Writing the Sex in the Text

Posted on January 25, 2012 by emmacalin

Shall we talk about sex? Oh OK – if you really want me to. I write Romance. Well – love and sex actually. In “Knockout” there is a story but it is a story about a sexy woman going headlong into a passionate sexathon with a beautiful guy. They do it in her bed. She does it all on her own. They do it in his bed, in Paris, several other places and they do it on a boat. They kiss and caress the burning totality of each other’s lips. They adore each other’s skin and musk. She craves the untiring hard knot of his controlling, urgent muscles. He longs for her abandon, surrender and softness They eat highly flavoured food and breathe the garlic of shared ecstasy. They drink champagne and lie naked in the warm open air almost as a sacrifice on the altar of lust. Oooh….if I don’t stop tweaking the knobs I’ll have to jump in a cold bath. And just think – it was me, a middle aged working woman who wrote it.

self portrait

The basic reason why I write this kinda stuff is that I love it in life and I love it in fantasy. I know it may be a brazen to say that, but it’s true and if I’m honest then in my writing about sex I’m not short changing my readers. When I write a sex scene I am there and willing it on. Actually, it’s writing itself.

There are technical problems in writing about sex. The big one (Oooh steady on) is the line between artistic, pornographic, anatomical, purple and naff. Different generations and cultures have different levels of frankness and taste. In the supermarket today I noted that I could present myself for chlamydia venereal disease testing while I was waiting for a new batch of granary wholemeal bread to reach the shelves. All those intimate swabs quite put me off the idea of a nice buttered crust. I was reading some supermarket Romance where the young lady presented her sexual arousal by way of her “dampened swath”. That brought me out in a fit of the giggles. I figured if things didn’t gel with the guy at least she could wipe down the kitchen worktops. In another similar epic, the young lady exposed her “creamy crevice” – so far this is the worst image I have ever encountered. Well, at least there is some classy alliteration. Finding the words, the euphemisms and the poetic passion of human juice is not always easy. Just this morning I encountered a curly triangle of love. Well, I suppose if your car broke down you could prop it up in the road to warn other drivers of an obstruction. It’s all about context is it not?

knobs and shafts

When it comes to the male side of the park, obviously a female can only guess and ask a lot of questions. My lover man is never shy. His only complaint is that males only get to ride one wave while females can stay in surfing all day. – (Hmmm – depends on the quality of the water). Males provide more vocabulary problems. I have a few dislikes – such as swollen manhoods. It always makes me think of those old naval war films where they wear 10 layers of clothing under a duffle coat.. Luckily, my readers are mostly female and factors such as size of hands, width of shoulders and tone of voice can excite more response than shafts, lengths and pulsating needs. For fun I googled “knobs and shafts”. Not quite what I had in mind. With males it’s just so easy to get lost in engineering.

But here is the core of the issue. People like sex. Even people who do not want actual full contact sex are interested in it. Sex is us. We are born what we are and half the world has the opposite set of bits.

And then, of course there is love. Oh Love, oh love, love, love. This purest thing, rejoicing in the pollution of its own sense, losing focus so as to see nothing but the other. It is where the ego both asserts its power to give and shrivels in a humility of powerless longing. Our love finds expression and escape in physical sex. Cold sex is what my friend the poet Oscar Sparrow describes as the “gaping gash of loveless love”. Getting this blend right is the work of the humble hack Romance writer.

“Knockout!” my romance novel on Kindle is FREE on Saturday 28th and Sunday 29th January if you want to check out how I deal with these tender literary parts.

Amazon USA
Amazon UK

Emma thinx: Love me – love my love.

Offside Clap-Trap

Posted on January 20, 2012 by emmacalin

Driving my bus this morning in the rush hour traffic, the commercial station favoured by the kids squeezed a news flash between an advertisement for a diet plan and a promo for new low prices at Burger King. And the news was…..David Beckham is gonna stay on with L.A. Galaxy. He spoke in his familiar London accent of his hopes to captain the British Olympic team at the forthcoming GAMES. (I will be hiding in France). He seems a decent guy to me but the fact that this small matter filled UK air time testified not to him but to the power of FOOTBALL. Yes, FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL,FOOTBALL and more FOOTBALL. I know that in certain areas of the ex-colonies this noble game is known as SOCCER.

