Celebrity Revealed: Amorous Hollywood, episode 3

I’ve been mulling over the concept of celebrity recently—when you visit Hollywood, the topic is unavoidable. And so I got to thinking, what is the allure of movie stars after all? What do they really offer us? From one perspective, they are nothing more than attractive people who are good at reading a script someone else wrote and making us believe that a made-up story is real. Isn’t that just a form of lying or selling or both? I always found it sad and laughable that people would write to Robert Young of “Marcus Welby, M.D.” for help with their medical problems. There’s something wrong with this—why are we spectators so gullible, so needy?

But going to Hollywood itself and wandering around some of the places the celebrities live and work gave me a slightly different perspective, partially because I found myself getting caught up in the “Deanna Durbin stuck her feet in this cement—cool—and who is she anyway?” madness as well. And then, well, I am meandering here, but this past Friday night we were watching an episode of “Love American Style” from November 1969 and who should make a brief appearance as “the boyfriend” than Harrison Ford before he was famous. My husband and I started screaming once we figured out who he was, then pushed replay so we could see his scene again. Harrison did a fine job with his lines, but there was little to suggest this bit-player would be a superstar. And yet, it was oddly thrilling to see him at his humble beginnings.

For the same reason, it is strangely compelling to drive past Jackie Chan’s gated house or Cher’s condo, or wander among the graves at Hollywood Forever, or press my shoe over Olivia de Havilland’s footprint at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and see how small her foot was. I am seeing the ordinary humanity of people who’ve been made larger than life by the entertainment industry. And in some cases the excesses as well—you should see dead billionaire Merv Griffin’s space colony mansion perched in the mountains above Hollywood or John Travolta’s absurdly large castle rearing above the trees. “Welcome Back Kotter” led to this? There’s also the thrill of peeking behind the scenes, seeing something we aren’t supposed to see, the workings of the illusion industry, like Toto uncovering the tricks of the Wizard of Oz.

Why do we love celebrities so much? Why do we care? Is it because they’ve become part of our imaginations? The vehicles for our own desires and lusts and longings? Are we in fact worshipping part of ourselves that could be anything and do anything? Am I getting too damn intellectual here? Probably, but if you have any thoughts on the matter, please leave a comment. I love to penetrate mysteries and this is definitely a mystery to me.

Okay, it’s time to get back to the travelogue. After all, I have to get through Friday and Saturday before I tell you about the “climax” of my adventure.

On Friday morning, my sister had booked us on the VIP tour at Warner Brothers (all the tours are VIP) which is reportedly the best studio tour offered. I’d give it very high marks except for the stupid introductory movie, which was just a bombardment of 4-second clips of famous Warner Brothers movies and shows. But then we got to divide up into our groups of about 15 and board a large golf-cart like vehicle—after we turned over our purses and cameras to be kept in a locked compartment. No photos, remember! I liked our guide, Jessica, who gave us lots of information in a matter-of-fact way—she knew her stuff, but wasn’t under any illusions. The tour is very much a demystification—you learn how basic sets are remade for different shows, how “roof-top” scenes are usually shot at ground level, how a four second shot of a TV star entering a building takes an hour to shoot.

For example, we stopped by a working set to watch them film random cars driving down a street while the star walked into a shop. We stood by the line of extras waiting in the electric cars (that make no extra noise) reading the papers until “Action” was called, then they drove at random intervals through the set while about eight ordinary-looking people walked across the street in irregular groupings. A choreographed reality. Then “Cut” was called and it was over. I forget the name of the show—does it matter? But I did have a better understanding of what hard, unglamorous work it is to film a TV show. We also learned that dramas require much longer hours than comedies, which only take four short days of rehearsal and filming per episode. Most have live audiences which are purposely offered candy and sugared soft drinks so they are hyper and laugh more. Makes sense, huh?

We were allowed to take photos in one section of the tour, a sort of car museum which held the latest Batmobile, the car from the second Harry Potter movie and another car from the Matrix. Here I play Agent Smith—hard to tell the difference, isn’t it?

After the tour, we had lunch at Frank and Musso Grill, Hollywood’s oldest restaurant, established in 1919. It was once the power restaurant of choice, an honor now given to The Ivy, but Frank and Musso is still worth a visit. The menu is timeless—I love looking at old menus and this one has all the standard American fare, although the prices have changed over the decades. Jello costs four dollars, chicken ala king is twenty five! I had an omelette with fresh tomato, and I have to admit it was very tasty. The tomatoes were roasted and had a lovely smoky flavor.

Better still was the setting, a wood-paneled room where history lingered. I couldn’t help thinking of the lunch scenes from my current favorite TV show, “Mad Men.” This is definitely the sort of place where Don Draper would have a three-martini lunch with the braised short ribs special. Afterwards we asked the waiter, who was friendly in a surly way, to take our picture—my sister claims it is the first time she’s ever done this in her life, but that’s Hollywood for you, brings out the tourist in us all. The waiter pretended to be annoyed, but when I quipped that we hadn’t tipped him yet, so he should be nice, he laughed.

Dinner Friday was at a Joachim Splichal seafood restaurant called Paperfish. The food was excellent, but the setting was a rather residential area and I wouldn’t say the place was jammed. Too bad, because it was the best food of the trip—I loved my halibut with greens and the olive rolls.

A celebrity’s life is busy if nothing else, but Saturday morning we paid a visit to some celebrities who have a lot of time on their hands at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Peter Lorre, Jayne Mansfield, Don Adams, Nelson Riddle and Art Pepper are buried here, but we didn’t have a map, so our discoveries were hit and miss. We did see the gravestone of Mel Blanc, the voice of Bugs Bunny and countless other Warner Brothers cartoon characters. We also saw the impressive grave of Cecil B. DeMille. More interesting however, were the marble chapels where the bodies are stacked in rows and columns. Most are from the 1920s and I couldn’t help imagining mourning ladies in cloche hats gathered around to say goodbye to “our dear aunt Frances.”

But as I said, my trip was full of surprises and Hollywood Forever held one of the most amusing. Some of the memorials we saw were not just names carved on marble, but a sort of shadow box of collected items that were important to the departed along with an urn of their ashes. One man’s shadow box had labels from wine wines he’d drunk, another had marathon medals. And then I saw it…the highlight of the cemetery visit.

I was standing in the presence of the memorial to Larry Tate from “Bewitched”! You remember him, the venal ad man, predecessor to “Mad Men’s” Roger Sterling. Larry has a “real” name—David White—but I always like to think of him as Larry Tate. Now, you may not believe this, but getting so close to Larry Tate like this was a sweet surprise. Funny and absurd, too, but somehow more moving than happening upon a more obviously famous dead actor.

After the cemetery, my sister dropped me off at my new hotel, the Magic Castle right in the middle of Hollywood, while she went off to have lunch with a TV star friend of hers (probably best not to mention the name here, but I saw lots of billboards in the neighborhood for the show). My room wasn’t ready and I had a few hours to kill, so I strolled down to Grauman’s Chinese theatre to get one of the famous Starline Tours of the stars’ homes.

