Conversing with Your Hips

Life slows down in the summer, but this month has been pretty hot on the short story front. Some new ones written, some finished ones accepted for publication, and the sweetest treat of all, a few old favorites released to a wider audience online. Today my story "Yes, Master" appears at The Erotic Woman, a fantastic erotica site that frequently publishes all my favorite writers like Craig Sorensen, Emerald, Heidi Champa, Jeremy Edwards, Susan DiPlacido, and more, baby.

"Yes, Master" originally appeared in print in Pleasure Bound, edited by Alison Tyler, and I spoke a bit about the allure of genie power when the story made its debut. Today I wanted to share an excerpt that contains my secret favorite part of the story. I always have a special little sensitive spot in each story that is not the most sexually explicit area (usually), but that nonetheless expresses a truth about my experience. In this story, the truth has to do with missionary position sex, more specifically, how I came to appreciate the potential of this symbolically fraught variation of amour.

Hmm, maybe this is too much information, but back in my dewy youth, woman-on-top sex was an immediate favorite with me because I could control things: the angle, the pace, well, everything. When I was on the bottom, the parts didn't naturally fit together as well and so I came to think of it as a "for him" part of the experience. I didn't even really try to make it work for me. But then, one day--or was it a night?--during a slow, leisurely, summer-style encounter, I started working it from the bottom the way I liked it. My partner (you can probably guess who that is, but I'm trying to be discreet here) responded in kind and it became a kind of conversation, just as I describe below. When you talk and listen with sensitivity--with ears, lips, and other parts of the body, too--you can learn some very interesting things.

So here's my secret favorite part of the story--but please don't tell anyone! And you can check out the rest of the conversation at The Erotic Woman (vote and comment, if you're so inspired!)

An Excerpt from "Yes, Master":

It might look like I fucked Tony Rossi from Product Development on our first date, but it was more complicated than that. We’d been having lunch together for months and flirted pretty heavily through several happy hours when he finally asked me out on an “official” date to see a play in late October. We had such a good time we ended the evening naked in his bed—no surprise for two people who’ve been attracted to each other for some time. Except for one thing.

After we were both hot and ready, Tony rolled on top of me, and I thought, okay, I’ll endure this for a while and then show him how I can actually get off. But as he started moving this way and that, it actually started to feel…good. Very good. It’s as if we were having this little conversation with our hips. He’d ask a question, slowly, teasingly. I’d reply with all the right answers, and damn if it wasn’t feeling better and better as our lower regions discovered all sorts of things about each other. Until, surprise of all surprises, I was coming, just from old-fashioned missionary-style fucking alone.

I had to see if it was a one-time fluke, so after a reasonable breather, I pulled Tony on top of me again.

Ten condoms and a half-dozen positions later, it was Sunday afternoon and we still hadn’t gotten out of bed except to make some coffee and pay the pizza delivery guy. Tony seemed as enchanted as I was.

Unfortunately, reality intervened and he told me he had an early flight on Monday and would be in Pasadena all week on business. However he was anxious to know if I was free the following Saturday.

“Sorry, I’m going to Dana’s Halloween party. You know Dana in Marketing, right?” Smitten as I was, I had a strict policy not to stiff my women friends for any guy.

“I was invited, but I was going to blow it off.” He smiled. “Do you have your costume yet?"

“I’m going as Jeannie, you know, from that old TV show.” I sat up, folded my arms and did my best imitation of a Jeannie nod. “Yes, Master, you called?” I gave Tony a look that promised everything. “Sure you can’t make it?”

His eyes twinkled. “I’ll be there.”

18 and Naked

Today at F-Stop, Kirsty Logan takes on the writer's--no, really our human--urge for attention, the desire to be seen and appreciated. At 18, Kirsty posed nude for a series of amateur photographers. At 26, she looks back on those days, her motivations and her decision to reveal the fact that because of these images floating around in the ether, an educated, articulate writer is literally "naked on the Internet." It's thought-provoking, poignantly familiar, and ultimately inspiring--the perfect read for a Sunday morning. I highly recommend her very moving essay at The Rumpus as well, the perfect companion piece (and a big splash of cold water if you've ever romanticized the job of artist's model). Oh, and great tattoos--wings to fly!

The Chemistry of Collaboration

Bare naked fiction and nonfiction writing, editing a hot anthology, making a sexy book trailer, posing for a luscious boudoir session--today at F-stop we'll get a peek at the secrets of all of these creative endeavors as noted writer, editor and blogger Rachel Kramer Bussel stops by for a revealing interview. I know I keep saying this, but those gorgeous boudoir photos make me want to hop the next Jet Blue flight to New York for a session with Laura Boyd. Or maybe I just need a new black satin corset for my collection? Too bad my birthday is six months away.... But don't take my word for it, head on over to F-Stop on this soft summer Sunday and give your eyes a treat!

