The Seduction of Words: Rusty Barnes' Breaking It Down

There’s no doubt Rusty Barnes’ short-short story collection, Breaking It Down, belongs in the literary section of the bookstore. It has all the qualities we expect in literary fiction: fresh, often stunning images, an unflinching look at the truth of human character, spare and elegant prose. Add to that the author’s mastery of the short-short or flash form and his ability to evoke a lifetime of yearning or regret in a few brief pages and it’s no wonder it got rave blurbs from the likes of Ploughshares’ DeWitt Henry and Edward Falco. But before you’re thinking my review will be labeled as an all “writing” entry, I have to let you know there’s plenty of sex in Breaking It Down—after all, Steve Almond liked it, too.

Don’t go moving the book to the erotica section quite yet! Let me assure you I’m talking about literary sex. Yes, I suppose it’s time for me to lay my definitions out on the table, bare naked, for all to see. There’s been a long, sometimes heated, debate about the differences between porn, erotica and the serious treatment of sexuality that might even get you on a college syllabus, like D.H. Lawrence. Many claim it’s all in the eye of the beholder—what I like is literary, what you like is erotica, what a person neither of us like likes is porn. However, I believe there is a somewhat more objective way to analyze the difference.

Porn is bodies having sex, no complications, no questions asked, no real plot necessary. The intent is to arouse with descriptions or photographs of sex acts and the copious use of “obscene” words. This is reptile brain stuff, not that it can’t be highly effective and often enjoyable when the mood is right.

Erotica adds brains and hearts to the bodies. Its pages are populated by complex human beings, with dreams, desires and even disappointments in their lives. These people need reasons to have sex and they usually need a specific reason to have sex with the partner or partners of the moment. Often assumed to be aimed at women, erotica offers plot, character, motivation, poetic language and even humor. However, for the most part it does aim to arouse the libido as well as the mind. (That’s what I try to do in my work anyway).

A literary sex scene adds one more layer--a higher artistic purpose. It can arouse, but it doesn’t have to, the only “must” is that it serve to reveal character. Therefore here’s where you find an honest and often darkly complex view of human sexuality. Now we’re back to Breaking It Down. Barnes’ stories are often brutally honest. Sex has consequences, it’s an urge that ruins lives. It can also be a way for inarticulate characters to assert some power or seek a fragile moment of connection in a lonely life. Adultery, spouse-swapping, disappointed housewives taking out their frustration in the arms of visiting handymen--Barnes pierces through the clichés to touch the tender, wounded heart of erotic desire. Frankly, I found it all wonderfully refreshing. I enjoyed every one of the eighteen stories, but I’ll talk about a few favorites (yes, they have more sex) to illustrate my “definition.”

“What Needs to Be Done,” the first story in the collection, grabbed me right away with its sensual, resonant images--green beans in a silver bowl, tobacco juice spattered over the mums. Many of Barnes’ stories are clearly set in Appalachia and in this case issues of class are highlighted with a city-girl narrator, Derry, who is trapped in a disappointing marriage to an alcoholic country boy. One of the ways she endures is to have literal rolls in the hay with her nineteen-year-old brother-in-law. This passage is one of my favorites in the book:

“Purl had laid the blanket out already, wisps of hay stuck to his hairless chest. As I loosened his jeans, it wagged at me like a finger, an accusation I could never answer to anyone’s satisfaction but my own.”

An erection as a finger of blame—it’s funny, it’s indelibly memorable and it’s a classic example of sex-reveals-character. Plus, literature changes the way you look at the world and truth be told, I will probably never look at hard-ons in the same way again.

“Certitude” shows us a family in turmoil. A father facing his own mid-life crisis throws his teenage daughter out of the house for smoking marijuana and hanging out with boys. The mother, Mathilde, understands that the violence of his reaction is a reflection of his own desires and thus her reason for seducing her husband on the sofa in the TV room is very different from Derry’s need for some small way to indulge herself. Here we have sex as salvation and yet the connection is still fragile and momentary, rather like a work of flash fiction itself.

“Pretty” made me laugh out loud. Kathleen gamely agrees to a BDSM scene with her partner, Brady, but resents his perverse choice of a safeword—Pretty. Definitely literary irony at its best. I happen to know that BDSM-themed anthologies are selling briskly at one of my regular publishers, Cleis, and I often wondered who’s fueling this best-seller phenomenon—people who do it? People who want to do it and are afraid to mention it to their partners? But “Pretty” shows us the not-so-pretty reality of BDSM in an average American bedroom, where power play can’t gloss over the real emotions that course through a relationship. I must confess the ending was very satisfying.

“Mister Fixit” takes on a dumb porn movie cliché and makes it touching and wise. A sexually frustrated wife has a “hole that needs fixing” and she turns to a visiting handyman for sympathy. The two actually do end up in each other’s arms, but again the connection is not what we might expect. At the risk of giving it away, I’d like to quote this lovely passage, another of my favorites:

“He puts the tool down and opens his arms, and I go to him as the script directs. As he holds me in his smell of body odor and gas, putty and rank man, I can feel myself begin to disappear—it’s good. He squeezes tighter, a comfort hug, tighter and tighter. I am smaller and smaller in his arms. I am a wet spot on the shoulder of his grubby shirt, and then I am gone.”

Mmmm, nice, huh? I love the last story, “The Way It Is Scripted, the Way It Goes.” It’s about partner-swapping at an “adult party”, two couples getting naked in a shower. Standard fare for porn and even erotica, but here, for the male narrator, “the sight of Sarita’s bouncing breasts and brown nipples, her frizz of hair hung over into my golf buddy Paul’s face is raw and immutable fact, one I didn’t prepare for.” It’s sad, but it’s also sexy, too, in the way real bodies and real people arouse us, for example, when the narrator and a neighbor “[rub] Jasper’s thighs and behind with our wondrous, wonder-bound hands.” Literary sex is the reality, even when you follow the script, and Barnes’ collection ends with another penis, wagging its accusation and the epiphanous plip-plop of water on porcelain drowning out a woman’s cries of release.

Porn? Erotica? Literary sex? The boundaries are not always clear, even by my definition, but I’d say in general the more “literary” end of the spectrum involves care and insight on the part of the author and complexity of thought and emotion for the reader. As I read Rusty Barnes’ collection of flash fiction—or more accurately, devoured it, because it’s actually a real page-turner—I couldn’t help thinking of an exquisite Japanese Buddhist meal with its a tray of tiny dishes, each serving up a austere, perfectly-crafted tidbit. The fare is not especially sweet, and never rich, but it is ultimately satisfying and enlightening. Treat yourself to Breaking It Down for a taste of the same. Besides which, there’s an added bonus—by the end, you’ll realize that erections have a whole language of their own.

Want Your Own Amorous Woman?

Okay, it’s up and live, Shanna Germain’s interview with me on the fabulous erotica writers’ blog Lust Bites. I spill lots of secrets about sex and writing and my novel. Best of all you can win your own copy of Amorous Woman just by posting a quick comment. I’d say it’s worth the gamble!

Dirty Pictures: A Time-Honored Tradition

I’d guess a lot of visitors to my blog come in the hope of finding pictures of naked women or people having sex. I mean, much of my published work offers just that: pictures, albeit in words, of erotic activities. Some bloggers do offer lots of sexy images to spice up their words--just check out the “Sex” section of my blog roll!

I usually stick with words, but today, I decided to join the dirty picture bloggers in my own historical, Japan-tinted way in honor of my upcoming interview on the super-sexy and very visually satisfying UK blog Lust Bites. In my interview I talk a bit about Japanese shunga, literally “spring pictures.” Spring picture scrolls and prints were the racier cousin of the famous ukiyo-e of the Edo period (which lasted from the early seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth centuries). Most of the famous woodblock artists also did a little shunga-drawing on the side, and their reputations didn’t seem to suffer at all. If only our society was so open-minded!

I’ve always been intrigued by Japanese erotica, but I must admit the huge, magnified genitals in most of the prints made them more of a curiosity than a turn-on. Then I read Sex and the Floating World by Timon Screech. If you’re at all into art history, I highly recommend this book, a witty and enlightening exploration of erotic images in Edo-period Japan (it's currently available at a terribly inflated price on Amazon, but maybe you can find a reasonably-priced copy somewhere or check your university library?). I learned for example, that shunga were known as “laughing pictures” because one of the slang terms for masturbation was “laughing.” Now isn’t that more merry than “self-abuse”?

