, cock, in my poem. I used a lot of other words too. None of them were my words, but rather folks looking for things like "cock sucking lessons" that I combined to make a poem that I hope also makes a statement.

I posted a link to some folks. I got a comment from one person that they were "shocked." And I understand how they could be shocked. They are acquainted with me "in real life" and I guess I don't seem to be that kind of person. But then I wondered, why was my poem shocking?

Is it because I used words like cock, dick, and penis? Is it because of the sucking? I also used the phrase eat me. Innocent enough words separately, but together? Is it because I didn't use any of the euphemisms?

I've written a fair share of "erotic" poetry. Some of it is all metaphor. Some not at all. Some more graphic than others. Those were finalists at the 2010 Seattle Erotic Art Festival's Literary Art Showcase. By now most people know I write this kind of stuff, even my kids.

So, I'm pondering this.

In the past, I was hesitant. I did not use my real name. Now I do. In the future, I'll be writing more about how sex figures in this writing thing. I want to write about stuff I'm interested in. And, I happen to be interested in sex.

Earlier today I was reading this article from last year; When Women Write About Their Sex Lives. Some folks think it never should be done. That "that" is private and should be left that way. There's a lot of slut-shaming that goes on.

I'm wondering how I'll react when, not if, someone tries to slut-shame me.

In actuality

2011-02-07T21:45:00.001-05:00

I love serendipity. I was re-reading an archived article at The Atlantic, thinking I'd talk about that here at my blog (I still will, but another day). At the bottom of the page are random "More at the Atlantic" links to other features. One of the links was to Ways of Showing/Ways of Seeing, the second in a series of guest blog posts by Tony Comstock of Comstock Films fame.

In Ways of Seeing/Ways of Showing, he writes about Actualities, "simple, direct, filmed accounts of an action or activity: a dancer dancing, a bustling city street, etc."

His first guest blog post introduced what he is planning to writing about from now through February 13:

"Between now and then what I'd like to do is expand on the concept of Climax Ecology as it applies to explicit sexuality in cinema."

This sounds fascinating to me, and I will definitely be reading each installment this week.

UPDATE: Here's a link to a post that has links to all his guest blog posts there.

Outside the norm

2011-02-06T17:44:00.002-05:00

Today is that superbowl-type day. I don't follow football at all. It's never interested me. I've never been to a superbowl party *, have never thrown one. Don't ever intend to.

I went to the grocery store to pick up some cat food, dish soap, and stuff for my son's lunches this week. The store wasn't very busy. The guy in front of me in line was too anxious to get going when the checker had to do a price check for the person in front of this guy. So he grabbed his stuff and walked quickly to another checkout. Just then the price was found. It would have been another 30 seconds for him to wait.

The world seems quiet. Not too many cars on the road. Even Facebook is quiet. My husband got home from a business trip this afternoon, but he's finishing up a book he's been reading. So I'm doing my daily post. Not quite knowing what to talk about.

I usually feel like an outsider. I pretty much have all my life. The quiet one. Sits in the back of the room. Wallflower. "Shy" could have been the word for my teenage years.

Now I'm in my fifties. And as time goes by, I realize that I'm not at all "normal," at least not according to what I've learned about society-in-general. I'm interested in stuff that I don't really have anyone to discuss it with on a regular basis. I want things that aren't on the approved list.

Sometimes it feels good, "empowering" even, to think of myself as inhabiting outside the box. But sometimes, often even, it's lonely.

And I don't know what to do with that. I have no power to change anyone, other than myself. But what if I don't want to change? What does that mean for my life going forward?

Don't know.

*Correction: My husband informs me that I did attend a Super Bowl party - about 20 years ago. I only vaguely remember it - I did not watch any football.

Waiting for thoughts to form

2011-02-05T21:07:00.000-05:00

Waiting by Randy Lagana

Today I posted a "Naughty Librarian" post over at We Who Are About To Die. A couple of the links there are to stuff that I just like; a post from Gina Marie and the Sex+Design site I linked to from here yesterday, as well as a couple of other links that I'll talk more about in a few days.

I also linked to a post by Alana Noel Voth that made me think. She mentioned Emerald's blog, and how she admired Em and "what a responsibility it is...to vocalize your opinions regarding sexuality in the face of a culture like ours: a mixed bag of prudes and perverts."

And I want to say something about that, but the thoughts aren't fully formed.