The "Red Dress" Anniversary

Herr Doktor and I celebrated our twenty-third wedding anniversary on Sunday, and while our wedding was truly a fantastically fun weekend-long party, so many years later we had a very fine time just hanging out and going out to dinner. We went to a place called Bay Wolf (yep, a cute literary pun), one of the earliest temples to California cuisine that is still going strong.

Since this blog is about food, too, it's time for some menu porn. I started with roasted beet salad with feta and almonds and Herr Doktor had the fresh pea soup with mint, both quite toothsome. We both chose the same main course--gnocchi with mushrooms, peas and tarragon--and that was even better, especially with a nice glass of Gigondas. I'm always surprised how meaty and complex a sauteed mushroom can be, the essence of the fifth important taste "umami" (a Japanese word meaning delicious, but the scientific sense of the word is a kind of protein-rich full-bodied flavor). The gnocchi were almost fluffy and the sauce--well, you just wanted to mop it up with your baguette, it was that good. Just when I was expecting it couldn't get any better, out came the dessert course and this, naturally, deserves its very own paragraph.


Being a chocolate lover, Herr Doktor could not resist the chocolate souffle cake, while I gave in to the seductive call of the sticky toffee pudding with caramel ice cream. Can you say decadent? As good as they sounded on paper, the reality induced soft, restrained moans of delight. The chocolate cake looked like one of those flourless torte things that are so ubiquitous as to be passe, but the texture was truly heavenly in its lightness and the flavor so rich and well, chocolaty. I would have been jealous, but my sticky toffee pudding (doesn't that just sound kinda kinky?) was so amazingly complex and transcendental. The presentation was imposing--a small dome-shaped cake with caramel sauce and a scoop of golden ice cream--and I momentarily regretted my decision because it looked like such a heavy dessert. But one bit of the cake and I was in heaven. The texture was airy, not steamed-pudding dense as I expected, and the flavors blossomed into a symphony of brown sugar, butter and subtle spice. So, like our marriage, the meal just got better and better.


One question remains, however. (And yes, as you see in this photo, my house is a total mess!) If the first anniversary is paper, the twenty-fifth silver and the fiftieth gold, what is the twenty-third anniversary? Officially probably something like "teak ware" for traditionalists or "software updates" for the modern crowd, but since I got to wear my new red dress again, I'm calling it the "Red Dress" anniversary, a bit of a pun, too, in that after such a long stretch there may be a bit of redressing to be done in any couple's relationship, but the result, so silky, smooth and sweet, makes it all worthwhile.

Hope you all had a relaxing "door into summer" holiday!

Are Dentists Erotic?

After you read Marcy Sheiner's essay at F-Stop today, I guarantee that your answer to that question is going to change forever! Provocative, sexy, funny, yet very serious indeed, Marcy's essay is the perfect mind-awakening complement to your morning coffee. Cosmic visions and sexual response await, so even if you've just had your teeth cleaned, the dentist is waiting! It's a special honor to host Marcy today because she's inspired my writing since the beginning when I devoured her anthologies for examples of smart, sexy stories that showed me what erotica could be.

Btw, this "Van Gogh" is a favorite image from Marcy's blog, taken by photographer extraordinaire Phyllis Christopher, so I used this announcement as an excuse to post it here for your viewing pleasure!

An Encore of My First Sexy Radio Interview

If you missed it the first time, back in July 2008, you have another chance to hear me talk about sex, Japan, and my novel Amorous Woman with Ellen Shehadeh on her weekly View Point Radio show. I blogged about the behind-the-scenes experience here, and I'll tell you as I look back, the interview with Ellen was one of the highlights of promoting my novel. Her questions enabled me to learn more about myself, my work and my relationship with Japan. Besides, I always love the chance to talk dirty!

So, if you're lucky enough to live in the Bay Area, tune KWMR 90.5 FM today at 11 am PDT. If not, you can catch the show streamed "live" from KWMR's website. It will also be repeated on Friday, June 4 at 1 pm PDT.

And if you missed all that, you can catch the interview at my website.

Sex and Poker: Susan DiPlacido's Shuffle Up and Deal

They say the best way for a writer to improve her craft is to read well-crafted stories in the genre of her choice. My goal is to write smart, sexy page-turners, but good educational materials are not always easy to find. Derivative bestsellers that stroke the same old synapses bore me, even if they are dressed up in flashy vampire or alien costumes. Stuffy, self-important “literature” bores me even more. Fortunately, my friend Susan DiPlacido, just came out with a glittering new Las Vegas erotic romance, Shuffle Up and Deal, that provides a perfect blend of entertainment and education for any erotic writer.