I was also introduced to the erotic images of Suzuki Harunobu and suddenly shunga took on a whole new dimension for me. I’d found my artist. Harunobu does not enlarge the genitals of his lovers to absurd proportions (although, to be my own devil’s advocate, I have suggested that the large genitals symbolize how you feel during sex—like one big, throbbing cunt or cock). They are real and tinted in pale, appealing colors. The faces of his lovers are as much a focus and the expressions are fascinating and complex. He is nothing if not elegant and his images are rich with suggestion, although certainly explicit enough. The image you see above, “Autumn Moon of the Mirror Stand” has inspired several of my stories, including “Spring Pictures,” “Courtesan with a Lover” and a scene in my novel, Amorous Woman, where Lydia and her wealthy company-president lover act out scenes from Harunobu’s work. The mirrors, the focus on female pleasure, the touch of melancholy to the scene, the samurai's knowing touch--something about the combination fires my imagination again and again. Now that’s a dirty picture that has spawned many thousands of words!

My Press Kit--Comments and Suggestions Welcome

AMOROUS WOMAN
By Donna George Storey

Neon/Orion Publishing
Category: Erotica
Pages: 352
Book Type: Paper
Size: 4 1/2 x 7
ISBN: 1905619170
ISBN13: 9781905619177



Take an exotic, erotic journey to a Japan few tourists ever see….


Amorous Woman is the story of an American woman’s love affair with Japan and her sensual encounters with the sexy men and women she meets along the way. First-time novelist Donna George Storey, a widely published erotica writer who holds a Ph.D. in Japanese literature, challenges the boundaries of culture and genre in this modern remake of Ihara Saikaku’s classic 17th century novel of the pleasure quarters. Lusty, wise-cracking Lydia—the modern Amorous Woman--experiences every flavor of erotic pleasure Japan has to offer from illicit encounters in hot spring baths to fantasy orgies straight from manga porn. Described by critics as “rich with sensual detail, humor, and emotional complexity,” “hard to put down,” and “literary erotica at its best,” the novel will change your image of Japan—and erotica—forever.


Bookstore ordering:
Currently available in the UK at Amazon, Blackwell and LoveHoney; the official US release is May 28, 2008, but it can be ordered for delivery in 6 to 8 weeks from:

Independent Publishers Group
814 North Franklin St.
Chicago, IL 60610
Phone: 312-337-0747
FAX: 312-337-5985
Orders Only: 800-888-4741
Orders: orders@ipgbook.com


BIO:

Donna George Storey has taught English in Japan and Japanese at Stanford and U.C. Berkeley. She holds a Ph.D. in Japanese literature from Stanford and has published over sixty literary and/or erotic stories and essays in Prairie Schooner, Gettysburg Review, Fourth Genre, Wine Spectator, Best American Erotica 2006, Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4, 5, 6, and 7, Best Women’s Erotica 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 and elsewhere. Her work also received special mention in Pushcart Prize Stories 2004. Amorous Woman is her first novel. Read more of her work at www.DonnaGeorgeStorey.com.



SYNOPSIS of Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey:

The day Lydia Evans Yoshikawa left Osaka, she promised herself she would never have sex with anyone ever again for the rest of her life. This might seem a tall order given her past, for although she didn’t manage to seduce every able-bodied man in Japan, it wasn’t for lack of trying. She’s donned the gorgeous kimono of a Japanese bride, lured a handsome stranger into an “everything but” tryst in a steamy hot spring bath, and lost herself in an affair with a modern “feudal lord” who would stop at nothing to satisfy her sexual whims. Yet only when she tells the story of her shocking adventures to her two handsome American students does Lydia finally see beyond her fantasies to understand the real meaning of her connection with the men and women who shared their deepest desires with her. Inspired by Ihara Saikaku’s 17th century satiric novel of the pleasure quarters, Amorous Woman gives the reader a humorous and intimate view of Japan few Westerners ever see.


REVIEWS of Amorous Woman by Donna George Storey

“In turns funny, insightful, and always erotic, this novel follows the sexual adventures of beautiful blonde Lydia through a modern Japanese male landscape. Donna Storey's eye and nose for the redolent detail is a treat for all the senses as she spins her tale into a savory concoction not unlike the "cooked-to-your-liking" pancake of cabbage, egg, and smoky fish sauce called okonomiyaki that serves as the heroine's comfort food. An Amorous Woman is literary erotica at its best.”

Liza Dalby, author of Geisha and The Tale of Murasaki

“The cover of Amorous Woman promises a sexy read. The book is that, and so much more. Donna George Storey is a gifted storyteller. Her voice is both lyrical and immediate. When I met the protagonist, Lydia, and her affair with all things Japanese began, I knew I wasn't going to be able to put this book down. I never had a clue where she was taking me next but I was right there with her, every step of the way. Rich with sensual detail, humour, and emotional complexity, Amorous Woman is both a sensual and cultural journey. Highly recommended!”

Saskia Walker, author of Along for the Ride, Double Dare, and Reckless

“Amorous Woman is definitely arousing but it is much more than a light-hearted bedroom romp through Japan. It is a believable and moving tale of one woman's journey of sexual self-discovery… I enjoyed Amorous Woman more than any erotic novel I've read in a long while. Ms. Storey writes with insight and humor. She vividly conveys the sensual experiences of living in a new land.”

Lisabet Sarai, author of Raw Silk and Incognito, reviewed for The Erotica Readers and Writers Association

“If your knowledge of Japanese culture could do with a little stretching, or
if you simply enjoy well-written erotica, you won’t go far wrong with
meeting this Amorous Woman... it's a bloody good read."

Ashley Lister, author of Swingers, reviewed for Erotica Revealed

“Focusing on sex in Japan is a great departure from the more usual erotic scenes and I certainly enjoyed getting a peek into such a different culture. Storey clearly has a love for and an interest in this land, and that comes through with her writing. A piece of erotica that works equally well story-wise and for an insight into a whole other life makes this a great addition to your erotic bookshelf. I have no doubt I'll be rereading this in the future.”

LoveHoney, the UK’s premier online adult store

“The scope of this story is tremendous, and the settings are palpable in their completeness. It's clear the author has a strong understanding of Japanese culture. Vivid sexual scenes abound, encompassing a vast range of pleasures… this book is hard to put down.”

Romantic Times Book Review Magazine

Ancient Chinese Secret for Silky Soup

It’s Foodie Friday again and I thought I’d share two modest, but tasty discoveries I made this week. The first is a recipe for a simple, but delicious Chinese Egg Drop Soup. I found a recipe in the latest February issue of Cooking Light and did some further research online to come up with my own variation. The main thing is, this is so quick and simple, but it adds nice variety to your menu. You could serve it with fried rice, Chinese leftovers, or the way I did, with whole wheat rolls and aged Gouda and steamed Brussels sprouts with chestnuts on the side.

To serve two generously, bring 4 cups of broth (chicken or vegetable) to a simmer. Beat two eggs with a whisk for about 30 seconds. When the broth is ready, turn off the heat. Pour the eggs into a wire strainer. Hold the strainer about a foot over the pan with your right hand and stir the broth with a large spoon with your left. The egg will drop in fine ribbons and turn into silky, tender “flowers” in the hot broth. When you’ve used up all the egg, add 2 chopped scallions and a dash or two of sesame oil. You can add 1/2 cup of cooked green peas as well.

Another tasty recipe I found this week was from February’s Bon Appetit issue in “Eat Your Veggies.” I also adapted this for my own lower-fat tastes—I usually cut the cooking fat by 2/3 with fine results. Take 1 1/2 pounds fresh Brussels sprouts and trip the ends, pull off as many leaves as you can and quarter the remaining core. Heat 1 Tablespoon grapeseed oil in a sauté pan. Add 1 minced shallot, then the Brussels sprouts and 1/2 cup unsalted natural pistachios. Saute about a minute, cover and steam about 2-3 minutes, until tender but still bright green. Sprinkle with 2 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. This will make a Brussels sprouts lover out of anyone. Honest.

Looking for a New Erogenous Zone?

It sounds like the title of one of those women’s magazine come-on articles at the checkout stand. The ten hottest sex positions. Five things sure to turn women on. Somehow the actual article never really delivers on the promise. I hope I can do a little better.

Sure we all know about the obvious erogenous zones—genitals, nipples (for most women and a few lucky guys), mouths and hands. Maybe the backs of the knees, the crease of the elbow. And don’t forget the brain ;-)

But what about the less obvious candidates? Ears, for example. (For more on this possibility, read my story “Virgin Ear” in Sage Vivant and M. Christian's Garden of the Perverse).

And feet.