Despite blogging here for a couple of years as "Erobintica,"
despite becoming somewhat "known" for my erotic poetry (SEAF and doing my first out-of-state reading, which is on video and I hope to post it here soon),
despite baring my soul (and more) at F-Stop: The Naked I,
despite being the "Naughty Librarian" and getting noticed for that,
despite getting no negative feedback on my "erotica" activities from people I know (the closest has been some "surprise" from a few folks),
despite all that,

I'm still scared shitless to really speak my mind.

Why? I'm not quite sure. But I know that despite all the fear, I am going to speak. When the thoughts form.

Some wood, some links, some thoughts

2011-02-04T21:52:00.002-05:00

Some wood.
Here are the haiku I came up with to go with the pictures I posted yesterday. From top to bottom (always good, hehehe):

eye to peckered hole
what lies beneath the tough skin
hint of dark bud there

moist as my cool skin
fleshy cream crenulations
gather on the wood

bulbous gathering
at base of the woody shaft
always erotic

this tree spirit rests
waits for sap to rise again
hope springs eternal

That was kind of cool. Reminded me of last year when I wrote a poem a day and posted them here.

Some links.
Today I read something that warmed my socked-in-by-snow-and-below-zero-temps soul. Gina Marie, who always has the most luscious photos at her Aphrodite's Table blog, had said that I inspire her. This is apparently the result. ha! I just typed reslut by mistake.

I just stumbled upon this fascinating online magazine today. Sex + Design. According to their "About" page,

To us, the word “Sex” represents the debaucherous, messy, fun and impulsive side of life while “Design” stands for purpose, articulation, sophistication and beauty.

Awhile back, Jo sent a link to this Tumblr blog: Voluptua. I visit it every now and then. It's really quite exquisite.

Voluptuous woman, reclaiming the beauty in curves and softness. Many of the images here will feature nudity. Just so you know...

Some thoughts.
Something is happening right now. In my life. I feel like I'm traveling a road and there's all these road signs pointing the way I need to go. Things that I'd put off doing, and thought were lost causes, have come back around, and I'm excited. New opportunites.

I've found I can sink to the bottom, but will always float back to the surface, able to breathe. I can be tired, knowing I'll be able to rest. I will cry, but the tears will dry, and salt is good.

Use your dirty mind

2011-02-03T20:43:00.000-05:00

Here's four pictures, nothing naughty about them. But between now and when I post again tomorrow, I'm going to try and come up with a naughty haiku for each. If you care to play along, please do.

Almost forgot

2011-02-02T12:50:00.000-05:00

that I needed to do a blog post for today. Every day in February. That's my challenge to myself. But I have stuff on my mind, and I'm towards the end of the last of a trilogy - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, and while I was resting my eyes, I remembered I needed to post something.

We're having an ice storm. Though it doesn't seem too bad, I imagine it's a mess out there. I'm tired of it. Winter that is. I feel chilled past my bones to my soul. I desperately need some warmth. So, since if I try to write anything here, it's likely to be morose, I'm going to post a little clip of my story "Wet As Spring." This was written almost twenty years ago. I may post it in full sometime soon.

*****

Here the ground was damp, the water table just below the surface. Her shoes sucked mud as she stepped into the clearing at the end. Sun-warmed insects filled the air. Long grass hid the soggy ground. She turned and followed what used to be a path to the stream, now overgrown. Brambles, grasses, and wild plants determined to take back the ground that only last summer had been torn and stripped by a bulldozer in search of marketable real estate. It was about impossible to actually get to the stream without risking thorns and snags. She opted to follow the bank a ways. She stepped gently, pushing aside a fern that was as tall as her waist. She came to a shaded bower formed by the entangled branches of a myrtle and a tanoak. In the shelter beneath the branches, clover clustered in the dapples of sun. She imagined deer bedding down here. She could hear the gushing of the stream, swollen with last week’s rain. She reached up and plucked a leaf from the myrtle and crushed it between her fingers to release the sharp, pungent scent. She wished her husband was with her. At the thought, a flush spread over her whole body. I’ll bring him here she thought.

They would walk down the road together, the sun warm and the breeze gentle. She would be wearing a loose dress, her bare legs stroked by the plants as she stepped through them. It would be as sunny and green a day as this…

He had been walking alongside her, now he let her lead. She ducked under the low branches of the myrtle and stood up in the bower. “Isn’t this wonderful?” In answer, he dropped his rucksack and slid his hands around her waist. Immediate tingles danced up and down her spine.. She put her pack down and reached for his beard, gently tugging in her direction until their lips met.