Portsmouth fan

The game in itself is a reasonable entertainment to me. Some very nice male legs are exposed. The repetitive use of jargon and cliché is a genuine comedy of the “Victory is not about getting the most goals” variety. Last week I heard a team manager comment, “They had a couple of exceptional players. It was them that won it for them, not the team.” Ah, I’m glad he explained that.

Southampton fan

All this stuff is harmless enough. Recently vile racist chanting has marred the game and the level of spiky mockery between groups of fans is quite distressing. I suppose it’s all a form of externalised nastiness that real life suppresses. Just imagine some unfortunate office worker who made a small mistake suddenly being surrounded and jeered at. Surely most of us sing more when we are winning In the UK, I have been living near to Southampton whose team is the sworn deadly enemy of the nearby team of Portsmouth. Babies at the breast are told that they are either “Saints” or “Pompey”. I guess it’s all about tribalism too. I have added a couple of images of fans of both teams. I cannot imagine why David Beckham wants to stay in the USA.

Emma thinx: We only win when we’re singing

Roboscribe puts her love on the line.

Posted on January 14, 2012 by emmacalin

Production line

It’s coming isn’t it. Just as I get to be a writer, the geeks come up with Roboscribe. Just as I got good enough with a glass of wine and a cleaver to be a TV Masterchef, the genre starts to fade. One Foodmeister gets arrested for stealing cheese and wine and another gets kicked out of his job with Sainsbury’s. Probably the only thing left is to be the first Romantic novelist in outer space. Come to think of it though, there are already plenty of weightless novels.

This little tirade was brought about by a message in my inbox inviting me to buy some software with which to write and perfect my novel. Wow – now all I’m waiting for is a programme to do the typing and print it out. I was a little worried by the typos in the advertising blurb, but perhaps they did not use their own stuff – or worse, maybe it was wrote by a human bean. I will confess that there is a little devil in me that is tempted to spend my £9.99 ($15) and have a go……should I? I have tried working with Mills and Boon/Harlequin editors so I have walked on that wild side without shame……and publication. How did I know they would not run a book where the female heroine drove a double decker bus? One day a multi billionaire gorgeous Italian guy gets on, brushes her cheek with a wad of erotically scented cash and asks to be swept away. She stops her bus, rummages in her locker for her dustpan and brush and tells him with a knowing wink she is the woman if that’s what turns him on….Can you imagine how I felt when I got that rejection letter?

Oh – how terrible it is to be a famous author. This is often the complaint of old school angst and closet writers. Just imagine how ghastly it is to be constantly in touch with your customers! Well, actually NO! As a mere worm in the pantheon of scribbling I love to hear from readers. A couple days ago some folk got in touch and told me they had done a review of my book. I would like to say thanks with all my heart and to assure the reading world that I just love to chat with them.

Emma thinx: There’s no formula for love. It’s chemistry Stupid!

Insecure? I’m not sure really.

Posted on January 4, 2012 by emmacalin

Actually I was feeling relatively secure as I sat down to write my blog. Then an 85 mph gust of wind hit a tree just to the right of my office window. Several tons of wood split from the trunk and destroyed my neighbour’s garage and a good portion of the house roof. The rest of the tree now leans towards my very position. Now, I’ve always maintained that any sense of security in this world is misplaced. We are helpless creatures of no account, clinging to our fragile capsule of individual conscious time. As dear old John Keats wrote for his own epitaph “Here lies one whose name was writ in water”. I’m OK with the water, but I wonder if I could have it 50/50 with a decent brandy? Of course, John Keats did not have the benefit of the Insecure Writers’ Support Group. The course of English Literature could have been so very different…

Insecurity as a writer is of course another thing all together. I mean, who is not a writer? Any time I tell someone I’ve written a book I find that they have already written several or believe that they have a host of unwritten brilliant narratives ready to wow the Readerverse. So – who would bother with me? Um – well – there are always the critics.