Well, maybe feet belong in the obvious category. We’ve all heard of foot fetishists. Men who slaver over women in five-inch stiletto heels. Women who slaver over expensive designer shoes. Passions I never really quite understood, although I do appreciate how the crease between the big and second toe resembles cleavage. And there is something visually pleasing about a smooth female foot with painted toenails. Okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I did have a few moments of shoe love in my teens. When I was in high school I saw a pair of high-heeled maroon suede boots in the store that looked an awful lot like Victorian-style button-up shoes. About as Masterpiece Theatre as you could get in the local mall, and I convinced my mother to buy them for me. The only problem was, they were unwearable. After about ten steps, my feet were throbbing. It took hours and sometimes days to recover. The few nights I wore them out, I could barely walk back home. Most of the time I ending up taking them off and going barefoot. Once I convinced my boyfriend to carry me (talk about Victorian). He rowed heavyweight crew and he managed the burden just fine.

What I really want to talk about is my latest publication, a reprint of my story "Magic" on Clean Sheets, one of my very favorite places to be published! (I like the picture they chose for it, too.) The story originally appeared in Sexiest Soles: Erotic Stories about Feet and Shoes, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and Christopher Pierce. You might be interested a little background on my story, “Magic.” You see, some time ago, I discovered I had a very sensitive spot that I was never aware of before. My husband and I were lying on the sofa one evening and he was massaging my feet in a lazy, affectionate way. Nothing too extraordinary there. But suddenly, as he pressed and kneaded my left instep, I started getting…you know…feelings. Very nice feelings. Feelings so nice I thought maybe the foot massage alone would…you know…do the trick. Well, the kids were around and we didn’t feel right taking this new possibility to its conclusion right then and there, but our little discovery was a welcome addition to our repertoire. Not to mention, it provided the inspiration for "Magic."

A happy ending all around.

So, enough about me. Why not try finding your own hidden hot spot someday soon? You might be surprised what you discover.

Do YOU Like Sexually Insatiable Sluts?

My latest review of Amorous Woman is out in the January issue of Romantic Times Book Review Magazine (which unfortunately only lists availability through Amazon US and not my Web site where you can actually buy it now). I’m generally happy with this review—four stars out of five, which means they liked it—plus I think the reviewer “gets” a lot of what the book is about. Here's the review text:

“Storey chronicles 30 years in a woman's life, from the hopes of matrimony to the shame of prostitution, from America to Japan and back again. The scope of this story is tremendous, and the settings are palpable in their completeness. It's clear the author has a strong understanding of Japanese culture. Vivid sexual scenes abound, encompassing a vast range of pleasures. But some readers may not like the lead character, who is ruled so completely by her lust that she's a bad friend and an unfaithful lover. Even so, this book is hard to put down.”

So, yes, I can’t complain at all about such observations as “the scope of the story is tremendous,” “the settings are palpable in their completeness,” vivid sex scenes, authorial expertise in Japanese culture. And of course, the reaction I love best: “this book is hard to put down.”

Maybe it’s a romance genre thing, but a few readers—just two, actually—have told me Lydia’s high-wattage sexual desire was a turn-off. Of course, the Japanese model for her, the original Amorous Woman, was a real slut, so maybe by comparison Lydia seems thoughtful and reserved to me! Fortunately, the majority of people say they do like her, especially her humor, her self-insight and her honesty about sex. Not to mention, she does learn a few things in the end and makes an admirable sacrifice as a friend and a lover.

I’m wondering, though, if I should have my next heroine save a child from a burning building and help lost animals find good homes? Nah, I think I like naughty girls a little too much to go there….

How to get the VIP Treatment at your next Napa Winetasting

It’s a brand new year and time to launch Foodie Friday 2008! Actually this is more of a wino Friday entry, but still, I hope it adds to your sensual enjoyment.

My husband and I love drinking good wine (not necessarily expensive wine, but tasty, interesting wine) and we have an annual custom of going up to Napa Valley in February to taste the good stuff they’re pouring at Heitz. It’s the only time of year you can taste their lovely Martha’s Vineyard and Bella Oaks Cabs and tasting is always free! We try to go up to the Wine Country a few other times during the year as well, but February is quiet and the guys at the tasting bars are especially talkative, so you learn a lot.

Over the past few years, we’ve learned something else, too. If you do one simple thing, you’re very likely to have the winery pourers pull out a special bottle and give you an extra wine to taste, often a top-of-the-line treat, and always on the house.

Here’s what you do: spit.

Not in his face. You spit out the wines you taste. First stick your nose in the glass and breathe in long and deep. Then roll a sip around in your mouth, get all the flavor and spit. Either into the spit jar, or we take our own plastic cups (not clear, you can see the icky saliva-bubbly rejected wine) which is more discreet than shooting a fountain of liquid across the table into the communal spittoon. If you find a wine you really like, you can swallow a bit of that. I always allow myself that indulgence!

So, the guys at the bar see you doing this and they know you’re at least semi-serious about wine, a step above the bus tours. You chat with them a bit. Ask with genuine interest about the recent harvest and the current wines on sale and when the optimum time is to drink them. Confess you’re one of those crazy people who keep wine for a number of years and don’t just drink it all right away. Then watch them reach behind the counter for a little something special they’d like you to try.

It doesn’t happen at every winery, but at least once or twice on every visit. It's fun and you get to taste some nice stuff. Plus, if you spit, you don’t have to worry about driving and you can always buy a bottle of your favorite, drinkable-today wine to have back at the B&B. Not a bad way to sample the VIP treatment--and it's free.

Happy Quaffing!

Amorous Woman is Erotically Revealed!

Well, I have to say 2008 has started off exceptionally well for my novel, Amorous Woman with a fabulous review posted by Ashley Lister at Erotica Revealed in the January issue.

I’ve been in many Cleis anthologies with Ashley (who often writes under a pseudonym although his best-selling expose on Swingers was published under his own name) and have followed his columns on ERWA for years. I don’t think I’ve ever read any of his prose, fiction or non, without laughing out loud at his cleverness and wit, not to mention that I always know immediately I am in the hands of a master of the craft. He KNOWS his stuff.

So, it is especially thrilling that Ashley liked my novel. It’s hard to stop smiling about this, which is not a bad way to start the new year. And it’s hard to pick my favorite excerpts, although I’ll have to settle on something for my promo materials, but I can think of worse problems. In keeping with the more “intellectual” quality of Erotica Revealed (which you could argue is The New Yorker of erotica reviews), Ashley highlights the literary precedents of my novel—my direct model, Ihara Saikaku’s The Life of an Amorous Woman as well as the more amorphous inspirations of Japanese literary style.


“The first thing that struck me about this book is the fact that the author is maddeningly clever. The eloquence of Donna’s writing matches the elegant style of Japanese culture (as it is probably perceived by those who aren’t boorish bukake/karaoke/Godzilla louts). As I mentioned before, I’ve previously encountered Donna’s work in her wonderful short stories. Amorous Woman is similarly presented in a series of short and manageable chapters which, despite their brevity, are each exciting, arousing and carry the narrative along with startling swiftness.”

Clever, elegant, page-turner—this is good, right? Or perhaps it’s best to go with haiku-like brevity as in the following?

“…it’s a bloody good read.”

The review is a good read, too, so head on over to Erotica Revealed and help me toast the new year!

The Naughty Martha Stewart?

I’ve been so frigging busy baking cookies and gingerbread chalets and sending off packages and stirring up Russian ceremonial porridge, I haven’t had time to mention a very cool development in my writing life.

I’m officially a columnist and book reviewer over at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. As I’ve mentioned, ERWA has been the most valuable resource for me in my erotica writing career. Most of my published stories are due to their fantastic call for submissions bulletins. I’ve gotten countless tips from the long-running columns of Ashley Lister, Shanna Germain (check out her sexy new pic!) and Ann Regentin among others. Brenna Lyons has a very helpful column on e-publishing which I plan to follow very closely as my promotional efforts for Amorous Woman gear up in the coming year.

My first column went up in December and focused on the transformative power of gingerbread and X-rated sugar cookies, Naughty Cookies and Sugar Walls: A Year's End Indulgence in Architecture, Seduction, and Sensual Healing. In it I discuss the genesis of this edible hotel pictured here, made by my hands alone. Except my kids decorated the roof. But there’s stuff about sex and writing in the column, too.

This month’s entry has just gone live: Tie Me Up, Please: Resolutions, Blindfolds, and the Eroticism of Oatmeal. I talk about New Year’s resolutions for writers, lovers and eaters. If you’re any one or all of these, check it out! And then there's my debut book review of Lisabet Sarai's erotic romance about a Ph.D. candidate with a wild side (no, it's not about me!), Incognito.

I think my goal here is to become the “Naughty Martha Stewart.” Can my own line of holiday-themed sex toys be far behind?

Tough Critics, Soft Landings

There’s a new review of Amorous Woman up on Trashionista.com, a popular chicklit review blog based in the UK. It’s a good review, although I could tell from the beginning, the critic (editor Keris Stainton) wasn’t exactly on my side from the start. And I can’t blame her. She rightly points out that the cover of Amorous Woman, both back and front, does not allow reading on the daily commute. It screams “dirty book”! Which it is—but I hope it’s so much more.