The man at the ticket counter was very charming and commented that I had an interesting name. I told him it was even more appropriate because I was a writer. “What do you write?” he asked. I leveled my gaze at him. “Erotic novels.” He smiled. “Wow, my girlfriend and I would be interested in that. Where can I get your book?” I handed him my card, which he admired, and told him the story was set in Japan. It turns out he studies karate and loves Japanese art. Was this another sale? One copy at a time….

I then boarded my air-conditioned mini-bus for a two-hour tour of stars’ homes in Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Bel Air. My one bit of advice—try to sit on the right hand side of the bus, as I did. You get a better shot at the good photos. Now, this blog is going on too long, so I won’t list all of the homes I saw. But highlights for me were Jackie Chan’s house—actually we could see nothing more than his fancy gates—the white mansion used in Gone with the Wind for Tara, and, to keep with the “Bewitched” theme, the houses of Agnes Moorehead and Elizabeth Montgomery.

There was also the Reagan complex, Demi Moore and Bruce Willis living across the street from each other, a funky arty type who had an interesting mail box and George Harrison’s house. And then of course, my very favorite, the home of the Skipper in “Gilligan’s Island.” I don’t even know his name, but that is the one house I’ll remember best—it looks rather like something one of my friends might live in. Maybe that’s why it sticks?

After the tour, I checked into my room at the Magic Castle Hotel—I was in 209 again, which must mean something, I’m not sure what. Is 209 my lucky number, unknown until this day? More on my room and the hotel later. Celebrity doesn’t have much to do with that part of the trip!

Anyway, at around seven thirty, I met my sister for dinner. We were going to do something in Hollywood, but on a Saturday night, the place was packed with partiers, so we decided to drive over to the Farmer’s Market, which was also packed. I had an appointment to be on the Dr. Susan Block radio show that night and my sister would be dropping me off there, then heading back to her hotel to get a few hours of sleep before her return flight to New York early the next morning.

Over dinner in a French bistro, she asked me what the most surprising part of my visit had been. I didn’t have a quick answer, although what I should have said is that I was surprised I was having so much fun. But instead I said that I was surprised the stars of old Hollywood had such small feet. Even I sensed this was not the real answer, but I’m used to inadequate first drafts.

What I would answer now, after time has sharpened my editor’s eye, is that the biggest surprise was my experience with Dr. Suzy and her entourage in deepest, darkest L.A. at midnight that Saturday, a mere hour after the question was posed. Amorous Woman really has taken me to some places I never, ever thought I would go. And for a brief moment there, I wasn’t sure if I would ever make it back home.

Next time: time travel, bondage crosses, and letting it all hang out on blog talk radio

Am I the next Oprah?

Okay, I lifted this title from Maryanne Stahl, but imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? Anyway, I’m taking a short break from all the fluffy talk of Tinseltown to tell you about another happy thing that’s happened this month. An interview I did with Xujun Eberlein, author of the wonderful short story collection about the Cultural Revolution, Apologies Forthcoming, appears in this month’s issue of Eclectica.

I wrote about Xujun’s collection on my blog a few months ago—it’s an impressive and moving work that reminded me why I read fiction. It was fascinating to hear more about the author’s writing process and the social and cultural background of the book. I do love asking nosy questions. Check it out--you'll feel internationally-minded and well-informed, unlike some of our current political leaders!

My Lips are Sealed: Amorous Adventures in Hollywood, episode two

Between the Hustler Hollywood reading and my radio interview at Dr. Susan Block’s LA hideaway, I had forty-eight hours of “me” time to explore and experience Hollywood and environs. I’d say I took fairly good advantage of the opportunity, notebook and camera always in hand for story ideas! This part won’t exactly be a blow-by-blow as that would test your attention span beyond reasonable limits, so I’ll try to confine myself to a few highlights and a few pithy observations about life in the fantasy factory.

First, morning at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Breakfast was included with my room, but I wasn’t sure if room service was covered (my preference, as I could pretend I was having a tryst and wanted to remain discreet—more on that soon). When I checked out my copy of the L.A. Times, I discovered has the most interesting real estate section around with reports stars’ homes up for sale. This week’s featured offerings were Britney Spears’ famous abode and Leeza Gibbons and her “estranged” husband’s manor. Kind of sad to have the dirty laundry so public, but such are the wages of fame.

Both mornings I met my relatives for breakfast at the Fountain Coffee Shop one flight down from the lobby—we ate early as they were on East Coast time (I’m naturally on East Coast time, too). My guidebook recommended this as a cheap way to experience the BHH because “you never know who might be sitting on the stool next to you slurping a chocolate malt.” I found the place interesting for slightly different reasons. First of all, everyone does look up when you arrive at this diminutive place with a single counter seating about 15. They clearly are hoping you’ll be famous and even when the eyes register “don’t know her,” you can see them wondering if you’re a stealth important person, like an agent or a spouse or a mistress or something. One morning we did sit close to a James Dean-esque fellow from the UK who responded to the waitress’s queries about his wife in a rather suggestive way. He said wife had a bad night and he was required to “sleep elsewhere.” I thought Brits were generally more close-mouthed about such things, but I was glad for the teasing revelation. She was clearly the alpha-dog in the relationship, but of course, her pretty boy had no need to mention her Name, so that’s left to my imagination.

One point that came home to me again and again at the BHH was the homey, human quality of the place tucked inside all the glamour and pedigree. For example, the food at the Fountain Coffee Shop was reminiscent of the Greek diners in New Jersey. Mile-high cakes were displayed in a small case next to sliced bread in plastic (see above). The silver dollar pancakes were squeezed from a mustard-style bottle and the hash browns were fried en masse and kept warm at the back of the grill.

I had their oatmeal with raisin compote (dipped from a stainless steal cylinder with a ladle) and a bottomless cup of decaf, both of which were superior to the usual diner fare but not spectacular. But the quantity was generous--a rather old-fashioned combination. I drink coffee once or twice a week in my ordinary life, but on vacation I down the stuff greedily, as long as they keep pouring! To be honest, the food at the legendary Polo Lounge was nothing to blog about either. It’s as if the chefs don’t need to bother with organic, gourmet, clever food. What was good enough for Elizabeth Taylor in 1960 is good enough for today’s guests, right? The inflated price is for history, not flavor.

Speaking of famous folk, my brother-in-law spotted a producer of very popular show as he entered one of the more discreetly located elevators, which went up to the fourth floor (not all of them do) where the suites are located. Said producer was in the company of a lovely young lady who didn’t seem to be his daughter—in fact, the couple looked rather annoyed to be joined by another guest. Rumor has it, the BHH is second only to Chateau Marmont as an assignation palace. My instincts about my room were apparently correct, although mine might have been more in the price-range for a screenwriter and a minor actress/actor. Now, I’m not going to mention the name of this producer on my blog (although I might spill the beans in private, if you pour me a nice wine or Kirsten Monroe whips up one of her lovely meals for me), because as a guest of the Beverly Hills Hotel, you are required to sign a pledge that you will honor the secrets of other guests as you’d hope they honor yours—or they’ll divulge the contents of your wastebaskets to the National Enquirer. Not really, but it seems the right thing to keep mum, if I want to go back some day with my head held high. (Btw, Susan DiPlacido, who knows fancy, show-biz hotels, tells me I should’ve tipped Brendan. Sorry, Brendan—I was in my “kept woman” mode at the time!)