When I first launched “Knockout” I came across a lady who offered to review books. Her verdict opened “I knew at once that I would hate this book.” All the same she carried on in what I can only assume was an orgy of masochistic self loathing. “The characters were unrealistic since no Police Inspector would just fall in love with some guy.” She followed it it with the suggestion that “The writer is clearly a foreigner with no idea of England. (I am a Londoner) Names of places in London are used as if it were a guide book.” The critic then turned to the matter of a restaurant menu which she felt was a poorly designed combination of dishes. Finally she declared that the character of a Police commander was “unrealistic since such a bombastic character would have been brought up before some kind of employment tribunal”. I thanked her for her kind efforts but some small part of me wanted to say that it was a Romance where rather larger than life characters behaved rather “Romantically” in a world of unsuitable menus and horrid bosses. I could also have said that the Police Commander was based on someone I knew and if anything, underestimated his odiousness. As a final salvo the lady opined that the choice of the name Freddie for the French/American male hero was a ridiculous pun on a sitcom character called “Freddie the Frog” of whom I had never heard.

The choice then was whether to accept all her criticisms and not publish or kinda stick to my self belief that, although not high art, it was not that bad. Perhaps some of you guys will let me know.

I think I’m in my 35th year of more or less continuous rejections. I suppose my confidence wavers as I wait for the letter. By now I feel utterly secure in my prediction of the outcome. I know there is a novel from 20 years ago possibly in a slush pile, still out there somewhere. Some rejections have become treasures. A famous poetry editor wrote back to me to say that my work was ghastly but that he loved my covering letter. I felt validated and secure. It was the only time. I have always taken comfort from the notion that all the GREATS were rejected, cut their ears off and ended up in a pauper’s grave. The only problem is that this is not true.

If I’m being serious I would say that all the years of rejections have never stopped me from trying and have convinced me that I’m unlikely to please any publisher/agent. This realisation is my freedom and I am secure in it. My good friend Oscar Sparrow, the poet, has recorded the supposed world’s worst poem. People get in touch with him just to say they love it. If you wanna hear the sweet sound of heroic failure here is a link. By the way, the “world’s worst” poet Theo Marzials was a huge success in his own life-time!

Emma thinx: The trouble with insecurities is that they tie you down.

April Towers.

Posted on January 2, 2012 by emmacalin

OK – let’s take a deep breath, get out the dry bread and water, take down all the Christmas decorations that I didn’t get round to putting up in the UK and face reality. Well – there are still several cheeses in the fridge and I spotted an overlooked bottle of champagne as I was looking for my hair shirt and gruel recipe book. Obviously I will be laying off the alcohol at least until the 5pm daily review moment. It’s time to face the scales and the facts. Perhaps I could pretend to be a smoker so that I could pretend to have given it up. I am a novelist after all. I make things up.

The noose of toil has tightened and I am back in the UK. Far behind me now lie the memories of foie gras and fig stuffing, Pineau and hot baguette. We decided to give Christmas pudding and custard cultural food parcels to friends and neighbours. Watch out for news features about canine obesity. I’ll never forget the day I tried my neighbours on some lovely English fruit jelly. I don’t think they will ever forget it either.

We arrived back in time for New Year’s eve and ended up dining with friends and their friends. Oooh I did feel a bit out of my depth. There was this guy who has written a book about Shakespeare but it’s out of print methinks. However, I didst a copy find, by time defiled, on e bay. Like an ego-sodden clod I confessed to my own literary output, which as my readers will know, has a similar stamp to that of the bard. Several wine fuelled hours followed during which I kinda recall, the subject was ME. I do have to forgive myself because this was the second Brit who had ever spoken to me about being a writer. In France I count as quite normal but in the UK, folk kinda shuffle away in case I get out an embarrassing poem FOR THEM TO LIKE, read them a love scene or just throw a passionate pink frilled frenzy.

Tomorrow the bus depot shuffle begins. I have missed the kids and all the jangle of other lives. I have seen the New Year speeches of Sarkozy, Cameron and Merkel. As we left France I wondered if things would ever be the same again. Most of my life I have lived in a tepid bath of euro certainty. Now no one knows whether to pull the plug, let in more hot water or just jump out. My guess is that they will do all three together. Probably won’t work.

Emma thinx: April. Yes – April.

Pineau Paradise.

Posted on December 21, 2011 by emmacalin

I am so so happy. I am home in France. It was not long before there were friends at the door, Pineau to pour and and invitations to accept. Don’t these people know that I am an artist and have to WRITE? Luckily they couldn’t care less because everyone here is an artist in the medium of smiles and humanity. The teenage kids kiss Gilles and I as friends and are respected as friends themselves. Whatever happens, mankind must not forget that we can care about one another.