Yes, there’s no doubt Amorous Woman is a strange beast, neither fish nor fowl, nor even a side of beef or a vegetarian seitan kabob. But Ms. Stainton seemed to like it in the end anyway. After pointing out that Lydia’s story would take more than a few hours to tell in real life (okay, maybe, depending on how fast she talked), the review continues:

“…the book is compelling and beautifully written. Despite the fact that Lydia behaves fairly appallingly throughout, she is so open and honest about her wants, needs and weaknesses that I couldn't help but like her.”

And then there’s this:

“Since it's an erotic novel, you probably want to know whether it is indeed "erotic" (that word's never been the same to me since Waynetta Slob). It is. (Ha! Coy enough for you?)”

From a mainstream perspective, that’s as good as it gets.

It all reminds me of my challenge in promoting the novel. Amorous Woman does have a lot of sex scenes since I was writing on commission for an erotica line and there were certain expectations. Many “mainstream” novels have lots of sex scenes, too, but not as dependably or as required perhaps. Then again, Field Marshall McBirdie at LoveHoney was surprised when I didn’t make an encounter with a guy into a full-fledged sex scene, so it is hard to please everyone.

So I guess I’ll just have to settle for “compelling” and “beautifully written.”

More soon!

The Erotic Woman!

December has been so crazy busy for me, and I haven't even started on my cookie-baking spree yet! But all kinds of sweet things are happening and one wonderful surprise is the publication of one of my favorite stories, "Suit and Tie," online at the super-spicy female-friendly site The Erotic Woman. I love the photo they chose for the illustration--it's perfect for the story! Read it and you'll see just what I mean.... And I really like the quality of the comments, too. I hope to make more appearances on this site in the future. It's a great big heaping bowl of eye candy, not to mention I'm in the company of some of my favorite writers. Also check out Gwen Masters' fabulous story "Indiana Jones, with Camera."

Happy erotica reading!

The Dark Beginnings of an Erotica Writer

Our sexual histories are more than just a list of lovers, a catalog of positions tried and techniques mastered. From Hollywood flicks to Playboy centerfolds and Penthouse letters, media plays a huge role—too large, in my opinion. Doctors say the story of our sexual urges and satisfaction is hard-wired, involving the hypothalamus, dopamine and oxytocin. Psychiatrists point to the influence of the family.

This month I became a columnist for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association with my first entry "Naughty Cookies and Sugar Walls." It's a big step from writing fiction to writing about fiction and it's got me thinking about another important factor in my sexual awareness—the power of the written word. Back when I first started writing, with my interest in erotica coming soon after, I bought myself a copy of BAE 1997 for research and pleasure. I’ve read many great erotic stories since, but my favorites from that volume are burned into my brain. Ivy Topiary’s “My Professor” was a favorite because it was smart and witty and all about sex in your head and your professor’s office, one of my favorite pastimes and one of my favorite fantasies, respectively. “Lunch” by Mark Stuertz fascinated me, not just because of the unusual repast featuring a highly aroused woman, lots of spinach and a dwarf. It was the narrator’s friend Drew, the guy who nosed out this weird form of sexual gratification, who really captured my imagination. Drew was one of those sexually obsessed guys who’d be checking out other women when he took you on a date. We’re all just food to him anyway. But when a person is deeply interested in something, they tend to be good at it, and Drew seemed to know his stuff. Plus there was that seminal moment when his mother fed him a dab of creamed spinach on her little finger. Yes, Drew was no good, but I longed to go back in time, before I was happily married and I let myself get mixed up with trouble like him, and find out more about his kinkiness firsthand. This is a fictional character we’re talking about. I’d have to say Mark Stuertz did a damned good job on that story. Then of course, everyone’s favorite, “She Gets Her Ass Fucked Good” by Rose White and Eric Albert. That story taught me the power of dialogue in erotic fiction. For me there is nothing more immediate, no other description, no matter how poetic, lets you slip right into bed with the characters (or wherever the action is happenin’).

But let’s go back even further, to the Ur Sex Scene, pages 27-29 of The Godfather. I was in fifth grade when the movie was released and everyone seemed to be reading it. My older sister talked about it so much, I begged to be able to read it myself, but it was deemed too racy. A compromise was reached—my sister would read it to me and excise the parts that were inappropriate for my tender age.

It was then I learned to be a sneak. And it was then I encountered pages 27-29. (Interestingly enough, as Susie Bright recalls in How to Write a Dirty Story, this was her first exposure to the erotic power of the written word as well!) It was shocking, it was thrilling, it was imperative I show it to my best friend as soon as possible. She was equally fascinated and horrified and speculated that if her mother caught her reading it, she would probably feed her hot dogs swimming in ketchup as punishment—another disgusting, but oddly exciting image.

When I go back and look at this scene (the book lies open on my lap to the scene in question), I am amazed anew but for a different reason. By any realistic measure, what Sonny Corleone did to Lucy Mancini could not have brought her true pleasure. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes in fact. There was no foreplay at all, just some pawing and panty-ripping (unless her anticipation of the event provided enough warmup, which can happen, but usually not for the first time with someone). Next came a lot of violent thrusting, not to mention Lucy was in a rather contorted position which, in my experience, can be distracting. No wonder hot dogs and ketchup came to mind—the whole focus was on the “enormous, blood-gorged pole of muscle” and its magical ability to bring pleasure merely by filling up a big “box.” There is something romantic about this, oddly enough. That is, if you find the right guy, with the right meat and the right motion, this perfect match will result in instant orgasm. Nice idea, but very unfortunately, quite misleading.

The other sex scene that sticks in my memory is on page 342, Michael’s honeymoon night with Apollonia. It is perhaps more memorable in the movie for its flash of naked breasts, but I remember having to sneak the book from its hiding place for this one, too. Even at the time, I liked this one better, because it was less scary and because I could put myself in Apollonia’s place, the bold, curious bride, “all eagerness, surging against him wildly in a virginal erotic frenzy.” I’m sure. Mario Puzo didn’t waste many words on foreplay here either, which, you could argue, fits with the ethos of the Corleones’ world. But part of me wishes that all of us teenagers and pre-teens who drank this in as the milk of our erotic education had a little more realism to work with. And I’m realizing that one of the many reasons I write erotica is to redress that long ago misconception—my own—of what good sex is.

Mind-Blowing Sweets from The Best Pastry Shop in the World

Today I launch my Foodie Friday feature, which will cover some aspect of the “food” theme of my blog: recipes, restaurant reviews, food porn, and other edible topics. I’ll post twice a month, at least, more if there are foodie musings I’m inspired to share.

I’m going to start big with my homage to The Best Pastry Shop in the World. I’ve eaten many pastries in Europe, the US and Japan. Many of them have been exquisitely delicious. The warm walnut cakes in Tsumago. The hazelnut-raspberry-cream torte in Edinburgh. But the sweets of Café Zauner in Bad Ischl, Austria are by far the best for subtlety of flavor, a depth of experience that is truly comparable to an erotic afternoon in bed with the love of your life.

My husband and I stopped in Café Zauner on our drive from the storybook town of Hallstatt to Vienna in the fall of 1992. It was mid-morning, so we bought a slice of torte and a poppy seed pastry to go, having feasted on lovely walnut bear claws at our pension. I wanted to stop at Zauner because it was an institution even back in the 19th century when Emperor Franz Joseph summered here with his (platonic) mistress, Katharina Schratt. Katharina’s chef baked a raisin-studded Kugelhopf coffee cake for the Emperor’s morning call each day, but it was said she had a standing order for one from Zauner in case of unforeseen disaster in her kitchen.

Later that afternoon we stopped at a church with onion-domed spires on a bluff overlooking the Danube. There wasn’t much to see inside, though the place was full of tourists, mostly from Eastern Europe, who seemed hungry for life in the capitalistic West. It was then I remembered the cakes we’d bought that morning. I ripped the box open and divided each carefully into two pieces. We ate them with our fingers, my husband from the napkin, I from the torn box. The mocha torte was delicious, dense hazelnut cake layered with cloud-like cappuccino mousse. The poppy seed Danish was a marvel of the pastry maker’s art, not gritty and leaden like most poppy seed fillings, but silken smooth, almost frothy, with a kiss of lemon essence. The silence in the car was broken only by murmurs of pleasure. I knew without question—and how often do you understand these things precisely when they are happening?--that I’d never eaten anything more exquisite in my life.