The first part of the novel is told from the point of view of Izzy Santillo, a thirty-something journalist with a talent for poker and a distant crush on the reigning champion of Hold ‘Em, Nick Nolan. She ends up meeting Nick in person in a very memorable way on a trip to Vegas, and in the second part of the novel, we get inside his head as their rollercoaster romance speeds ahead. The third part switches back and forth between them, and by now, the reader fully appreciates how the dueling perspectives embody the dynamics of poker itself. The better you are at reading others and bluffing them yourself, the better chance you have of getting what you want out of the hand (which isn’t always to win).

This novel really does have it all: a witty female protagonist who comes into her own by pursuing her passions at the poker table and in the bedroom, a plot that never ceases to keep the pages turning, great humor between the lovers, and best of all, plenty of realistic—and sizzling—erotic scenes that fit seamlessly into the story. Not only did I get a refresher course on how to keep a story humming, I picked up a few poker tips, which translate quite effortlessly to everyday dealings with fellow players in the game of love and life. But here’s the real reason to admire Susan’s storytelling skills—I truly came to care about Izzy and Nick and what happened to them, and when I read the final scene, I actually had to wipe away some tears.

If I can do that in my next novel, I’ll consider it a job well done.

Besides, thanks to Susan’s novel, Herr Doktor and I have a new euphemism for doing our marital duty (always a necessity with kids)—“respecting our relationship.” As in “Honey, should we respect our relationship tonight?”

Who can turn down that offer?

But it gets even better! Susan has graciously consented to stop by to chat with us over pomegranate cocktails on the topics of writing, gambling, and sex. Afterwards, we'll finish up with some of Susan's famous tiramisu. Now that's an offer you can't refuse....

Is playing poker in real life as sexy as you make it seem in Shuffle Up and Deal?

I know it's sexy for some people because it's so popular, but it's not for me. Poker is stressful for me because I'm lousy at it. So I don't play at all anymore since I didn't enjoy it or have any talent for it and I hate routinely losing money. But I still enjoy drinking and watching others play sometimes. It really is a great skill game, but my skill lies with actual cards, where in poker you have to be skillful with people, and I'm apparently not.

So where will we find you in your favorite casino?

Blackjack, definitely. That's my card game of choice. Then once I start drinking I usually end up at a rowdy craps table. Then if I get smashed I've been known to try some hands of baccarat because you're likely to run into some characters at those tables and the dealers are extremely accommodating.

I have to say, though, that I learned a lot about the subtle power play of poker from the novel, so maybe your observer’s perspective serves you as well as the avid player’s. Are you sure you wouldn’t recommend this book as an insider’s guide for newbie poker players in terms of helpful strategies?

Oh, thank you so much, Donna. I would NOT recommend this book for newbie poker players, though, as I've already admitted my lack of expertise at the game. At the best, you might be able to pull one good move out of it, and at the worst, it could facilitate you going bankrupt. So pick up the book hopefully for some laughs and steamy romance, but not gaming advice.

Like your protagonist Izzy Santillo, you’re an Italian-American writer who knows her way around a casino. Are there any other autobiographical elements to the novel?

That's a good question. There are a few little anecdotal scenes that are pulled from my experiences. Those things always pepper my writing, but they end up pretty well fictionalized most of the time. For example, some of the more unbelievable mishaps that Izzy suffers are things that happened to me, such as falling on my face and ripping my skirt in a crowd, and in particular in front of a guy I had a thing for. What can I say, I lead a charmed life.

That ripped skirt scene did seem especially authentic, come to think of it! Now, the novel alternates between Izzy’s and Nick’s point of view. This works brilliantly with your poker-love connection in that each narrator has to “read” the other player’s motives. Did the dual point of view present any challenges as a writer? Any tricks for getting into a male character’s head so convincingly?

Again, thank you for the kind words; I'm glad it worked for you. The only real challenge was the occasional fretting about whether readers would roll their eyes when reading from Nick's POV. But I think writers think more about that than readers do. Most writers do write from the other gender's POV quite often and readers never even think about it, they just roll with it. I didn't have any tricks, other than to keep in mind a book from a friend of mine: Don Capone's Into the Sunset. He's a guy, and he wrote a really humorous story about a guy suffering mishaps in love and it helped me draw the line between being overly sentimental and too stoic from the male POV.

I’d like to share a snippet of one of my favorite sex scenes—one of many in a narrative where the eroticism fits seamlessly into the story.