Of course, it is Noel and the decorations are lit. French rural life is curious because it exists invisibly in homes and “les foyers”. Streets can have a ghost like quality. We arrived after “La tempête” and the crossing of the Channel was a churning vomitous horror. The night previous to our voyage, the vessel “Le Pont-Aven” had not been able to enter St Malo because of the storm. I guess the crew must have had a terrible experience. For this reason I will not be writing to Brittany Ferries about the rude and almost confrontational behaviour of one of their car deck marshals. This large young shaven headed character had obviously trained as a night club bouncer. When Gilles did not understand his wild impatient arm gestures, he responded by pointing at his eyes with angry stabs and then at us. Finally we just pulled up behind the car in front and got out. We do not go on these boats looking for aggro with people who are paid to help us! By the sideways nervousness of his comrades I kinda got the idea that they were a bit uncomfortable with this guy. Brittany Ferries – let me say that we pay hundreds of pounds for these crossings. WE are the customers! If any of you guys out there have Trans-Manche Ferry stories I would love to hear from you.

In the meantime here are some shots of St Savinien at Christmas. With respect to the shot below, the box on the right is if you want a delivery. The box on the left is if you you would rather avoid one.

French letters.

Emma thinx: Peace on Earth? Well, it’s no good looking at me!

Christmas, Kindlemas, Body Mass

Posted on December 15, 2011 by emmacalin

Well, the old boy did it. Oscar’s book of poetry has gone live on Amazon Kindle. It’s called ‘I threw a stone’ and he kindly asked me to write the foreword. Not only is it an e-book, it also includes an audio album with all the poems read by Oscar. I find all this uploads/downloads stuff a bit bemusing but I managed to get the audio onto my Kindle. All this new interconnected media gives writers the chance to produce some unique kinds of work. Oscar’s book has a music intro as well. I believe that the e-book is not a competitor with the tree book. The e-book is actually a wide exciting medium in itself and can provide far more. The book trailer is here if you want to take a peek.

Apparently, this Christmas will in fact be Kindlemas. This is the year when the e-reader will be the must have item in Santa’s sack. I think the old dead tree books will still have a place. I have shelves of them to show folks how learned I am. While books proclaim what you like folk to think you have read, the e-reader hides what you actually like to read. You can sit on the commuter train to a posh job in the City with your Kindle reading “Confessions of a Harem Handyman” and no one knows.

I have parked up the bus for the holidays now. Soon I will be going home to France for a holiday season of ruthless dieting, cold baths and exercise. On the other hand I might get out the foie gras, un bon Bordeaux and catch up on some reading. I wonder if we Brits will be turned away at the border by the Sarko police? His eyebrows really do look like circumflex (little roof top) accents, the presence of which in French denotes that a consonant used to be present in a word. With Britain missing from Europe the look on Sarko’s face takes body language to new heights.

Emma thinx: Europic – a new serious vision problem.

Channel Tunnel Vision

Posted on December 9, 2011 by emmacalin

Well, that’s that then. The Brits have swept their chips off the table and stamped off to the cash desk. How dare these Europeans think of regulating and taxing our world saving philanthropists in the City of Londres! If only we had some planes on our non existent aircraft carriers we would show these foreign johnnies some bulldog behaviour. Let them beg in vain for our chutney and orange jelly.

The Euro dream may or not survive, but the vision was there and I am very much part of that generation. Now the head boy will come back to St Margaret’s to the applause of the City prefects. With pay day loans at 1,700 % and the latest scandal of long term investments sold to vulnerable old folk too old to collect, you can see why we need to sacrifice ourselves to keep these guys here.

Since the Brits didn’t want to play, I’m glad the farce is over. All this stuff of demanding that Europe be a free market but not wanting to share in the responsibility for its continuance was getting embarrassing.

Emma thinx: Let them eat money.

Matthew 5:5.

Posted on December 8, 2011 by emmacalin

At 7am my mobile phone was ringing.It was the mother of one of the kids on my bus.
” I’m sorry dear….ee can’t come today – I’m took bad an’ I’m up the ‘ospitall. I ‘ad to send him round to my mate coz I can’t leave ‘im indoors like ee is.”
She is an ageing mother now, in poor health. They cling to each other in a tiny fragile life boat. Yesterday a survey revealed that fewer and fewer UK citizens really cared about those poorer than themselves and blamed them for being lazy. That’s OK then.

Emma thinx: Hiring now. Meek needed for major earthworks.

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The Words Behind The Woman

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