I hope to return to Austria some day. My ideal vacation would involve a whole week in Bad Ischl with visits to Zauner for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Fortunately, the internet age has made it possible to order some of its less perishable treats for delivery in the US (no mocha torte, alas). In fact, I ordered some Christmas specialties this year: stollen (a yeast fruit bread), lebkuchen (gingerbread), and fruchtebrot (more on what this is in a moment). True to its reputation for refining pastry to the level of art, Zauner’s special gingerbread is a multi-layered affair, unlike the generous, moist and nutty disks of the classic Nurnberg bakery, Lebkuchen Schimdt (also recommended, but homier). A thin layer of nutty gingerbread is covered first with a rich, dense fruit jelly, then a layer of marzipan. The entire miniature square is glazed in fine chocolate. It’s superb. We’re saving the stollen for Christmas, but I’d bet it’s nothing like what you’d buy in your local supermarket.

And the fruchtebrot? We had some last night. Zauner’s has a thin pastry crust, decorated with almonds and angelica. The filling is a moist blend of dried fruits and booze that reminds you simultaneously of mince pie, plum pudding and fruitcake. Yet the sum is greater than all three. The Zauner version has a silky texture that is unique--it’s the essence of an old-fashioned Christmas and you find yourself eating it not just with your very happy palate, but with a luscious dose of nostalgia and wonder as well. After all these years, Zauner still holds its magic. If you don’t mind spending a bit on the postage, you can sample some of that magic here.

So, I hope you enjoyed a trip to The Best Pastry Shop in the World. Stay tuned for Mysterious Monday (sex) and Writer’s Wednesday (writing, of course).

Rave Review of AMOROUS WOMAN from a Field Marshall in the Orgasm Army!

Most of the time, the novelist’s path is a lonely road. (Take out your hanky….) It’s hard to write a novel, harder still to get it published. Then comes the most terrifying part of the process—your virgin work is thrown to the critics to do with it what they will. I was fortunate enough to be initiated gently into this phase with Victoria Blisse’s wonderful review of Amorous Woman on SexyReads.

This week, I’ve moved into the thick of battle with an interview and review from a big gun in UK erotica criticism, Field Marshall McBirdie who blogs for LoveHoney, a super-sexy online store that will satisfy your every need. Or mine, anyway, because it’s the only place where you can buy Amorous Woman right now with no delay!

I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to get such a fantastic review from a reader who knows her stuff. The Field Marshall said it was rare for her to give a novel 4.5 stars and I am totally honored! Do go check out the interview and review and please consider leaving a comment. I’ll be eternally grateful.

To tease your palate, I’ll give you one of my favorite bits: “Focusing on sex in Japan is a great departure from the more usual erotic scenes and I certainly enjoyed getting a peek into such a different culture. Storey clearly has a love for and an interest in this land, and that comes through with her writing. A piece of erotica that works equally well story-wise and for an insight into a whole other life makes this a great addition to your erotic bookshelf. I have no doubt I'll be rereading this in the future.”

For a novelist, the praise doesn’t get better than that. So put away the hanky for the moment and join me in a glass of champagne as the Orgasm Army marches on to what I hope are many future victories!

Naughty Stories for a Very Nice XXXmas

I just got an early Winter Solstice present—my contributor’s copies of Alison Tyler’s newest anthology Naughty or Nice: Christmas Erotica. Alison always puts together a great anthology, but this one really rings my bells. It may be because I’ve always been enchanted by the year-end festivals of light (all of them, Diwali, Chanukah, Solstice…), or it may be that the stories are such a yummy winter buffet of sexy, smart, and funny with a dash of the bittersweet to add a satisfying complexity of flavors.

The book starts off with a champagne popping bang with Andrea Dale’s “The Queen of Christmas.” I ADORE this story! It’s so hilarious, I was laughing the whole way through, except when I was lusting after that very sexy, Christmas-loving electrical engineer across the street. And then I was kind of smacking my lips and making plans to attack my own electrical engineer husband later.

I’m next with “Fezziwig’s Balls.” When I review an anthology with my own story, I don’t pretend I can comment on its quality, but I do like to mention one or two of my favorite lines. In this case, the title is my favorite line! If you like corsets and dress up and fallen women and the electric thrill of waltzing with a stranger who dances divinely, you might like the story, too. I hope you do!

Get ready for a very sweet peppermint treat with Shanna Germain’s “A Good Little Girl.” Sparkling humor and glittering prose—it’s as magical as a Christmas tree. Really. I was grinning at the clever story and the awesome writing the whole way through. Sitting on Santa’s lap has never been so much fun, and I can’t seem to get that that Christmas tree dildo out of my mind. Someone has GOT to make one of those and give Shanna a cut of the profits.

Lisette Ashton gives us a witty, X-rated reinterpretation of Charles Dickens’ classic in “Carol’s Christmas.” Lisette knows her stuff, of course, as she hails from Merrie Olde England. The strong and silent Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come gives the heroine a chance to change her ways, posing the question dearest to the hearts of men--will she or won’t she? Come, that is. Read it and find out for yourself ;-)

Two of my other favorites are Joel A. Nichols’ “Nog” and Michael Hemmingson’s “Two Gifts.” Both have a bittersweet realism that strips away the fantasy of Christmas. What lies beneath is surprisingly and profoundly arousing. Kudos to Alison for giving us some savory stories as well as sweet ones to feast on in this book. Oh, and at that next Christmas party, remember to ask college kids in the house exactly what’s in the eggnog!

I’ve been a huge fan of Sharon Wachsler since I read her “Sappenschwester” in M. Christian and Sage Vivant’s Garden of the Perverse. “Tagged” fulfilled my yearning for more of her funny and very sexy stories. Thomas S. Roche’s “Hollywood Christmas” combines the delights of smart social satire with a steamy and very La-La Land interplay of voyeurism and exhibitionism. Of course at this time of year, interesting things happen when the lights are low. Saskia Walker’s “Caught Watching” is a perfect ambisexual cocktail of seeing and doing. You can always count on a red-hot story from Saskia and it’s always a thrill to be in her company in a toc.

Alison gives us a wham-bam finish with “Naughty or Nice?” It’s everything you ever wanted for Christmas—since you turned eighteen, that is. I could go on and on, but to keep it short—we all have shopping to do, right?--I highly recommend this anthology. I was told at the Cleis reception earlier this month that the major bookstore chains were stocking the book, so you can toodle down to Barnes and Noble and check it out. It’s a good gift for any naughty friend you want to be especially nice to this year!

Halloween Thrills at Virtual Wordsmith!

Happy Halloween! This has always been my favorite holiday because like all writers I love pretending to be someone else for a brief time. This year I pulled out the hanbok I bought in Korea in 1983 and I’m going as Jang Geum, the title character from the popular Korean historical drama about the only woman to rise to the position of head physician in the Chosun court of the 16th century. I’m pretty excited about that because the dress is gorgeous, even though it makes me look fat, but everyone looks fat in hanbok. You could be eight months pregnant and no one would know.

But I’ve got even more exciting news today—a visit with Virtual Wordsmith blogger Mary Lynn Lewis. Lynn reviewed my novel Amorous Woman in her August 28 post and followed up with an interview today, Halloween 2007. Lynn and I did not know each other before I found out about her book review blog, but I liked what I saw and queried her about doing a review of my book. I was a bit nervous when she said yes. I can count on friends to be diplomatic at least, but with strangers I knew I’d be getting an honest response to my work. Imagine my delight—that’s a big, huge, happy my-heart-is-soaring grin—when Lynn posted her very positive review.

“Donna George Storey is a storyteller, as well as a writer. I had a difficult time stepping away from this book, because I felt transported while reading it. I also didn't want it to end. I wanted to know more!”

Really, I couldn’t have dreamed of a better one! To read more of the review plus an interview with me where I discuss feisty characters who rebel against my writerly plans, why erotica can justly claim to be “real” literature and not just a poor cousin, and how I get creative highs away from the keyboard, stop by Virtual Wordsmith. And check out the other book reviews as well!

Cyber Book Tour: Kay Sexton and Writing Neuroses

Okay, everybody, the book promotion fun has begun in earnest! I’ve kicked off my cyber book tour for Amorous Woman with my first stop at Kay Sexton’s UK-based blog, Writing Neuroses. This is especially appropriate not only because of the location, but because Kay’s blog is a wonderful resource for writers. Kay herself has been a generous source of information and support for me as I try to figure out how to promote my book across an ocean.

The other reason you should check out the interview is because the questions really got me thinking—and prodded me to articulate a few things I’d never really tried to put into words before. You can find out all kinds of secrets about the earliest roots of my novel, what I do and don’t know about writing sex scenes, and my fantasy life lolling away the day on a desert island while I wait for the rescue boat to arrive.

So, pop on over to Brighton and check it out!

What Turns You On?