Deep and hungry kisses right away, he makes me hum with it as our mouths meet and before long that buzzing that he started sparks and I’m flush and fevered for him. I long to touch his body all over. His stomach brushing against mine, all those sinewy muscles in his arms. But he keeps my hands locked down near my head while he does the work with his body and mouth. He’s teasing me, and himself. Pressing his chest into mine, he undulates, rising up while pressing his hips into mine. He’s rock hard, I’m wet. He won’t release my hands though, so I can’t get leverage. It’s like he’s possessing me and owning me, but doing it only to give me pleasure.

I spread my legs and wrap them around his waist, try to force him down and into me. I get him close, but not inside. Instead, he’s careful and controlled. Still holding my writs, he kisses me deeply and slides his erection between my lips, gliding across my hot spot. Repeatedly. Repeatedly….

I do enjoy that kind of repetition myself! Do you have a favorite scene in the novel?

Aw, again, thank you! My favorite scene is probably when Nick gets really frustrated with Izzy's tilt poker play. He's crazy about her, but she drives him crazy at that point and even though, as a poker pro, he should be able to contain himself and his emotions, he still just can't maintain and I thought that was kind of funny and endearing about him.

I know you recently came back from a trip to the Riviera (see the illustrated travelogue at Susan's blog). Did you have any adventures—gambling or otherwise—that you’d like to share?

Well. Oddly, the main thing I came back with was a renewed love for Las Vegas. My favorite things to do on vacation are swim, eat, drink, and gamble, and you just can't beat Vegas in those areas. I felt compelled to visit Monte-Carlo and see what the legend was about, and I'm glad I did. It's beautiful there, and there were some great eats. (Robuchon!) And maybe I'll enjoy the atmosphere there more once I'm embalmed, as it seems like everyone else already is. But because of the formal and rigid attitude that permeates the area, it makes adventures a little less likely to occur organically, so it was more of a laid back trip. I also got my clock cleaned at the tables, so that may be contributing to my sour perspective. In other words, there was nothing that happened that I'd write home about, nor just write about at all. Donna, thanks so much for having me here and for asking such interesting questions that were fun to answer! I really appreciate your insight and thoughtfulness and time!

Thank you, Susan, and my god, this chocolate tiramisu is a winner at any table!

The “Cure” for Low Sexual Desire

One of my guilty pleasures since forever has been reading glossy, capitalist magazines (while always careful to preserve a modicum of leftist critical distance from their overarching message that salvation lies in consumption). I used to browse Cosmo and Glamour, which were always loaded with research materials for a student of popular culture, especially sexuality. But after a million or so ultimately unsatisfying articles on “His Top Five Erogenous Zones” and “What He Really Wants In Bed,” the desire just wasn’t there anymore, and I seldom fall victim to those teaser headlines. These days my preferred trashy reading materials are health and yoga magazines. At this point in my life meditation rather than make-up seems a more appealing route to a satisfying life. While sex is not featured as loudly as it is in magazines targeted at young singles, you will find one article on improving your sex life in every other issue, and I’m finding the spin for an older audience a cultural study in itself.

For example, the May issue of body + soul, Martha Stewart Omnimedia’s health magazine (it used to be a subscription to Dr. Andrew Weil’s hippie newsletter which folded and/or sold itself to Martha so I was transferred against my will, okay?) had an article about sexual desire that actually surprised and pleased me.

The article opens, as they do, with a case study. This time the focus was a 40 year-old married woman who has low sexual desire. That means sex about once a month, even though she swears she loves her husband and their relationship is not at issue. We then get some data, something I’ve read over and over, that about one-third of adult women experience little interest in sex (the typical breakdown is one-third are “average” and one-third show great interest in sex; not surprisingly, frequency of orgasm correlates directly according to most studies).

So far, so boring, but here’s where it got my attention. A common treatment for women with low desire is testosterone therapy—and indeed I’ve always attributed my interest in the deed with a lab-verified higher-than-average amount of the horny hormone coursing through my veins. However, the researcher in question, a Dr. Lori Brotto, found that there was no relation between hormone levels and a woman’s reported interest in sex. Okay, wow, so pills aren’t the answer, as much as the search for a female Viagra inflames the imagination. Moreover (isn’t “moreover” a great word?), women who said they weren’t interested in sex still manifested the same physical responses to sexual stimuli (Dirty pictures? Warm caresses from a handsome lab assistant?). They just didn’t realize their bodies were turned on.

Dr. Brotto found that the main difference between sex-obsessed females (you know who you are) and the woman in the article is a disconnect between body and brain. Her solution? A program of mindfulness training to bring them “back into their bodies” and override the stress and other factors that ”snuff out sexy feelings.” The program involves exercises like taking twenty minutes to eat an orange and enjoying every drop of sweet juice, the moist flesh on your tongue. In order to displace negative associations with sex, she suggests you focus on and savor the positive, whether it’s the emotional closeness or the physical pleasure—“feel the sensation going into your body like a sponge”—and thus strengthen neural pathways that associate sex with fun. The woman who served as the article’s focus found it took about six months to see results, but she noticed definite improvement.