Of course, I’m already in trouble with the staff. One afternoon I headed down to check out the “famous” pool (what isn’t untouched by celebrity there?) and was snapping a few photos for this blog, including one of an empty private cabana which you can rent for some hundreds of dollars a day, when a pink-shirted blond pool boy approached me and scolded that no photography was allowed at the hotel. This was a surprise, because I’d been merrily snapping away in my room, as you know. I half-expected my camera to be confiscated, like in a movie of a hapless tourist trapped behind the Iron Curtain, but apparently it was enough to retreat from the area with a cease and desist. Later I realized the policy was meant to protect famous people from the paparazzi who were after some look-at-that-cellulite pics of stars and deal-makers. Clearly I was not a savvy insider, but I’m trying to learn! Anyway, since I did get away with it in the end, check out the bare legs for any familiar famous appendages—the producer and his companion, perhaps? (Though they've probably washed up and gone back to work long ago ;-)

Okay, this is getting too long already, plus I'm feeling naughty enough showing off my contraband photos. I’ll stop here for today and talk more about Frank and Musso’s, Hollywood Forever, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and other Hollywood sites next time. And then on to the most surprising part of my trip by far. I'm still not sure I've recovered.... See you then!

This Place Was Made For Sex: My LA Book Tour, episode one

I’m back from my Amorous book tour to Hollywood, and I have to say that while I certainly cooked up quite an eventful journey for my sexually curious protagonist, Lydia, thanks to her, I’ve enjoyed some very interesting adventures of my own! The Amorous Woman has taken me to some places I never dreamed I’d go.

Last Thursday, September 25, I packed up some copies of Amorous Woman, my blue satin cheong sam and a big box of naughty fortune cookies and jetted off to the Bob Hope/Burbank airport for my whirlwind visit to America’s grand illusion factory. My first impression when I got off the plane was that it was much hotter than foggy Oakland—in the 90s in fact—so I quickly shed my businesswoman’s jacket and slipped on my sunglasses. I found my van service and sat in the sweltering heat for about fifteen minutes while the driver waited for potential customers who never materialized. Then we headed off towards the Beverly Hills Hotel—a two-night stay was an early holiday gift from my older sister who knows how to get good deals on that sort of thing.

The journey was rather like a trip through America’s class system. First came Mexican strip malls, then modest ranch homes. Gradually the road ascended into some real hills and that’s when I began to see the mansions, some perched precariously on platforms jutting out into thin air. By the time we got to Beverly Hills, the houses were more along the lines of the upper middle class houses I knew from my Washington D.C. youth, but I’m sure they cost millions. Many had for-sale signs—a sign of economic hard times, no doubt. Before I knew it, however, we were pulling up a wooded driveway to the low-key entrance to the historic Beverly Hills Hotel. Several fresh-faced young men in pink polo shirts greeted me and took my luggage and I was ushered into the lobby, which again was well-appointed but homey rather than grand in scale. I was waved over to the reception desk, the lone guest to require attention.

Another good-looking young man (all failed actors, I wondered?) welcomed me to the hotel and told me his name was “Brendan,” just like the kid in “Beverly Hills 90210.” Or was that Brandon? Anyway, the young man noted that my paperwork had been taken care of by someone else, and asked when I wanted maid and turn-down service and which papers I wanted to be delivered in the morning. I had a choice of four, but took only the L.A. Times so as not to seem greedy (that vice would rear its head later when I stuffed my luggage with the toiletries, slippers, laundry bags and fruit). Then the reception clerk asked if this was my first time at the hotel, I said yes, and he offered to guide me to my room and show me around. This seemed part of the custom, so I said yes and followed him to the elevator and up to the second floor. We chatted a bit—I was determined to seem as if I “belonged” in a low-key, I went to Princeton kind of way—and he mentioned my room was one of the best in its price range. I wasn’t sure how to reply to that—I should hope so? Goody? I’ll tell my sister she’s getting her money’s worth?—so I just nodded and smiled.

We walked down a very air-conditioned corridor with white wainscoating and a leafy wallpaper in the pink-and-green color scheme of the hotel. My room was 209 and my guide instructed me on which way to turn the old-fashioned key. I did not gasp out loud when I stepped inside, but secretly I did whisper a “wow.” The room was HUGE with an entry hall, complete with a sconce vase with fresh lilies and a walk in dressing room closet.

To the left was…what should I call it? A living room and bedroom combined. The bed was a grand, romantic affair, a four-poster draped in white gauzy fabric, and not for the last time did I think: this room was made for sex. The rest of the room was filled with a sofa and coffee table, upon which a footed plate of fresh fruit beckoned, a desk, flat screen TV and plenty of windows overlooking the bungalow area.

The check-in clerk led me over to the large bathroom, clearly built for two, to show me how to raise the vulvular curtains over the tub remotely and manage the various light switches.
I was preparing to tip the bellman, but I wasn’t sure if it would be an insult to tip this guy, so I merely said my thanks and he disappeared with a cordial smile. If anyone knows if you’re supposed to tip in this case, let me know. I hope I have a chance like this again some day!

Wow, this is getting long and I’m about thirty minutes into my trip. Soon afterwards, I met my sister and her husband for lunch in West Hollywood. We had grilled scallop salads at a place called Petite Four on Sunset. It was delicious, plus I was hungry. Then we went to the Hollywood Museum in the old Max Factor building where we had to turn in our cameras first before we could wander through the rooms Max himself had designed to judge the complexions of redheads (green), blondes (pale blue), brownettes (pink, I think) and brunettes. Each was filled with vintage make up and a scary looking beauty appraiser which used metal probes to determine the location of your features and how make-up should be used to nudge them toward the ideal.

The other floors held actual costumes and props from some of Hollywood’s classic films. The basement had a Halloween feel, including Hannibal Lecter’s cell and some mummy movie paraphernalia. I’d recommend the place, although it was not exactly cheap—except perhaps by Beverly Hills Hotel standards.

Afterwards, we all retired to our rooms and I was determined to get my money’s worth. I took a bath to shave my legs since I knew I’d be wearing shorts, then took a shower to wash my hair so I’d look nice for the reading at Hustler Hollywood that night. I even put on make-up I’d bought at the Shiseido counter a few weeks before—the specially lighted makeup mirror at the hotel came in quite handy. I met my sister at 7:30 for the short ride up Sunset to Hustler Hollywood, where I would be reading at In the Flesh LA, hosted by Carly Milne, author of Sexography, a moving and funny memoir I could not put down!

Hustler Hollywood—it sounds like it might be sticky and sleazy, but actually the atmosphere was more like a Barnes and Noble. There were lots of role-playing costumes and more whimsical items out front. The back held the sex toys and adult videos in bright packaging. Their motto on the glossy shopping bags is “Relax…it’s just sex,” which I kind of like, given the sexophobic nature of our culture. The reading took place in the spacious, well-lit café and Carly had brought delicious mini red velvet cupcakes. Free coffee and pumpkin pie squares were also passed around throughout the evening. In the Flesh on both coasts aims to appease every sensual appetite!