Check out the latest entry in the Blushing Ladies Journal, a series of essays by some of my favorite erotica writers on the topic of what turns them on and what turns them off. I have an entry, too, and granted I do get pretty worked up about the allure of fresh vegetables, but there's stuff about people, too!

I found it an interesting exercise to put my turn on's into words. Usually a turn on is a visceral, sensual experience, something you don't have to or even want to verbalize. I also found it interesting that for most authors, they seek something beyond what our society deems sexy. That is, a turn on as rebellion, liberation, discovery. That's very cool in my book.

But back to vegetables. Look at that beautiful Listada eggplant in the photograph! The creamy skin marbled with streaks of marroon. The plump fullness of it that makes you yearn to cup it in your hand. I've never eaten a Listada eggplant, only admired them from afar, but I'm trying to get up the nerve to buy one and...go all the way. Grilled with a sprinkling of basil? Or chopped up for ratatouille? It seems a sin to peel that lovely thing.

Til later, then, I'm off to Monterey Market!

Method Writing?

Check out the latest hilarious entry (October 20, 2007) in Sage Vivant's Amalgamated Erotica Corp blog, which chronicles the ongoing saga of the wild shenanigans that go on at Custom Erotica Source. As a proud staff member, I can tell you that it does get wild! And Sage has spilled my biggest secret: I need a healthy dose of real-life material to create my stories. This is absolutely true! But she forgot to mention that sometimes when I'm doing the housewife thing, I don't wear panties at all....

Talking Dirty on a Sunday Afternoon

Last Sunday, October 14, I was invited to read my story “Suit and Tie” from She’s On Top along with erotica icon Thomas S. Roche and the wonderful editor and writer Rachel Kramer Bussel at Good Vibrations on Valencia Street in San Francisco. Here we are, with a backdrop of dildo harnesses, although we actually did the reading in front of a wall of dildos, varied in color, but uniform in their state of perpetual arousal. There was even refreshments—grapes, strawberries, cheese, sparkling water—my fanciest reading yet!

Rachel read first—a story she wrote under a pseudonym, so I’m not sure if I’m supposed to give it away. But it was very juicy—trust me. Thomas went next with his story from He’s On Top, “Schoolgirl and Angel.” It’s a fun story, but even funnier when read by Thomas himself. He’s a very charismatic reader and had us all laughing about apple fritters among other things.

I went last, so it could be girl-boy-girl and I was sort of terrified, but my friends in the audience claimed it didn’t show! Perhaps those dildos calmed me down, like soldiers in rank behind me. It was actually fun to read the story in the voice that filled my head as I wrote it—slightly bratty and sarcastic with touches of dreamy lust. Truth is, I do fantasize about defiling men in suits….

Rachel mentioned there will probably be a San Francisco party for the release of Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women, which has my story “To Dance at the Fair.” I hope the dildos will still be there to offer their unflagging support.

Random and Embarrassing Facts about Yours Truly

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First Review of AMOROUS WOMAN

It’s official! Amorous Woman is now in print. You can buy it in Maxim Jakubowski’s Murder One bookstore in London’s West End. For now this is the bargain--$14 for the book, $3.25 shipping. The book is not listed in their online catalog but you can email them and request a special order. Since one of the owners of the bookstore is Maxim Jakubowski, the editor of the Neon series, he'll be happy to help you.

You can order it from Amazon US through a third-party seller, but the current one is steep--stay tuned, though, I'm trying to get Amazon to carry it in a reliable fashion and you'll be the first to know. You can order from Blackwell’s Online for $14 for the book and $7 shipping. It's available on Amazon UK for $11 plus $14 shipping, so that's not the best deal for now. Hopefully word of mouth will help with the availability. So please (she said with a winning smile) order your copy, write reviews on Amazon and Blackwell and your blog, grab the sleeve of the guy next to you in the coffee shop and tell him all about it. You’ll have my eternal gratitude—and if you drop me a line, I’ll even send you a very classy Amorous Woman refrigerator magnet, a facsimile of the novel's cover. I'm sure you'll agree no home should be without one.

The best news of all is that I got my first official review on a Web site called Sexy Reads, a recently-launched forum for erotica writers and readers to give honest reviews of books in the genre. I discovered it on MySpace, and this alone makes that place worth the time I’ve spent networking there. I encourage everyone who takes erotica writing and reading seriously to stop by Sexy Reads, add some reviews, chat about the writing life and give our genre the respect it deserves! Oh, and for writers, Victoria Blisse, the creator of the site, is inviting you to submit your book for review as part of the grand opening celebration.

Here’s a sampling of what she said about mine: “This is one of those books where you find yourself thinking ‘Oh go on, just one more chapter.’ And you end up being up half the night reading because you just can’t pull yourself away from the story.” Is there sweeter music to a writer’s ears?

No, dear reader, there is not.

So, pop on over to Sexy Reads to read the full review here, add your own comments, if you like, then check out the other threads and help support the cause.

My Gorgeous New Web Site!

My Labor Day weekend was busy. We went to the California State Fair in Sacramento, which, alas, was disappointing. Our governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, promised in the program that we'd leave the fair saying, "I'll be back." I doubt it. The exhibits were low-wattage and the food was pure processessed chain food fare. This is California, for heaven's sake, and there wasn't one leaf of arugula to be found! Fortunately the closing day Weird Al Yankovic concert was awesome! Even on stage Weird Al can take on many guises. He even sang some of our old favorites: "Amish Paradise" and "Bob" and "Fat." The concert definitely saved the day.

A more exciting and productive activity of the weekend was that my technical advisor and I updated my Web site in preparation for the release of Amorous Woman. Each page is now adorned with a lovely wood block print by Kawase Hasui and there's a new "About Me" section that will tell you more about me and my path to the writing life than you ever wanted to know. There are also excerpts from Amorous Woman. Lots of goodies, so please drop by the site for a visit!

Jolie du Pre's Iridescence: Do Judge a Book by its Cover

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Everyone’s heard that bit of wisdom and yet, well, I do generally judge a book by its cover, at least on the first go-round. Even though I know now the editor and/or author has little say in the matter (unless s/he’s famous and powerful). Sometimes it’s a mistake to do this. Fortunately, with Jolie du Pre’s Iridescence: Sensuous Shades of Lesbian Erotica the cover and what’s inside are a perfect match.

And my, oh my, do I love that cover. The background blue is strangely mesmerizing. I happen to like dark shades of blue anyway, but this one is so rich and deep, drawing me into it. Somehow the hue shifts just a bit with each blink. Now it’s a bit more violet, now blacker, now with a touch of bright peacock. Then there’s the gorgeous sinuous line of that dark-skinned female torso, the graceful, yet powerful-looking hand, the delicious contrast of the skin with the white cloth wrapped around her hips. (Is Jolie the model? Could be….) After staring for far too long—remember, my house is a mess and I should be vacuuming, not enraptured by book covers—it strikes me that the cover is a perfect preview of what the stories inside provide.

And that is something more than just hot, sexy stories. They are hot and sexy and juicy and if that’s what you’re looking for, you won’t be disappointed. But as I read, I realized there was something else going on for me which sort of confused me at first because it was new. I was actually caring about the characters as women, as people. I REALLY wanted them to get together with their new lovers or find solace with their long-time partners. I haven’t read a lot of erotic romance—that new gold-mine of a genre—but this struck me as a very romantic collection of stories. I’ve been into looking up words in the dictionary recently, words I thought I understood, but I’m going to refrain this time, because my personal definition is what matters here as a reader. For me romance isn’t necessarily roses and chocolates or gorgeous lovers sweeping down to save me. All it really means is that it makes a difference who you have sex with and it matters to them that they’re having sex with you. Perhaps that is a female thing, but I think this was the case for every character in Iridescence and that’s what made me relate so closely.

I’ll mention a few favorite stories, the ones that stayed with me for days after I read them. Starting off the anthology with Fiona Zedde’s “Night Music” was a wise choice, I think, for immediately all of the reader’s senses are engaged. The narrator, Rhiannon, is drawn to a striking-looked and very talented violinist named Zoya. After the concert, Zoya invites Rhiannon to her dressing room for a delicious meal in which chilled fruit and curried chicken salad are followed by a most luscious dessert involving leather bonds and knowing tongues and a concert of lovely sounds of pleasure. As I reread the story, I admired again the sensuality vibrating in the prose as well as the action. It’s a great story.

We move on to CB Potts’ “Test Your Luck,” stepping from the polished world of the concert hall to a gritty, downbeat Native American Casino. After a rough night on the beat as a Tribal Policewoman, Sesi comes home to her lover Marlee. Again, the sex is hot, but it’s not just that. There’s such deep feeling here in a single kiss—“all the anger, all the fear, all the sorrow and all the terror”—that someone feels when her lover in danger every time she goes off to work. The sex that follows is more than just sex. It’s always more than just sex in a good piece of fiction.