Now, the reason I’m blogging about this here at “Sex, Food, and Writing” is not just because the orange exercise sounds like fun (it can be a raisin, too, or hell, even cheesecake), but also because it struck me that being mindful and paying closer attention to your sensual and sexual experiences is exactly what we erotica writers do for our professional development. In other words, being a writer improves your sex life. Now, my sex life was pretty good before I started writing, but after I started paying very close attention to what’s going on with me and my partner, after expressing the “truth” of sex became my passion, well, the fulfillment of my marital duty benefited accordingly. I’d never really thought of this as something that could work for non-writers, just more as a perk for poor smut scribblers who don’t get many breaks in life. But hey, the results look promising for everyone. Not to mention nurturing the spirit and mind always beats a quick-fix pill in my book.

There is a certain irony to the fact this “look within because the best things in life are free” article is embedded in a blizzard of ads for therapist programs, anti-aging probiotic mints and Home Depot. But it sure as hell is a welcome change from the standard emphasis on all the externals like “new” sex positions (how do those weird handstands and office furniture contortions ever help with female pleasure anyway?), pills and potions, body-enhancing bras or porn tapes for couples.

And let’s face it, even erotica writers can use a little reminding to slow down and pay attention.

It’s as simple as that. Pay attention.

You can bet next time I eat one of the season’s plump, glossy, fresh, organic strawberries, I’m going to make it last a long time!

Emerald Exposes the Omniscent Eye

This gorgeous photograph has a title. "Pause." And if you have a moment to pause and reflect, I highly recommend you head over to F-Stop to read Emerald's moving and thought-provoking essay, "Choice and Tyranny." Be prepared for a shocker. Emerald not only exposes herself, she sheds light on the ways the omniscient Eye of religion and other authorities hijacks our choices and in fact deprives us of a chance to make our own moral decisions in the name of pre-packaged Morality. I continue to be amazed at the courage and eloquence of F-Stop's contributors. Each week opens my eyes to something new!

BAK and Gina: Erotica's John and Yoko

I've been away from blogland for various top-secret reasons (don't ask, 'cause I'll never tell) but now I'm back, and I've got some catching up to do with F-Stop's latest literary gems. Over the past two weeks, we've had some awesome posts from erotica's most inspiring and free-spirited couple: Brad Garber and Gina Marie. I first met Gina over a year ago at her luscious blog, Aphrodite's Table. I knew I'd found a kindred soul, someone who got as much sensual pleasure from creating in the kitchen as in the bedroom and on the page--just like me! F-Stop continues to be an amazing project and you'll never look at erotica writers--or your own sexuality--in the same way again.

D.L. King Unveiled

A beautiful May Sunday--what better time to take a tour of the world of one of the wittiest and most skillfully willful erotica writers today, D.L. King? You know just where to find her, "Naked on the Page" over at F-Stop. If the sly mention of a certain Brooklyn salon piques your interest, you can read a detailed report right here. A truly unforgettable education for this innocent and indeed a source of inspiration for a forthcoming story (stay tuned for details....)

What's Your Sign, Baby?

The May-June columns are up early over at ERWA including my offering, "Getting to Know You: Character Profiles, Star-Gazing Shortcuts and Quick Culinary Getaways." Besides a delicious recipe for Japanese-style Vegetable Soup, which will take you on a quick trip to the Land of the Rising Sun, I share my special approach to creating characters. It's really pretty easy. I just invite them over for a glass or two of wine, spell out my story and their general role in it, then sit back and let them tell me what how they plan to deal with the situation. After a nice juicy conversation, we have sex of course--usually one-on-one, but sometimes we do the group thing. Well, it is going to be an erotic novel after all.

This time around, I decided to try a little shortcut by using astrological love guides to flesh out my characters and their erotic styles. Way back in college, my roommates and I often consulted our battered copy of How to Seduce Any Man in the Zodiac whenever a new beau came on the scene. I'm not sure it helped all that much, but it was good for some laughs and a tenuous sense of control. ("Never be late for a date with an Aries and be subtle in your flattery"--got it!). Not that I believe in astrology, but I'm finding the research, such as leafing through old Viva magazines for sex tips, to be quite enjoyable. I also want to thank Neve Black for her advice and expertise in this area. Neve knows her Zodiac!

Bon Appetit!

The Secret Eroticist

I had another one of those encounters last weekend. Someone who knows me from my soccer mom life recently discovered my erotic writing. She said she enjoyed it, but that I was doing a great job of "hiding" what I did. She never would have suspected from looking at me.