Carly was a warm and gracious hostess and it was a thrill to meet her in person. I also saw the wonderfully generous Eden Bradley again who would be another of the six readers that night (I'm standing right next to her in the photo). We’d met through Robin Slick and had dinner in San Francisco this past spring and met up again at RWA. I also met in person the wonderful writer, Stan Kent, who’d just flown back from Europe and often hosted the event when Carly was away.

I’ll admit I was nervous as I waited—the reading went in alphabetical order and I was last, making me wish I’d kept my maiden name, at least for the event. The theme was adolescence and each reader had her own gift to offer, humor and pathos in equal measure in keeping with the topic. Eden’s sneak preview of her forthcoming novel Twenty-first Century Courtesan was definitely spicy and had me wanting more and soon!

Finally it was my turn. As I approached the microphone, I noted that the crowd was quite generous—maybe forty people. Not just friends, but others had wandered in from the store. Frankly I didn’t really see them as I gave my little introduction to set the scene. When I read I tend to focus on a few friendly faces for my eye contact and leave the rest to their own devices. My passage was definitely one of the dirtiest of the evening—I read the hairbrush scene and the actual defloration with Mike--because my heroine was over eighteen! My sister said the whole audience was quiet, which could be good or bad, I suppose. However, one wonderful person named Valerie came up to me afterwards with a newly-purchased copy of my book to sign (it’s one copy at a time in this business, let me tell you). She told me I was wonderful, so let’s believe her!


Still jazzed from the performance, we stopped by the world-famous Polo Lounge for a fashionably late dinner. There you can dine on $39 Wagyu beef hamburgers and hope to eavesdrop on some Hollywood power brokers making a deal. I didn’t see any that night, but frankly, I didn’t care. I was feeling pretty cool myself!

I went back to my room to discover the turn-down service fairy had done her work. A tiny plate of pecan-cinnamon cookies sat by the bed along with pink laundry service bags, which I tucked into my suitcase along with the hotel logo pens and notepads (the pens look cool, but don’t work so well). I slipped on my plush bathrobe, wiggled my toes into my complimentary matching slippers and surveyed my room like the temporary celebrity I was. This room was definitely made for sex. When I travel I like to muse about who stayed in my room and what they did there. I know exactly what most of the guests did in this room. I could hear the ghosts of Hollywood whispering their naughty secrets.

I expect there will be a story or two to come out of this. Stay tuned.

Coming next on Donna’s Amorous Book Tour Report: no-tell hotel, getting busted by the boys in pink, a Mad Men lunch and other yummy Hollywood adventures….

Amorous Woman Goes to Hollywood!

… and Beverly Hills and West Hollywood and the Dr. Susan Block Radio Show!

Yes, Lydia and I are off on a new adventure to the illusion factory of our nation in sunny southern California—very appropriate, wouldn’t you say?

My first stop is the In the Flesh L.A. Erotic Reading Series:

Thursday, September 25TH at 8 PM

At Hustler Hollywood, 8920 Sunset Boulevard, West Hollywood CA, 90069

Admission: Free, $10 suggested donation to RAINN

Hustler Hollywood: 310-860-9009

Then on Saturday night I’ll be chatting with Dr. Susan Block, who has the sexiest, smokiest voice I’ve ever heard. The show starts at 11 pm PDT and can be heard through her web site at http://www.drsusanblock.com as well as blogtalkradio.com.

This will be followed by a busy day at the West Hollywood Book Fair on Sunday, September 28 from 10AM to 6PM at West Hollywood Park, 647 N. San Vicente Blvd. I’ll be part of the California Erotica Authors Booth (E44) and the theme will be international—my booth mates and I will offer an exotic décor of kimono and saris, plus free suggestive fortune cookies and other saucy goodies. I’m hoping to meet lots of people and maybe even send them off with their own Amorous Woman.

Of course, I’ll let you know all about my adventure when I return. As Lydia will attest, telling your story to an appreciative audience is more than half the fun!

Amorous Woman in the Stratosphere!

Well, this is all momentary and relatively speaking of course, but I just had to share the good news. Now, I don't check my Amazon numbers all that often--only to keep tabs on the efficacy or lack thereof of certain marketing strategies--but I just got my October issue of Scarlet, the glossy, sexy UK magazine that ran my story "Love Hotel Hill" last month. This issue is even more of a thrill for me, because Amorous Woman is the featured novel in their "Juicy Bits" section. The excerpt is indeed one of the juicier ones, if I do say so myself, and I just happened to check my Amazon UK numbers as a sort of market research. Now, I know this is only a temporary flight into the heady heights of thin five-digit Amazon air, but please indulge my celebration of my brief ascent in my hot air balloon. I actually made the rankings in some categories!!! Here's the stats, m'am:

September 22, 2008 at 12:30 pm PDT

AMOROUS WOMAN

Amazon.co.uk Sales Rank: 28,465 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Popular in these categories:
#85 in Books > Fiction > Genre > Erotica
#93 in Books > Romance > Genres > Adult

Amorous Woman Gets Even Spicier!

The big day has arrived! Come join me for a fun-filled barbecue book roast of Amorous Woman on Monday, September 22. There will be jokes, laughter, spicy comments, bawdy insinuations, and best of all, one lucky winner will take home their own Amorous Woman!

I hope that lucky winner is you!

Learn to Write Erotica with a Master of the Genre

I've been reading and admiring M. Christian's erotica since...well, since I began reading erotica regularly, over ten years ago. To quote myself (hmm, am I allowed to quote myself?) "With his amazing versatility and silky smooth prose, M. Christian helped forge the erotica revolution of the 1990s and he’s still going strong!" Not to mention, there is no more pleasant company in which to explore the eateries of the SF Bay Area--M. Christian, Sage Vivant, my chief editor and technical advisor (aka husband) and myself have started a wonderful supper club tradition, which I hope continues indefinitely. Timidly claiming the name "colleague" with a writer I've admired so long has been a dream come true--one of the many unexpected benefits of my arduous Amorous Woman promotion efforts.

Okay, enough about me--I have an exciting announcement about sex and writing. M. Christian is offering a one-day erotica writing workshop in San Francisco this October. Unfortunately I'll be off in New York on the east coast leg of my Amorous Woman book tour at that time. But that shouldn't stop you from signing up to learn sexy writing secrets from a man who helped make erotica cool and hot! Here are the details. Be there or be square!


Sex Sells: How to Write & Sell Erotica
With M.Christian

Sunday, October 12th, 1pm - 4pm
$40 before Sept 30; $50 after Sept 30
Center for Sex & Culture
1519 Mission Steet, San Francisco
Register via PayPal (Zobop@aol.com) or pay at the door

The market for erotic fiction and nonfiction is booming! There actually is a secret to writing great erotica - and you'll discover just what that is in this fun, hands-on workshop with well-known erotica writer and teacher M. Christian.