“Grease” by Isabelle Gray is the third story, and this is where I realized this was a special book. Often when I’m reading erotica, I’m like—okay this intro stuff is fine, but when are they going to have sex? Here I enjoyed every minute of the build-up. The narrator and her girlfriend Tia were just so likeable and human, I wanted them to get together and dine on homemade tamales and have sizzling sex. It was as if I were there with them, wanting what they wanted. And getting what they got!

Another standout for me was Teresa Noelle Roberts’ “Special Delivery.” I myself frequent a few Indian restaurants in the neighborhood and there are a few hostesses who are lovely and intriguing and seem to harbor mysterious secrets. Thus is was refreshing and gratifying to get to know the real woman, Amy, behind the sari and the Kama Sutra fantasy, in this case “a special delivery of a hot American dyke.” Bring on the sag paneer, baby!

Last but not least, Jolie du Pre’s “Monisha” is another story that tugs on my heart as well as my groin. Is there anything more depressing than spending Christmas alone? Worse still, the protagonist, Gladys, is cut off from her family because she’s been honest about her sexuality and they can’t handle it. Fortunately, she’s invited for Christmas dinner by a sexy woman who works in her favorite coffee shop, but of course the turkey isn’t the most memorable part of the evening. The ending is warm and bittersweet, and it lingers, just as a memory does in real life.

I could go on and on about Dylynn DeSaint’s dressing room tryst in “Shopping in New York” or Cheyenne Blue’s “Glory B.”—but in short, this is a collection worth reading and thinking about. Recently I’ve started corresponding with a guy who saw my ERWA Circle of Friends bio and he asked me about the goals I’m reaching for in my writing. For better or worse I think I’ve moved beyond “finding my voice,” or avoiding the pitfalls of a beginning writer like using passive voice or whatever. What I want to do is write stories that touch people and change their lives in some small way. It sounds simple perhaps, but it is in fact very, very difficult. In Iridescence, I have some very good examples to study.

Sensuous Japan #2: Ready for a Kabuki Dance Lesson?

The first stop on your journey to Donna’s Japan is a kabuki dance lesson with Fujima Kansome at her traditional home high in the hills of eastern Kyoto. I was introduced to Kansome Sensei by one of the administrative assistants at “Voice of Kyoto,” the English conversation school at the intersection of Shijo Karasuma where I got my first job. The job sucked, but the Nihon buyo lessons and concert performances were highlights of my stay in Japan. Here’s a description of a lesson from an earlier draft of Amorous Woman, written back in 2001 before the novel took on its erotic focus. Lydia does mention to her charming dentist in chapter three that she takes Japanese dance lessons, but the following scenes never made it to the novel—and for good reason. It’s pure description with not a shred of juicy conflict. It’s clearly better suited to a leisurely personal essay or travel memoir, but I hope it gives you a good sense of how and why I love Japan. So, have a sip of that cold barley tea and read on.

My dance teacher lived in a traditional Japanese villa set halfway up a mountain in the eastern part of Kyoto. The house was over a hundred years old, I’d guess, the posts of the front gate well-weathered. Two huge maple trees crossed hoary arms over the stone path, a canopy of green lace against the summer sky. The garden was always a few degrees cooler than the city streets below. I paused to dab my forehead with a handkerchief, a Japanese custom I'd adopted in the past few weeks. In August Kyoto was, true to its reputation, a steam bath.

I didn't bother knocking. The whine of shamisen music within was answer enough. I slid the wooden-slatted door open far enough to slip through, then closed it behind me as quietly as I could. Leaving my sandals at the entryway in neat alignment with a pair of black lacquer geta, I stepped up into the anteroom.

Sensei was at her usual post at the entrance to the zashiki, the spacious formal tatami room where we practiced our lessons. A small figure wrapped in a pale green summer kimono, she was barely larger than the hulking boom box at her side. I bowed. She nodded back. The student on “stage” inclined her head a cordial centimeter in my direction without breaking her pose. With another bow, I hurried into the changing room, one tatami mat wide, pulling the sliding door of translucent paper closed behind me.

I took my kimono bag from the wardrobe and replaced it with my own sweat-dampened dress, neatly folded. Through the glass doors overlooking the city, I could see part of Nyoigatake mountain where a great bonfire would be lit in a few weeks to light the dead back to the underworld after their annual mid-August visit to the land of the living. I’d seen pictures of the Daimonji, the huge Chinese character for “great,” glowing orange against the darkness. To me it looked like a human figure, one horizontal stroke for the arms, one sweeping diagonal forming the head and leg, then a second stroke curving out from the arms as if poised to step over the mountainside. But this close, in the clear afternoon light, I saw only a swath of bare earth gouged from the surrounding forest like a wound.

I quickly fastened the metal clips of my tabi, socks of snow-white cotton split between the first and second toes to accommodate the strap of a sandal. With their thick soles, designed to both grip and glide, they were the slippers of the Japanese dancer. Then I put on my yukata of dark blue cotton, securing it around my waist with a single cotton sash. Dressing was easier in the summer. When I first started my lessons six months before, I had to struggle with two layers of underkimono bound up with numerous cords and belts, followed by a wool kimono. The practice obi was the same all year, a narrow yellow sash which needed no pads or scarves like the formal version. I’d finally mastered the technique of tying a simple bow in front and tugging it around to its proper position in the back, a source of some pride, although I’d heard a graduate of a kimono dressing school was required to tie an obi in an elaborate butterfly shape behind her back without a mirror.

The shamisen music stopped. Through the paper door I heard the other student murmur her thanks to the teacher above the hum of the air-conditioner. I quickly pulled my hair back into a ponytail and took my dancing fan from its case of orange brocade.

My legs bound in a column of cotton cloth, my back erect in the obi’s steady embrace, I left the changing room much differently than I entered. A Japanese girl glides, toes pointed inward, rooted to the earth, yet supple like a willow or a flower. It is the Japanese way--in dance and in life--to transform constriction into art.

The practice room was empty. The other student must have gone home in her yukata, wearing those geta in the entryway. I waited, breathing in the incense riding the chilly currents of air. The dusty fragrance originated, I assumed, from the Buddhist altar in the far corner of the room, a large cabinet of glossy wood trimmed in gold, with mysterious little shelves and drawers, and a small bell resting on a cushion before it.

The door to the right of the practice room slid open. Sensei excused herself for her absence with a smile. I caught a glimpse of a TV in the corner, the edge of a low table. Once, from a different angle of the room, I'd seen a white-haired old woman huddled at that table. I knew little about my teacher’s other, ordinary life, only that she spent half of each month in Tokyo, performing, studying with her own teacher, the head of this school of kabuki dance, and, she once intimated, attending to the pleasures of a wealthy patron.

"Shall we begin?" she said in Japanese.

"Hai," I replied, dipping my head. After nine months in Japan, this constant bowing seemed almost natural to me. I moved to the center of the room, turned to face the teacher and sank down into the formal seated posture. Laying the dancing fan before me, I placed my hands on the tatami so my thumbs and forefingers formed a triangle and bowed low, my forehead grazing my hands.

"Onegai itashimasu." It is the most humble form of "please" used in the presence of teachers and other superiors. "Give me the favor of your instruction" is understood.

"From the beginning."

I arranged my body in the opening pose of the dance I would perform for the recital the following month: crouching, one knee touching the floor, the open fan shielding my bowed head. Thanks to my practice at home, I no longer wobbled as I waited for the music to begin.

The hiss of the tape gave way to the trill of a bamboo flute--a cool, lonely sound--then the harsh strum of plecturn on cat-gut shamisen strings. My cue was the singer's nasal voice, warbling words I only half understood:

The most famous place for cherry blossoms is Yoshino,
For maple leaves, the Tatsuta River,
For tea it is the village of Uji.

Lowering my fan, I was the Tea Maiden, rising to her feet like a new leaf unfurling. I held the fan over my head, a bamboo hat shielding the maiden from the sun as she went to pick the first and finest tea leaves of spring. With a flourish and a quick change of grip, the fan was a basket. The tea maiden picked three leaves in pantomime, then bent, tired from her labor. She took three steps, turned, slipped her left hand into her sleeve, then posed for three beats, closed her fan and sank to her knees again to perform a tea ceremony, the trusty fan now serving as a tea scoop. Before the dance was through I would dally with a lover, parade as a high courtesan and mime an old crone finding solace in a brew of well-cured leaves as a temple gong signaled the end of the illusions of this mortal world.