Which raises again the question, what does an erotica writer look like? Large breasts? Tight leather pants? Lots of make-up? Basically a porn star? If so, I certainly fail the test.

I didn't put her on the spot, though. I answered sweetly that part of my "mission" was to show that ordinary people just like me have rich sexual lives. My new fan thought that was a wonderful mission, but still, her reaction makes me realize how far we have to go.

Speaking of images, I was looking through old photos as part of my background work for my new novel and came across the one above, taken many years ago by my older sister in her San Francisco craftsman apartment. Can you imagine this young woman would write erotica one day?

You know, I think I had it in me all along....

Erotic Doppelgangers

To think I used to go to church on Sundays way back when, but now I head on over to F-Stop for my spiritual fix. This week M. Christian discusses the intriguing split between our erotica-writing persona and our "true" self. I'm not going to post the actual image from the essay here though, and if you want to see why, well, you'll have check out "He and I." And maybe you'll be inspired to think back on a picture from your own past...?

Talking Back to Shame

Our bodies are wondrous. Why should we be ashamed? Because just about everything we’ve ever heard our entire lives has told us that we should be. Afraid. Ashamed. Of who we are, what we are.

So says poet and erotica writer Erobintica in this week's brave and gorgeous essay at F-Stop. I found so much to relate to in her discussion of the fear and shame we all feel and the liberating power of saying f&*k it, I'm going to tell the world the truth about myself, my desires, and what it means to be a woman. Read it (and all the other essays in the F-Stop archive) and be inspired to your own act of courage.

Please, Sir--Pasta, Anyone?

I'm thrilled to announce that Please, Sir, Rachel Kramer Bussel's latest--and hottest--erotica anthology is now available at Amazon and finer book stores everywhere. The penultimate story in the book, "Just What She Needs," is definitely one of my smuttiest tales, plus, like a repeat viewing of The Godfather, it's going to make you yearn for a big bowl of fresh pasta puttanesca accompanied by a ruby-red glass of Chianti. Here's an appetizer for your dining pleasure. (To read the introduction and interviews with the authors, check out the Please, Sir blog.)

An excerpt from "Just What She Needs":

What I needed that night was pasta.

Or rather, my boyfriend, Greg, needed pasta. I was supposed to stop at Raffetto’s on my way home and get some fresh linguine fini. But I’d had a hell of a day with back-to-back depositions, and I forgot. Okay, I didn’t actually forget, but I figured for once Mr. Gourmet could make do with some of the packaged stuff.

Suffice to say I wasn’t in a very good mood when I walked in the door. However, the sight of curly-headed Greg at the stove stirring up puttanesca sauce with his big, capable hands definitely raised my spirits. The scent of good virgin olive oil, garlic and olives filled the kitchen and my mouth began to water. Greg was a web designer and worked at home, leaving him plenty of time to clean and cook and pamper me. I pretty much had me the ideal wife with a big, juicy cock attached. Sometimes I felt so lucky to have him, I had to pinch myself.

But tonight, I just felt tired and annoyed.

“Today was an absolute nightmare,” I greeted him, throwing down my briefcase on the bench inside the door and dumping my coat in a heap on top.

“That’s too bad, sweetie. But now you can relax. Dinner’s almost ready,” Greg said, giving me a kiss and a glass of Chianti. “I just need to cook up the linguine.”

“I didn’t get it.”

He frowned as if he didn’t quite get it himself.

“Can’t you use something from a box tonight? I mean pasta is pasta.”

“Pasta is not pasta. You know that.”

I rolled my eyes and reached into the cabinet for a package of spaghetti I’d bought before Greg moved in. “See, it says right here, this is Italy’s best-selling brand. What’s good enough for the Italians is good enough for us.”

Greg gave me a patient smile. “Okay, I know you’ve had a hard day. I’ll go buy it myself. You can start on the salad while I’m out. Some good food will make you feel better.”

He was right, but like I said, I was in a bitchy mood, so his understanding only made me madder. “Why does dinner always have to be such a fucking big deal?” I grumbled. “I’m not even really hungry. I’ll just have a yogurt.” I reached for the refrigerator door.

That’s when he said it, his voice so soft I could barely hear the words.

I know just what she needs.

My arm flopped to my side like a rag doll’s. Another five seconds passed before I remembered to breathe. When I finally exhaled, it came out as a soft whimper.

And my crotch was soaking wet.

I turned and glanced up at Greg. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You know just what you need, Karen, don’t you?”

There was a lump in my throat the size of a walnut. All I could manage was a nod.

“I want you to go take your shower. But first hang up your coat. You know you shouldn’t leave it crumpled on the bench like that.” Again his words were low and soft, a dead monotone.