For the beginning writer, erotica can be the ideal place to begin writing, getting published, and -- best of all -- earning money. And for the experienced writer, erotica can be an excellent way to beef up your resume and hone your writing skills. M. Christian will review the varieties of personal and literary expression possible in this exciting and expanding field. He'll also teach you techniques for creating love and sex scenes that sizzle.

Learn how to:

* Get started writing for and selling to this growing marketplace
* Free your creativity and get past inhibitions
* Avoid cliches, common mistakes, and pitfalls
* Write what editors and publishers will want to buy

Plus: current pay rates, how to write for a wide variety of erotic genres, from magazines to websites, where and how to submit your erotic writing, and more.

Students will also receive:

* Several informative handouts including a list of top-notch markets and venues for erotica, as well as funny and educational articles and columns
* A personal invitation to contribute to a special erotica project
* 50% off a wide selections of erotica books
* A free autographed copy of M.Christian's collection Filthy: Outrageous Gay Erotica=

The class is open to everyone (over the age of 21) interested in writing all kinds of erotica: gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual, fetish ... you name it!

M.Christian is an acknowledged master of erotica with more than 300 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many, many other anthologies, magazines, and Web sites. He is the editor of 20 anthologies including the Best S/M Erotica series, The Burning Pen, Guilty Pleasures, and many others. He is the author of the collections Dirty Words, Speaking Parts, The Bachelor Machine, and Filthy; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is www.mchristian.com.

For more information write M.Christian at zobop@aol.com.

*no guarantees

See My (Almost) Naked Butt in LA!

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Book Roast Alert!

Anticipation is half the fun—at least when it comes to sex, food and writing. So, to get the saliva glands working just a bit, I wanted to let you all know about a saucy event coming up next Monday, September 22 over at the Book Roast, where they serve ‘em juicy.

My friend, Xujun Eberlein, has already been well-grilled by the Roast Masters with her book, Apologies Forthcoming, and I’m looking forward to my own spicy feast. Like all barbecues, it will be more fun with good friends in attendance, so sharpen up your wit and get ready for a party next Monday. Can I count you in? (For those who already have a copy of Amorous Woman, if you win, I can substitute chocolate or another anthology with a DGS story!)

Madame Butterfly Praises Amorous Woman!

Let me start by saying one of the very best parts of writing Amorous Woman has been the amazing people I’ve met who’ve honored me with their time in reading my naughty tale and then have gone on to write wonderful, articulate reviews. I appreciate how much that takes out of a busy day because even a short review can take a while to craft to satisfaction, not to mention some absolutely stunning analyses of the novel that have even enlightened me as to what I offer!

I'll confess there is one set of readers who make me a little bit nervous—people who’ve actually lived in Japan. One of my goals in writing my novel was to present the “truth” of my experience, ironic given the focus on lies and illusion, but it has been a number of years since I was immersed in the culture and I wasn’t sure I’d get it right. Imagine my delight when I saw the lovely and generous review by Madame Butterfly, a woman who knows and loves Japan in a way that feels very familiar indeed. I first met MB over at Lust Bites, the beginning of many good things, and discovered we had a lot in common. I always stop by her blog when I’m cyber-surfing for her laugh-out-loud humor and evocative reviews of erotica—so imagine my surprise and delight when I clicked on over and saw her, that half-naked woman who is so ubiquitous around my house as seen in the box of bookmarks, the multiple refrigerator magnets, and the shipping-torn copy I use to read from at events which is always lying around somewhere. MB had reviewed Amorous Woman!

Before the little knot of nervousness in my stomach could balloon too large, I dove in and read. Lo and behold, Madame Butterfly had brought a smile to my face again. To check out her review, head on over to her very fun blog here. If she won’t convince you I’m telling the truth about Japan with her seductive words, you are one tough customer to please!

Wanna Get Wet?

I love The Erotic Woman! It’s a smart, sexy site that features some of my very favorite writers like Susan DiPlacido, Jeremy Edwards, and Gwen Masters.

I love the photos, too. They’re geared to the female sensibility somehow. And the editors are fabulously fine to work with--it's always a true pleasure.

Best of all, they’ve just featured an illustrated version of my Best Women’s Erotica 2008 story, “Wet.” You may know that bathing is an important ritual in Japan, but you probably had no idea how very wet you can get!

Check it out and leave a comment if you’re so inspired! For my erotica writer friends (you know who you are and you know I love you!), send them a story and join a very happy club….

I Reveal My Literary Side on NPR!

I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was just another party girl, running off to foreign lands to have amorous adventures—and making book trailers about it! But in fact, I can be deep and serious in my writing—the tony world of the university literary magazine has even, on occasion, invited me to the table for a glass of wine.

Speaking of which, an essay I wrote about my father’s death when I was seventeen, “Thirteen Views of Grief,” appears in the latest issue of The Tampa Review, a lovely hard-bound journal packed with art and thought-provoking fiction and essays. I was even more fortunate to be invited to read the essay in the studio of my local NPR station, KQED, as part of their Writer’s Block series. I’m joining a long list of wonderful writers, including my friends Lisa K. Buchanan and Naomi Williams.

You can listen to my podcast here. It’s about 20 minutes, much shorter than my KWMR interview. If you enjoyed “Thirteen Views of Grief,” please rate it and leave a comment. Thanks for listening!

New Amorous Excerpt at Frequently Felt

The Amorous Woman makes a stop at a wonderful blog of sexual curiosities, M. Christian’s “Frequently Felt.” This name derives from a nineteenth-century joke: “old hat” is a slang term for women’s private parts as they were frequently felt.

Let’s hope so for the happiness of all.

I'm not sure what it is about sex in the nineteenth century that seems, well, naughtier. Maybe it was the greater obstacles presented by hoop skirts, petticoats and corsets, not to mention so many rules of propriety?

Anyway, in honor of the eclectic nature of Frequently Felt, I chose an excerpt about the sexual hobbyist, Mr. Kimura, who wows Lydia with his knowledge and prowess. I hope the excerpt pleases you, too!

Alison Tyler and My Kinky Collection

Alison Tyler, the Trollop with a Laptop, is one of the very coolest (and hottest) writers and editors in the erotica universe and it was a big thrill for me to have a picture of my panties appear on her blog post a few months back.

Now she's letting the world see another revealing side of me, my book collection about Japan's Floating World. These books have been the inspiration for many steamy scenes in my stories--although I'd have to admit good old-fashioned memories play a big role, too. But if you'd like to take a peek inside a corner of my dirty little mind, check it out here and please leave a comment, if you're so inspired!

Sexy Down in the Stacks

I got a nice bit of writing news today in the form of a Google Alert. Hot Movies for Her Dot Com reviewed Alison Tyler’s Open for Business: Tales of Office Sex, and the reviewer, Porn Librarian, praises my story, “Sex, Lies, and Library Books” right here. By the name alone I feel an affinity for the gal, being an honorary porn librarian myself, but to be so appreciative of my story, well, she is way cool in my book!

I was also checking out the site and I’d say it’s a worthwhile resource for intelligent, woman-friendly revues of videos, books and toys. These kinds of places warm my heart because they present one of the best ways for women to “talk back to porn” by becoming educated consumers and making our voices heard!