Sensei watched from the front of the room, mirroring the more difficult movements of the hands, her face set in the customary expression of the Japanese dancer, detached but slightly pained as if she were pretending not to overhear some unpleasant gossip about herself. I was about to move on to the next section of the dance where the maiden flirts and quarrels with her lover, when she clapped her hands, switched off the tape and joined me on "stage."

A Japanese doll from afar, up close my teacher’s face had a vaguely Mediterranean look. I sometimes wondered if her patience with my awkwardness wasn’t a result of a dash of foreign blood in her family tree.

"Now, Donna-san moves like this." She stepped forward, toe-heel, toe-heel, bobbing like a marionette in the hand of an unskilled puppeteer. She paused, then tilted her head toward me with a playful smile. I laughed and blushed.

"But the Tea Maiden moves like this." Her body suddenly took on new gravity as she glided across the floor and turned with a smooth dip and swivel of the hips.

I fixed my eyes on her lower body, wishing I could part her kimono to observe the movements of her legs. We never discussed technique. In Japanese dance, the student was to learn karada de--with the body--not words.

Eyes twinkling, Sensei positioned herself in front of me, slightly to my right, so I could watch her as we practiced this passage of the dance together.

“Again,” she said, and we stepped and turned, stepped and turned over and over. At first my feet resisted, as if I were pushing through thick mud, but with each repetition they grew lighter, the tatami smoother. At last, I felt it, the barest glimmer of what it would be like to know in my muscles and bones the secrets of her grace.

Sensei nodded, satisfied with my efforts for the moment. I was not. I knew her criticism was a sign she thought I was ready to move one step further in my study, one step further toward perfection. I silently vowed to practice at home until I got it right, until I could dance the Tea Maiden just like a Japanese girl.

Back in the garden, I picked my way gingerly over the mossy stepping stones. Ribbons of soreness rippled along my outer thighs. I always seemed to discover a new muscle after my dance lesson. In spite of the freedom of my Western dress, I still hobbled a little.

I paused under the maples. The deep, water-rich green leaves tapered into points like fingers, set off perfectly by the wooden fence, the mossy earth below. Today’s lushness was only a precursor to the dazzling crimson of October. I thought of the courtyard of Akikonomu, the lady in The Tale of Genji who loved autumn. The beauty of this place gave me a strange, hollow ache as if I were already missing it and the young woman I once was. I’d been told it’s a Japanese feeling, as if the land itself brought out this sweet melancholy from the human soul.

But I had an appointment to keep, a private English lesson in the western part of the city. Passing through the wooden gate into the twentieth century, I hurried down the narrow, tree-lined street to the bus stop. Halfway down the hill I recognized a slender, sleepy-looking young woman ascending the path. Her name was Chieko, another dance student whose parents owned the kimono store at the foot of the mountain where I had my winter dance kimono made at a special discount. I learned then, over tea and sweets, that their daughter was an English major at a prestigious private university in the city.

Chieko nodded, but I felt my stomach tighten as she crossed to my side of the street. The first time she approached me I thought she was after English lessons, but it soon became clear that she had been assigned the role of go-between to explain the many financial obligations of the dance student. Every time I talked with her, I ended up at least ten thousand yen poorer. Sensei herself never mentioned money. At the beginning of each month a low table appeared in the anteroom with wallets of white paper calligraphed with our names, into which we quietly slipped a crisp ten thousand-yen bill. Over the past months, Chieko had informed me that I had to buy a package of tickets every time the teacher appeared in a concert and include an additional month’s fee in July and December as the customary seasonal gifts.

Today, after a cursory greeting, she explained in careful English that my portion of the fee to rent the hall and print up the programs for our concert was eighty thousand yen, due with the next month's tuition. I would also have to pay the special kimono-dresser ten thousand yen and give the teacher an extra ten-thousand yen gift on the day of the concert.

I felt my eyes widen, but I had enough presence of mind to stop my jaw mid-drop.

Chieko’s eyes flickered uncertainly.

"This is our Japanese custom," she said, smile of apology playing over her full, round lips. "I have been studying longer and must pay much more."

After a moment of panicked arithmetic—a hundred thousand yen was a half a month’s salary and I had about eighty thousand in the bank to last until next month--I forced my lips into a weak smile. "Yes, I understand."

Chieko rewarded me with a grin. "Thank you."

We both bowed quick goodbyes, she no doubt relieved to have discharged an unpleasant duty, me anxious another moment in her presence would bring more unwelcome news for my bank account.

I reached the bus stop just as the light green city bus came into view. Forfeiting more coins into the fare box, I sank into an empty seat beside the exit door, leaned back and closed my eyes. One hundred thousand yen! I realized now that serious expression Japanese dancers wore was not Buddhist detachment, but worry about how much it was all going to cost.

Sensual, Sensuous Japan: The Journey Begins

Okay, so my novel is coming out this week and it’s time to get interesting here on my blog. Amorous Woman is the story of a Western woman’s love affair with Japan and it’s appropriate, I think, to let you all know more about my own yearnings for the country and its culture. I plan to introduce you to my favorite places in Kyoto and Tokyo, take you to the rustic, but elegant hot spring inn that is the setting for many of my stories, tell you about some of the parts of Amorous Woman that are based on my life, talk about Japanese porn comics and delicious blowfish dinners and even my favorite Japanese restaurants in Berkeley for a mini-trip to Nippon. Plus, now that I know how to download pictures, there’ll be some gorgeous eye candy as well.

I wasn’t sure how to title this series because I was a little confused about the exact meaning of the words “sensual” and “sensuous.” Webster’s College Dictionary has this to say about the matter: “both refer to experience through the senses. ‘Sensual’ refers to the enjoyments derived from the senses, especially to the gratification or indulgence of physical appetites. ‘Sensuous’ refers to that which is aesthetically pleasing to the senses.” The examples they give are “sensual pleasure” and “sensuous poetry,” which sort of divides them into low and high culture in a way. Both apply in this case, however, and I may switch back and forth depending on the topic. I realized that “sensuous” will forever be a dirty word for me because of The Sensuous Woman, which is the first dirty book most girls of my generation ever read--hurriedly at recess in a hidden corner of the school yard. But it turns out Webster’s thinks “sensual” is worse!

So wipe your hands on that hot oshibori towel, tear off the wrapper of your chopsticks and get ready for the feast to begin….

Sexy Cover, huh?

Ha, well, my house is still a mess, but I did get the photo tutorial from my technical advisor. You may note a few upgraded book reviews with book covers added below. Visuals really do add an important element to a blog. Maybe I'll start posting dirty pictures and some of my visitors will stay more than three seconds!

Why not start with the cover of my novel, Amorous Woman? When I first saw it, I was a bit confused, because the novel is about an American woman's experiences so I thought a cross-cultural image would capture the theme better, but in the past weeks the image has been growing on me. Now I've decided I love it. I love the golden lighting, the way the viewer looks up at the woman, her mesmerizingly willowy torso. It definitely captures the "enchanted by the East" feeling. What do you think? And hey, who is her Pilates instructor?

I've decided I'm going to do a few more book reviews before I launch into my pre-publication entries on "Sensual Japan." Here and on Amazon, I only review books I really like. It seems bad karma to me to say critical things about other another writer's work in public. I am glad there are critics who make it their business to separate the wheat from the chaff, but I'm going to indulge myself and just scoop up the good stuff to make some homemade bread to share with you. Next up is Jolie du Pre's Iridescence. Stay tuned!

A Good Day for a Writer

I've been feeling overwhelmed recently--overwhelmed by my messy house. (Why clean it? It'll just get messed up again in five minutes.) Overwhelmed by the list of stories I want to write but can't seem to find the time to work on. Overwhelmed by life, ya know?

But now and then nice things happen that bring a smile to your face. A few days ago I posted a review here and on Amazon of Sage Vivant's Your Erotic Personality. I really enjoyed reading it and once I got past the selfish mode of trying to identify my own erotic leanings, I realized I was holding a great reference for my writing as well! So, two books for the price of one--and I always like a bargain. Anyway, Sage was cool enough to acknowledge me on her blog, and although I'm blushing, I'll give you a link to her entry right here. It's August 13, 2007, in case you're reading this some time in the future.

She has the cover of Amorous Woman there and damn if I don't have to learn how to download photos on this blog. I'm such a techno-feeb, it's frankly a miracle I can blog at all and do email, but this is getting ridiculous. It's like I really AM 98 years old like my MySpace profile says! So, I'll have to bribe my engineer hubbie into a tutorial this weekend. I mean we live in such a visual culture. I just KNOW all of those guys who click here from Violet Blue's podcast are expecting...visuals. Ah, well, they'll just have to settle for words.

In the meantime today I'm going to designate a room--maybe the front hall, it's small--and clean it today so I get some sense of accomplishment.