Yet the voice seemed to reach up inside me and give my secret muscles a deliciously painful squeeze. In fact, my whole body already felt sore, worked over, memory and anticipation twisted together so tightly I felt drunk. I walked over to the door, unsteadily, as if making my way through ankle-deep mud. Hands shaking, I eased my coat onto the rack and glanced over at him, awaiting my next command.

Greg was watching me, eyes narrowed.

“I can sense the attitude change already,” he said. “Go get ready, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

I headed down the hall slowly, half hoping he might change his mind, call me back for a soothing hug instead.

Not that he ever did.

As I hung my skirt in the closet and tossed my blouse and underwear in the laundry basket, I heard pots rattling and water running out in the kitchen, ordinary sounds filtered through layers of thick gauze. But the ordinary world was already far behind me. With each step, each motion, thought slipped away, leaving only that sweet, throbbing ache low between my legs.

Soon I would be in the place where I always got just what I needed....

The Tangible Mirage

Today's offering at F-Stop is a beautifully-written and thought-provoking exploration of erotica writer Thom Gautier's relationship with Penthouse over the years. It's sure to bring back memories of your own erotic education, so lock that bedroom door (we don't want any parents barging in unannounced) and head on over to spy on a very special couple's pictorial: the fascinating interplay between sex and "the tangible mirage."

Creativity and Darkness

Janine Ashbless takes the spotlight at F-Stop this Easter Sunday with an extraordinarily moving and courageous essay on depression and its role in her life as a writer. I find myself at a loss for words to describe its power--best perhaps for you to experience her journey through the darkness and return to the light for yourself. Thank you, Janine, for taking F-Stop to a new level of honesty and eloquence.

Stories in Our Bodies?

A while back I posted an article by Dani Shapiro on the challenges of the writing life, written no doubt as part of the promotional campaign for her new memoir, Devotion. (Shapiro is a publishing veteran, and I'm sure she knows it's best to get your name out there in every way possible when a new book is released). I somehow assumed the memoir would deal with the same topic, so I requested it from my library. When I finally got the book, however, I discovered it was more about her mid-life spiritual crisis--a very popular topic in U.S. publishing these days thanks to a large audience of Baby Boomers at a similar place in their lives. It was a very quick read, not exactly a good sign for such a book, but I did happen upon one passage that I liked a lot. And here it is:

…Some of my greatest moments of clarity—those little eureka moments of truth—had happened in unlikely places: wheeling a card down a supermarket aisle, driving along an empty stretch of highway, lying in bed next to Jacob as he drifted off to sleep. And I knew from my yoga practice that those insights are already fully formed—literally inside our bodies, if only we know where to look. Yogis use a beautiful Sanskrit word, samskara, to describe the knots of energy that are locked in the hips, the heart, the jaw, the lungs. Each knot tells a story—a narrative rich with emotional detail. Release a samskara and you release that story. Release your stories, and suddenly there is more room to breathe, to feel, to experience the world. I wanted to release my stories and find out what was beneath them—I wanted to work with the raw materials of my life—but I wasn’t sure how to do it.

So, the rest of the book is pretty much Shapiro's attempt to "do it," and I didn't find that especially compelling as I mentioned, but I could definitely relate to this idea of epiphanies or moments of sudden clarity to be a release of "knots" already embedded in our bodies. That's because often--maybe always--when I hit upon a truth in my life, I feel a lightening, a lifting, a physical release, generally in my chest area (my heart?). Now Shapiro presents it in a way that you might think these epiphanies are like buried treasure, maybe some ancient knowledge that is hidden with us from birth. I'd guess it's somewhat different: a difficult problem in our lives tends to create bodily tension that we hold inside us, sometimes for many years. The moment of clarity is indeed like shining a light on this tangled mystery and the very naming of it releases that tension.

I also like the idea of storytelling as a way to create more space in my life. That's how it feels to me, and more and more I appreciate experiences that make my heart and my mind feel more spacious.

Meandering on in the classic Japanese essay style, I'll conclude by saying that I have a large collection of cookbooks, many just for historical or cultural value, but a good portion I refer to for actual cooking. I consider a cookbook worth the money if there are at least three recipes I use over and over, but one really great recipe will do the trick. This paragraph from Shapiro's memoir saved the read from being a total waste--so thank you, Dani--but back it goes to the library this afternoon, to make room for more nourishing reading!

The photograph above is yet another from my summer vacation that will not be used in a blog post because I've decided not to bother finishing that particular memoir. It's the view from my oldest sister's terrace, set on a lovely woodland property near Monticello. Taken in high summer, I think the greenery is nonetheless appropriate for this weekend's celebration of spring and new beginnings.

Happy Passover and Easter to everyone!