Good Girl Gone Bad

If you haven't already seen my brand-new, gorgeous book trailer for Amorous Woman, check it out here on Youtube! I've been getting a lot of great feedback. Many people say they like my sexy voice, which is very gratifying. After all, writing is about voice....

After you've feasted your eyes on the lovely Japanese prints and the mildly provocative photographs from my archives, you might want to do a little feasting of the more literal kind on some of late summer's bounty from the Farmers' Market. If so, head over to the Erotic Readers and Writers Association for a look at my September offering for my column, Cooking up a Storey, entitled "Good Girl Gone Bad: Sucking Up, Getting Down and Risky Encounters in the Kitchen." I talk about the perils of promoting an erotic novel and the thrill of breaking rules in the bedroom, the boardroom and, of course, the kitchen. My "No-recipe Recipe for Empowerment Soup or Stew for Those Who Like to Misbehave By the Rules" is a perfect way to take advantage of the abundance of the harvest.

Come on, live a little dangerously!

An Erotic Trip to Japan: My Book Trailer!

Big, happy news today, my friends--my Amorous Woman book trailer is now up on Youtube! It’s an eye-catching blend of gorgeous Japanese prints and archival photographs of yours truly from Japan, in keeping with the semi-autobiographical nature of the book itself.

I have to say I have not had this much creative fun in a long time. Big, huge, kiss-you-all-over thanks to my wonderful husband who helped me with the ideas and did all of the computer work. This project was an interesting reversal of baby-making for us because I had the twinkle in my eye and he did all the rest to bring our treasure into the world.

So, please do pop over to Youtube and check it out. If you’re up for it, give it some stars, leave a comment and tell your friends about a quick, cheap way to “stay-cation” in Kyoto.

Erotic Encounters Under the Blossoms

The Amorous Woman blog tour has pulled into Grand Central Terminal, baby, with a toot-your-whistle visit to Susie Bright’s Journal. Join me for an illustrated journey through the Gion I described in my Best American Erotica 2006 story, “Ukiyo.” Some stops are familiar, some brand-new, and you definitely won’t want to miss the provocative manga showing misbehavior under the cherry blossoms in as lascivious detail as the Japanese censors allow (I’m sure you can fill in the blanks)!

Bon Voyage! And please leave a comment on Susie's blog if you have the chance....

One of the Best Author Interviews I've Read

Before I published Amorous Woman, I'd never really been interviewed as a writer. I did manage to wander in the path of inquisitive journalists a few times with mostly amusing results. A Washington Post writer came up to Princeton my freshman year to see how the local kids were faring in the Ivy League. I said a lot to the guy, but somehow I came across as a physical education freak, which is so not me.

But let's get to the real reason for my blog post. I happened to be browsing through today's ERWA-Writers digest and I noticed Kathleen Bradean had a new interview up at the Circlet Press site. She mentioned she talked a lot about the writing process, plus I love her work, so I clicked right on over and started reading. I have to say this is one of the best writer interviews I've ever read--concise, smart, articulate, informative and true.

I really related to this answer about her writing process:

"So little of writing is actually typing it into the computer. I live in Los Angeles and spend a lot of time in the car. That’s my time to think about scene, plot, character, etc. I don’t write anything down because, well, I’m driving, but all I want to take away from those sessions is the essence of the scene, not exact words. The story is right when it feels like the truth."

I live in Berkeley and I walk more than drive, but it's the same for me--I work scenes over and over in my head many times before I actually write them down so that in a way it's almost like I'm taking dictation on something that really--truly--happened.

I was already enthralled with this interview and was enjoying Kathleen's descriptions of authors who've influenced her when suddenly I saw my name in a line of inarguably awesome writers: "...Donna George Storey, for proving that erotica novels can be so much more."

Okay, I've picked myself off the floor and dusted off--but clearly my day can't get any better, so I'm going back to bed. But you, on the other hand, should go read the interview. It's inspiring in so many ways!

The Truth About Sailors

It’s the end of summer—the height of nature’s bounty at the Farmer’s Market—and I’m not doing too badly with a harvest of juicy publications, too. My latest is a short literary piece called "Everything They Say About Sailors Is True" which appears in the brand-new issue of the literary webzine Storyglossia. It’s a coming-of-age “play-let” set in Virginia Beach, edgy, a bit experimental. As you might expect, there’s a lot of sex in it, but definitely some bitter mixed in with the sweet. I’m also especially proud to be in this month’s Storyglossia line-up because it’s a pub I’ve had my eye on for a while!

I like to think of myself as a writer who straddles the literary and erotica genre (because, well, I like straddling things ;-) and I’d be curious how readers would compare this take on sex to my latest stories in such spicy Rachel Kramer Bussel anthologies as Tasting Him and Tasting Her. Of course, one of my main motivations in all of my writing is to capture a tiny little fragment of that elusive concept I'll call The Truth About Life. I hope with this story, at least I’ve closed my fingers around some gems of authenticity about sailors on shore leave…let me know if you think it’s true!

Slip Inside a Love Hotel with Scarlet Magazine

I just got my copy of the September issue of Scarlet Magazine, “the UK’s hottest women’s magazine,” and damn if it isn’t very spicy indeed. It certainly keeps me turning the pages, not to mention I love the photos of eye-candy guys and the advertisements: lots of lovely ladies in corsets and lingerie straight out of the Edwardian era and a bit for Ess & Emm, the UK’s premiere “bed, breakfast and dungeon.” There are the articles on ten steps to a spiritual orgasm, dating older men, a peek into Europe’s top adult resort and a report on belly-dancing leisure breaks. Oh, and the issue also has a story by yours truly entitled “Love Hotel Hill” about an American woman’s Sunday afternoon romps with a handsome salaryman in Tokyo. Problem is neither of them has their own apartment, so they have to try out all kinds of love hotel rooms from whimsical to kinky.

I absolutely love the accompanying photo by Kendo! There’s something wonderful about seeing another artist’s work that was inspired by a story of mine. And just to wet your appetite, here’s the PG-rated part of the text that goes with the illustration:

“International Love House.” Taka lets me choose the hotels and this one seems especially appropriate. Beyond the entryway curtain, the eerily empty “lobby” is a wall of computer screens advertising each of the forty rooms. I notice the deluxe units—the Louis XIV Room, the Rio Carnivale Room--are already taken. It’s a busy Sunday for sex in Tokyo.

“How about this one?” I point to a photo of a mocked-up underground carriage, the room number still illuminated to indicate a vacancy.

Taka laughs. He finds my taste in campy themes amusing. “There’s no bed, I think.”

“Who needs a bed?”

Taka touches the “rest” button on the corner of the screen. The image shifts to a welcome message directing us to follow the blinking red lights to our room. We hurry down the corridor together.

I push open the door, automatically unlocked for us by computer. Suddenly we actually are in a brightly lit underground carriage. Or a tiny slice of one, with mirrored windows and a static shot of an elevated railway track in the window behind the padded plastic bench. Clever touches add authenticity: an overhead rack for briefcases, posters warning us to ride safely, an emergency alarm. Taka fiddles with the console by the door. The click-clack of a moving train fills the room. A conductor calls out the next station. Ginza. We’re now approaching Ginza.