They kissed slowly, then broke apart and spread a quilt out on the ground. She lay down and looked up through the leaves, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Feeling his hand on her stomach, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His hand ran to her throat, caressing her chin as he bent and kissed her, warm and deep. She sighed as his hand moved to her breast. Her nipple hardened under the fabric. She smiled as she was lost in sensation.

As sure as Spring will return

2011-02-01T11:19:00.000-05:00

Moss peaking from snow last Spring

It's been a hard winter, and it's not over yet. Through the curtain of icicles outside my window, the sky is filled with falling snow. It's beautiful and depressing at the same time. It's been a record-breaking winter and I can feel it's weight.

Today and tomorrow I'll be housebound.

Today is February 1.

Today I start writing a blog post for every day this month. No excuses, no procrastination. I'm just going to do it.

I'm going to look at this as practice. Warming up. Getting the juices flowing. So I have no idea what I'll be writing about, but I will be writing. I'm also just going to include links to interesting stuff.

Today there is a lovely photo essay from Nikki Magennis on the too-long dormant F-Stop: Expose the Naked I blog.

An interesting article that I missed: The uses of erotic poetry. Thanks to Jacque Zyon for linking to this on his blog.

Beautiful pictures and inspiring words from Gina Marie.

So, I'm glad I decided to commit to writing here each day this month. I have various writing projects in the works (or in dreams), and I hope writing here will be the lubrication I need. ;)

Back soon

2011-01-23T16:21:00.000-05:00

Between the weather and the flu, I've just not been able to get going here as I'd planned to this year. But fear not, Erobintica will soon return! I've got great plans, just wait.

Looking at the old year in pictures: Nature

2011-01-01T10:09:00.000-05:00

Snow lingers

so simple yet

look through

stars fall to the ground

ghosts

what is the writing on the log?

use your imagination

from behind

even the branches are dressed up

wisdom

an abundance

above

twisted can be beautiful

Blizzard

2010-12-26T16:51:00.000-05:00

Though there's only about an inch of snow outside, daylight is almost gone and the wind's picking up. We're supposed to have a blizzard tonight. I like weather. Like to be reminded that there are forces that I have no control over. The power may go out. But we have candles and wood for the woodstove and plenty of food. We have books and blankets. There are always things to do when the lights go out.

I always get kinda turned on when it's stormy. Not sure why. The weather prognosticators always are shouting "danger danger." But I think I like being thrown back into a world where nothing is there at the flip of a switch. I feel "at home." Think I may write a bit this evening. And I'm looking forward to snuggling under blankets.

Merry XXXmas

2010-12-24T22:29:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week I went down to Philly for the Erotic Literary Salon where Emerald was the featured reader. It was great fun, and Susana Mayer, the creator of the salon, had put out a challenge for folks to write naughty holiday haikus. My friend Kam tried his hand at some, even though he was traveling and couldn't be there. Susana read them and the audience sure seemed to like them. He said it was okay for me to post them here. So, without further ado...

Santa's pants on floor
Blankets piled in the corner
Giggles from underneath

Silky liquid runs down
Santa's elves have such long legs
Lapping up towards prize

Tight hole seldom plumbed
Santa positions with care
Plugs elf butt with glee

Soft lips suck long hard
Red cheeks bulge with excitement
She-elf smiles at boss

Santa traces breast curve
Mommy is doing more than kiss
Santa plunges deep

Santa watches you
Good girls know how to please lovers
Santa joins in now

It was two years ago today...

2010-12-13T17:41:00.000-05:00

when I started this here blog.

Today, I've spend most of my time writing a piece of erotica. It's actually been awhile since I have. And that it came back today is pretty fucking cool.

These past couple of years have been quite the wild ride. Life-changing. I've met some very cool people and made some good friends. I've published a few stories. I've gotten naked on the internet. I've read my erotic poetry for an audience. I've shared a lot. Some people might think too much. I don't.

It's been hard work, but I'm becoming more and more comfortable in my own skin.

The coming cold.

2010-12-06T23:48:00.000-05:00

Ice Ribbons

Today, when I drove the road to the place where I buy my local milk, I saw snow on the ground. It hadn't snowed at our house, the limit seemed to be about five miles away. It's funny, I've not been looking forward to winter this year. Some years I do. I think of snuggling under a blanket with a good book and a mug of cocoa. Slow days to make soup and knit. But I don't think this winter will be one of relaxation and catching up.

I'm so behind in so many things, that if I start to list them, I get overwhelmed. So, I'm just going to take things one day at a time, always allowing for the spontaneous. Tomorrow I'm meeting a friend for lunch. Someone I haven't seen for way too long. And another friend may be stopping in one day this week. I like things like that. As much as I like being alone, I like being with people too. I am nothing if not contradictions.