I giggle.

A strange smile plays over Taka’s lips. So, you want it so much, we have to do it on the train? In Japanese his voice is deeper, assured.

It makes me sopping wet in an instant.

He guides me over to the seat on the “train” and positions my hands in the two rings hanging from the bar overhead. The secret muscles in my belly clench like a fist.

With no further preliminaries, he sits down before me and lifts my skirt. His warm hands peel down my tights and knickers.

The spicy, fresh-bread scent of female arousal fills the room...."

And yes, things get even steamier as the afternoon wears on. So, join me in a glass of sake to celebrate love hotels and lazy Sunday afternoons the world over!

A Sweet Sip of Professional PR

Thanks to a tip from my friend, Kirsten Menger-Anderson on the Zoetrope writer's workshop, I signed up for an online class on Innovative Publicity Basics for Writers with Lauren Cerand, who is a well-regarded publicist (and friends with awesome editor Rachel Kramer Bussel as well). The class was very informative and at the end Lauren offered to do individualized consultations. I know I could never afford the full services of a publicist, but I decided to take my Winter Solstice gift early this year and give it a try.

I was really pleased with our discussion. We covered a lot in thirty minutes and I could tell I was dealing with a smart, savvy professional. Lauren gave me lots of great detailed advice, but the main big picture strategy was to embrace and celebrate my erotic interests holistically and not separate myself into a "literary" good girl and a "smutty" slut. After getting the snooty treatment from a number of booksellers because my dirty novel is beneath them, this was truly balm to me.

A good publicist should of course help you with the details, the bookings and the interviews and so forth, but my talk with Lauren made me realize it's important to have a strong overall vision as well.

As a cherry on the sundae, Lauren mentioned me on her blog, Lux Lotus: Art, Politics and Style Broadly Defined as a person she likes. I have to be honest and admit it--I like Lauren, too!

Hear My "Passionate" KWMR Interview Anytime!

For those of you who didn’t catch the live show in July, a podcast of my appearance on Ellen Shehadeh’s View Point on KWMR Point Reyes Station is now available on my Web site.

As I mentioned earlier, Ellen talks with people who “have a passion for what they do” and I really enjoyed the chance to talk about my passions: Japan, erotica, food and my new novel, Amorous Woman.

So pour yourself a cup of green tea—or a glass of chilled sake—and join me in a little passion!

Why I Read: Apologies Forthcoming

I’m pretty picky when it comes to fiction—it seems to be one of the side effects of tackling the writer’s life myself. In my younger days, I used to finish every book I picked up. Perhaps this was a legacy of school assignments, but I did far more reading on my own than for classes. Now, however, I have no problem abandoning an uninspiring book with nothing more than a quick glance at the last few pages, which usually confirms the wisdom of my decision to bail early.

This might make me sound jaded, as if all the fun has gone out of reading, but actually the opposite is the case. Because when I find a work I really admire, the experience is electrifying. I recently finished a book that reminds me why I read fiction—a book that stretched my mind, charmed my sensibilities, and touched my heart.

I’m talking—or should I say raving?--about Xujun Eberlein's Apologies Forthcoming, winner of the 2007 Tartt Fiction Award. The eight stories in this collection, most previously published in prestigious literary journals, all deal with China’s Cultural Revolution and its legacy. This violent and tumultuous time in history has been an inspiration for many fine works of fiction and non-fiction, but Xujun Eberlein’s vision is distinctive in its emphasis on the common humanity of all the participants in this great drama—Red Guards as well as scholars, true believers as well as disillusioned intellectuals.

Eberlein’s low-key humor and eye for the perfect detail makes the book especially appealing and impressive. I was reminded of a comment Noah Lukeman made in The First Five Pages: A Writer's Guide to Staying out the Rejection Pile (a great reference for writers ready to tackle the agent search or anyone looking for a good self-editing guide). I can’t seem to find the exact quote, but I remember Lukeman saying agents can actually determine the sensibility of a writer from the first five sentences! They know right away if this is a voice they want in their heads for a whole book. I feel the same way, and for me it was a pleasure to give myself up to the voices of these stories. The range of perspectives is especially satisfying in its complexity. In “Disciple of the Masses,” for example, when an idealistic young city woman is “inserted” in the countryside, we come to understand not only her plight, but those of her peasant hosts and her more cynical comrades and elders as well. These voices and images still linger—that to me is the ultimate sign of excellent writing.

I hesitate to say this—although only because we live in such an anti-intellectual society—but as I read this collection, I kept wishing I were reading if for a seminar so I could write a paper on it. There were so many fascinating themes, so many richly-layered passages to quote, the stories cried out for further discussion. I think this book would make a marvelous book group selection, perhaps accompanied by some historical reading about the Cultural Revolution.

I’m not sure exactly how I’d approach my paper, though, because there are so many choices. I might go with the theme of love in a society that is hostile to all personal expression, especially the ultimate in lawless self-indulgence: eros. “Pivot Point” and “The Randomness of Love” both introduce intellectual women who are unmarriageable because men see them as “too outstanding” and “too high to reach.” Nonetheless, they do find lovers, but the obstacles they face all but crush the relationships. And yet, the rare times the couples can be together heighten the poignancy. For someone like me, so immersed in erotica’s focus on sexual abundance (which I see as a reflection of the hyper-sexualized ethos of America as a whole), a society where ascetic endurance is the norm brings up fascinating questions about the relationship between culture and desire.

I was also struck by the way the author treats the figure of the artist at a time when creative expression was limited to mouthing Chairman Mao’s slogans. The collection opens with “Snow Line,” which examines the fate of a gifted poet in an environment that is not especially supportive to the arts, a story that foreshadows dilemmas all of the characters will face. “Feathers” was a particularly moving piece about a young girl who writes letters to her grandmother in her dead sister’s name to save the old lady from grief. These letters are, of course, a kind of fiction writing, an attempt to transform tragedy into art. Here a lie (read: fiction-making) becomes a form of love and healing transcendence—something the young girl cannot quite understand, although her sister’s friend who comes to visit, a writer herself, clearly recognizes their common bond. Another artist makes an appearance in “Watch the Thrill,” one of the most haunting and powerful stories in the collection. Told from the viewpoint of an aimless, essentially orphaned city boy, the piece portrays the psychological and aesthetic poverty of the times. The narrator remembers the old days, when a youth who has now been “inserted” into the countryside to be worked to death would tell ghost stories to the neighborhood children in the courtyard at night. The cleverly crafted, very dramatic stories would literally thrill the audience, but the Cultural Revolution has silenced the magic of storytelling and leaves only mundane, but no less horrifying, reality: the black, bottomless holes of his grieving mother’s eyes. In “Watch the Thrill,” the author’s skill is no less “thrilling”—this is truly storytelling at its best.