This past year I've not updated this blog nearly as often as I have in the past. Not sure why that is. Oh, there are plenty of reasons, but the truth of the matter is that for awhile, I thought Eros had abandoned me. But that's not the case. Just fluctuating hormones.

But it was scary. After all this time, a lot of it spent coming to terms with the nuances of my sexuality, it seemed particularly mean of the universe to mess with my libido just when I no longer was mired in shame. Well, maybe not mired, but it was almost always there. It felt so good to move beyond that, to be comfortable in my own skin.

But now, I'm slowly fighting my way back. In the past couple of months, my erotic writing life has been renewed. I've been braver and braver. Thoughts are coalescing in my mind about several long term projects (including my novel-in-progress). But even when things are going well, the old demons can revisit and throw me for a loop. That happened this past week. It wasn't fun. It wasn't pretty. But, now, from the other side, I know it was good, because I'm ready to move on.

So, expect to see me writing more here. Not sure what about. Probably all sorts of shit. Whatever interests me. And, no worries, there will probably be plenty of sex-related stuff. Today my husband said that being sex-focused was my "default" mode. Hahahaha. Yeah. I kinda like that. Hope you do too.

Shorter days, longer nights, colder temperatures. Yeah, winter may be almost here, but I think it may be a hot one.

There's a first time for everything.

2010-12-04T08:08:00.001-05:00

Just before I left to drive down to Philadelphia for my reading at The Erotic Literary Salon (see blog post about that here), I got my very first email asking if I'd be interested in reviewing a sex for TheirToys. The timing couldn't have been more timely. I was in a brave state of mind, and upon consulting my husband, who is amazingly supportive of my erotic endeavors (well, most of them, anyway), I said yes. So begins this foray into Adult Toys.

Now let me explain something. Even though I write erotica (among other things), until VERY recently (say...last month?) I had never purchased or used an "official" sex toy. Wow, I heard that shocked inhale of breath from here! Yeah, I'm from that generation that came of age long before the internet made it so easy. Thank Eros! You youngsters are so lucky.

So, November was a month of firsts for me. First erotic poetry reading, first sex toy purchase, first sex toy to review. So, after some back and forth, with me explaining my ... inexperience, I was offered three toys to choose from; a bullet vibe, and two different sets of handcuffs. Having just gotten one of those cute little vibes with my first ever purchase only a couple of weeks before, I chose the Fetish Fantasy Series Ultra Cuff Set.

Now, it may seem to be quite the leap going from no sex toys to bondage toys in the course of less than a month, but I've been perusing online catalogs for quite some time. It's just taken me a bit to finally take the plunge. We'd been intrigued with bondage for some time, but hey, we move slow.

Anyhow, on to the review. And this is gonna seem a little weird, since I'll be talking about my actual sex life in more detail than I'm used to "in public." But what the hell. I honestly believe it does no one any good to keep the topic of real sex hushed (there's a ton of fake sex in front of us all the time).

After being amused by the packaging (seen at right above), I took the cuffs out and looked at them. They looked fairly simple and not too intimidating. It would be a few days before we had the opportunity to use them (we went out-of-town for Thanksgiving). When we got around to trying them, we were a bit giggly at first, being new to this kind of thing.

They're velcro, which allows you to fit them as tight as you want, though I have small wrists and there was some loose velcro, though it didn't get in the way (any longer and it would have). They appear to be able to adjust to accommodate much larger wrists and/or ankles. They were quite comfortable. And the buckle is easy to operate (I think I might have been a little hesitant if they had actually locked - remember, I'm new at this). Now, we just attached the cuffs to each other, but you could attach them to something else, if you had the proper connectors (there's one clasp, you might need another to use the cuffs separately (say to different bed posts - which we don't have).

It was very interesting being restrained. The buckle made it quick to switch from hands together in front, to behind my back. Not being able to use my hands at all was both a turn-on and frustrating. And judging from my husband's response, despite his claims that they didn't do all that much for him, they did bring a new dynamic into our fucking. Oh, and we used the other toys I'd gotten previously. Which was nice. So I'd say our first foray into bondage was a success.

I'm not only looking forward to using them again, but I can't wait to try them on him.

*and yes, TheirToys gave me this product free, as thanks for letting you know about their site and this product.

A tale of two readings.