I could go on and on, and I know with material this meaty, I’d be bound to get a good grade (and then no one would ask me to dance because I’m too smart like the narrator in “The Randomness of Love”—believe me, I can relate). But perhaps it’s best to conclude with a final point about the power of fiction. These stories did indeed take me on a journey to a far-away place and time, and made me feel as if I’d slipped into other lives for a little while. Yet, what struck me most was that the protagonists’ dreams and disappointments, and the compromises they made to survive, were profoundly familiar. This apparently improbable sense of connection is why I read fiction—and I’m very glad indeed I read Apologies Forthcoming.

A Sexy Threesome at ERWA

This month I am all over ERWA with lots of love and kisses. First there’s my August installment of Cooking up a Storey: I’m Easy, But I’m No Slut: Why I’m Hot for Passionate Plumbers, Vibrating Mixers, and Heirloom No-Fail Fudge. Do I have to say more?

Then I make an appearance in the charming Ashley Lister’s column, “Between the Sheets”…oops, I mean, "Between the Lines." I talk about getting past first base, passionate getaways at country inns, theft, adultery, secrets of novel-writing and other topics pertinent to the writing life.

Finally, I review a fascinating book about the notorious knife-wielding geisha, Abe Sada, made famous in the West by Nagisa Oshima’s art film, In the Realm of the Senses. Read my take on Geisha, Harlot, Strangler, Star: A Woman, Sex and Morality in Modern Japan by William Johnston right here.

A Happy—and Sizzling Hot—August to you all!

A Steamy Podcast of Amorous Woman

It’s here--what you’ve all been waiting for! My podcast of a very steamy excerpt from Amorous Woman is up on my Web site (along with a few other updates). Now you can hear Lydia speak, whispering her naughty secrets in your ear, just as she did to me two summers ago when I wrote down her story.

Come on, don’t you want to hear me talk dirty in Japanese?

Mad-Libs Results

The results are in! Eleven mad-libbers over at Lust Bites took on the challenge of rewriting my love hotel passage from Amorous Woman, and I have to say the results are brilliant.

Here’s the blank passage:

"Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I [VERB (PAST TENSE)] him. Thoroughly converted to the path of [NOUN]-[GERUND] [NOUN], he'd [VERB] and [VERB] me with his [BODY PART] under my [ADJECTIVE] [NOUN], until his [BODY PART] was as [ADJECTIVE] as a [COMESTIBLE (ADJECTIVE + NOUN)].

Here are the clever revisions:

Jeremy Edwards: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I avoided him. Thoroughly converted to the path of mind-broadening travel, he'd see and hear me with his foot under my blue blanket, until his shoulder was as deep as a hot brandy.

Janine Ashbless: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I passed him. Thoroughly converted to the path of butt-naked gardening, he'd turn and root me with his long-handled fork under my automated sprinkler, until his shaft was as purple as a prize-winning beetroot.

Ashley Lister: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I edited him. Thoroughly converted to the path of proofreading copy, he'd rewrite and correct me with his fingernail under my purple prose, until his finger was as red as a cochineal sandwich.

Madame Butterfly: “Yes, Miss Evans,” he’d sigh as I sprayed him. Thoroughly converted to the path of binge-drinking people, he’d lash and fan me with his finger under my bodacious lampshade, until his head was as lusty as a doughy bagel.

Kirsten Monroe: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I sparkled him. Thoroughly converted to the path of hair-parting games, he'd pillage and wrestle me with his left nipple under my fluffy merengue, until his cleft chin was as berserk as a fiery comet.

Neve Black: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I choked him,. Thoroughly converted to the path of vanilla-flavored sex,, he'd spank and tickle me with his toes under my cherry umbrella, until his cock was as rigid as ripe bamboo.

EllaRegina: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I hand-blocked him. Thoroughly converted to the path of hat-fondling study, he'd press and iron me with his tonsil under my curly steamer, until his elbow was as limber as a thinly-sliced bologna sandwich.

Kristina Lloyd: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I gerunded him. Thoroughly converted to the path of logic-fucking grammar, he'd comma and comma me with his chomsky under my split infinitive, until his colon was as semi as a dangling modifier.

Dennis Mahagin: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd admit as I passed him. Thoroughly converted to the path of Hotwheel Racing, he'd squeal and tailgate me, with his fingers under my Grand Prix Boot, until his Hotwheel Car was as blistering as a lit Trader Vics Matchbox.

Emerald: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I dusted him. Thoroughly converted to the path of bicycle-promoting umbrellas, he'd battle and jump me with his elbow under my fringed cape until his cheek was as glittery as a strawberry-shaped clown hat.

Maryanne Stahl: "Yes, Miss Evans," he'd sigh as I basted him. Thoroughly converted to the path of egg-beating goddesses, he'd somersault and poke me with his spatula under my knee until his belly button was as fiery as a dynamite-filled croissant.

And here is the original, which, I now see is in fact sadly lacking in originality! Dynamite-filled croissants, strawberry-shaped clown hats, thinly-sliced bologna sandwiches, doughy bagels, not to mention dangling modifiers…I’m getting hungry. But first, the original passage:

“Yes, Miss Evans,” he’d sigh as I straddled him. Thoroughly converted to the path of teacher-pleasing diligence, he’d lick and strum me with his tongue under my careful direction, until his face was as slick as a glazed doughnut.

Glazed doughnuts? Well, maybe that part will do. I’m off to the doughnut shop, but thanks to all who joined in the fun!

A Great Web Site: Geisha turns 25

Liza Dalby's Geisha is quite simply one of my very favorite books ever. I'm sure it tops the list of many a Japan lover and has enchanted plenty of other readers who enjoy a glimpse into the secret world of another culture. The geisha has become a symbol of all that is mysterious and alluring about Japan, but few of us know what a geisha really does and who she is. I remember so well when I first read--or rather devoured--the book back in 1985 right after I returned from my first stay in Japan. I'd lived in Kyoto for two years and studied Japanese traditional dance, but the world of the geisha was as mysterious to me as ever (and as it is to most Japanese).

But thanks to Liza Dalby, I finally was able to slip into the teahouses of Pontocho to experience the day-to-day life of real geisha. A skilled shamisen player who is fluent in Japanese, Liza actually worked as a geisha as part of her research for her Ph.D. in anthropology at Stanford, and the book does indeed provide an excellent and entertaining education about that world. First and foremost, I learned that geisha are complex and compelling human beings and artists, so much more than the fantasies Westerners entertain about them.

Originally published in 1983, then given a second life with the publication of Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha, Liza Dalby's beloved classic turns twenty-five this year and is being reissued with a lovely new cover and preface which "examines how geisha have been profoundly affected by the changes of the past quarter century yet—especially in Kyoto—have managed to take advantage of modern developments to maintain their social position with flair." Liza has also updated her Web site on geisha and it's a tasty buffet of information, with plenty of delicious photographs and fascinating insights into geisha and courtesans and Japanese culture. Sex and geisha, pictures of Liza in full geisha dress as "Ichigiku,"stages in the life of a geisha, the importance of the seasons--it's all there--but I have to issue a warning. You may find yourself spending the whole afternoon there!

If you've ever been intrigued by Japan's traditional culture, I recommend you take a look!