2010-12-04T00:17:00.000-05:00

Reading at the Erotic Literary Salon

touch
always
press of
skin against
skin
remember*

*from Memento Vivere

Last month I had the pleasure of reading at Philadelphia's Erotic Literary Salon with Jeremy Edwards. He was reading from his "eroto-comedic" novel, Rock My Socks Off and I read some of my erotic poetry, which was quite a treat. Also, Emerald, who will feature there this month, read in the open mike.

This reading series, begun two years ago by Susana Mayer, is a wonderful venue, and I only wish it was closer to me, so I could go all the time (I am going to hear Emerald read on Dec. 21). Emerald and I got to meet Susana in the afternoon (both arriving at her place at the same time!) and we had some fascinating discussions. I think both Emerald and I were coveting her bookshelves. Then Jeremy, his wife Helia, Emerald, my Philly friend Kam, and me, had a delicious dinner at a nice Indian restaurant around the corner from the venue, The Bohemian Absinthe Lounge.

The reading itself was fantastic. The open mike had wonderful poetry and erotica (check out Ricc Berra, who read an excerpt from this). I was impressed with the respectful and attentive crowd. How wonderful to have such a supportive-of-the-erotic spoken word series. Jeremy did a terrific job, as usual (I've heard him read before). If you want to watch Jeremy's reading, he has links posted at his blog, here. If I can figure out how to do the same, I will post mine here. Stay tuned.

This was the first time I've been able to do an entire reading of my erotic poetry, including my Seattle Erotic Arts Festival poems, as well as some of the ones here. Many of the poems are ones I've done in readings and performances during the past several years. But a few of them had never been read aloud before, poems with the words "cock and cunt." Poems that speak openly of my desires. Though I hate to use the word, because it's so overused, I found reading these poems before an audience to be very empowering. The audience's reaction to my poems really touched me. I know that my poems have meaning to me, because I write my heart out, but several audience members came up to me afterwards and commented that they were moved by my words. That's heady stuff for a writer to hear.

Afterwards, I celebrated by sharing an absinthe with Helia, who was also eager to try it. Needless to say, I liked it. The whole ritual of the sugar cube and the ice water, the clouding of the liquor itself, well, I guess I'll have to write a poem!

**************

A week and a half later, I read again, this time here at home (sorta, about an hour away). I'd been debating whether or not to read one of my SEAF poems in addition to a few other erotic poems (I always do some erotic poems in my readings, surprise surprise). It was a small crowd on a very chilly night, and in a fit of bravery, I read Memento Vivere, a poem chronicling events of my sexual life. It's a very personal poem, and it's also a challenge to read, since it's partly visual. I was a little nervous about what kind of reaction I'd get here - most of the folks in the audience knew me and while some knew about my Erobintica activities, others did not. I'm happy to report that it went well.

I kinda find it ironic that my erotic poetry is bringing together my Erobintica self with my other writing self (maybe selves?). I'd thought to keep them separate, for various reasons, when I started out. Slowly, the lines have merged and blurred. Soon, I imagine (hope?) there will be no boundaries. That's one reason why I read under my full real name at the Erotic Literary Salon. I am proud of Erobintica. It's a name I will continue to use. But there will be no more hiding.

Several interesting writing-related opportunities have presented themselves recently, and it's not despite my erotic writings, but because of them. There's a lesson here for me. I'm hoping I'm an attentive student.

Reading my erotic poetry in Philadelphia!

2010-11-15T09:07:00.000-05:00

Details here

Tomorrow night, Tuesday, November 16, I will be featuring, along with Jeremy Edwards, at The Erotic Literary Salon in Philadelphia.

I'll be reading my erotic poetry, including the two poems that were finalists at this year's Seattle Erotic Art Festival's Literary Art Showcase. This will be the first time I've read them in public, and my first purely erotic poetry reading. Should be fun and interesting.

Jeremy Edwards will be reading from his book Rock Your Socks Off . I'm excited to get to hear him read this and add his physical voice to his wonderful writing voice. I just have to remember to bring my copy to get it signed!

NaNaNaNa

2010-11-01T08:09:00.000-04:00

Though I'm not particularly thrilled that it's November already (where did this year go?), I am glad that it's here. Because so many people I know are doing NaNoWriMo and since I've been dragging my feet (and knuckles and ass) on the novel that I started last year, I'm going to use the whole peer pressure thing to get me working on mine. I'm not doing it officially since I'm not starting a new one, I'm working on the old one (I have worked on it since last year, hahaha). So, I'm committing to working on it every single day in November, be it for 15 minutes or 5 hours. I've done no preparation whatsoever. And I guess later today I'll post here how many words I wrote. I'm sure it won't be done by the end of the month, but it will be closer.