Plotting and Planning at ERWA

It's not quite April, but those fast girls and boys over at ERWA have already posted next month's columns, and of course "Cooking Up a Storey" continues with my latest report from my novel-writing adventures. In Plotting and Planning: NaNoWriMo, Novel Outlines, and the Linear Comforts of Asparagus I talk about the benefits and drawbacks of outlining your novel and offer up a simple and tasty recipe for asparagus risotto. Is it just California or are your vegetable markets bursting with fresh and cheap asparagus right now, too? I love that stuff! And I've finished a rough outline of my novel and will discuss it with my writing buddy tonight. If she tells me it sucks, I'll have to kill myself, so this may be my last blog post, not to mention the column will go on permanent hiatus. So just in case, it's been great knowing y'all!

And I know, the photograph has nothing to do with asparagus, but it is related to my novel. Don't ask me how just yet, it's a secret....

A Swinging Good Time at F-Stop

Has another week flown by so fast? Yes, it's time for a new author to take the stage at F-Stop. This week is an especially entertaining post by the prolific and always witty Ashley Lister, who shares with us some poetry, some literary analysis, and a lot of laughs.

As always, revelations abound, so head off to the swinger's party with "Betty & I." See you there!

A Very "Rude" Interview!

I'm very excited to announce I have a new interview is up at a cool new UK website called "Rude Words: For Readers and Writers of Erotic Fiction." You might think that I've done so many interviews, I have nothing new to say, but in fact, I actually covered some virgin ground in this interview, or maybe I'm just becoming more comfortable with myself and what erotica means to me? The real thrill is that I got to 'fess up about my big crush on Eddie Izzard, so if you're out there, Eddie, I've got a copy of my novel, Amorous Woman, with your name on it!

If you're so inspired, please stop by and leave a comment. If you're an erotica writer, you can be interviewed, too, so check out their author's page. I'd love to have you join me on the author's list!

Jeremy Edwards Naked in Reykjavik

This Sunday at F-Stop we have a new and fascinating take on self-exposure by master wordsmith, Jeremy Edwards. If you're curious about what it's like to lead two lives, why showing your face is braver than taking your clothes off, and what the hell Reykjavik has to do with this, then grab your coffee and scone and head on over to the F-Stop studio where a courageous and eloquent erotica writer is always taking it all off for your viewing pleasure!

An Inspiring Threesome

It's Sunday again and time for another fascinating confession over at F-Stop: Expose the Naked I. This week co-hostess Neve Black reveals a complicated love life involving a broadminded spouse and an irresistible lover. It's a threesome that rang true to me, and might even change your way of looking at your writing, too.

So head on over to F-Stop--it's worth it just for the picture of Neve in her fishnet stockings alone!

Singapore Slings at the Tiki Hut

Come join me for a Singapore Sling and some delicious excerpts from my story "Comfort Food" in The Cougar Book and from my novel, Amorous Woman over at Author Island's Tiki Hut today.

You can also win a copy of Amorous Woman, which is the book of the day over at Author's Island, so hey, lie back, enjoy the Pacific breeze and some smokin' sexy prose, too!

Sacred Writing

This past Saturday, I attended the Bar Mitzvah of my college roommate's younger son, a day-long party beginning with the ceremony in the morning, followed by a bagel lunch, then hanging out at my friend's house, and finally a "clowning around" party at night with circus food and lessons from professional performers in plate spinning and feather balancing for the kids.

I was raised Catholic myself and escaped what I saw as the iron hand of organized religion as soon as I was able. For many years, I associated spirituality with the rigidity and misogyny of the church. As I've gotten older, I've come to see the the power of self-chosen, self-directed spirituality. Yet, as I sat in the informal "California hippie" synagogue on Saturday, gazing at a beautiful quilt portraying the Tree of Life, I gained a new appreciation for communal spirituality in the music of the prayers and the rabbi's insights into how tradition informs our lives. Unlike the sort of top-down approach I knew in my church-going days, the 13-year-old who becomes Bar Mitzvah in this very liberal congregation not only learns to read the Torah in Hebrew, s/he prepares a thought paper on the relevance of his/her passages to modern life and leads the assembled group in a surprisingly profound discussion. This recognition of the young person's intellect, creativity and leadership was very moving to me, and I wished we had a similar coming of age celebration for my sons. (Of course, I am relieved to be spared the intense planning and expense!)

Writing is my spiritual practice now. When I do my best writing, I draw deep from all of my inner resources and hope to reach others on a deeper level. Perhaps that is why this poem, read at the Bar Mitzvah service on Saturday, spoke even to me (a woman with a bad case of poetry-phobia!)

A person reaches in three directions:
inward to oneself--
up, to God--
out, to others.

The miracle of life is that
in truly reaching
in any direction
one embraces all three.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav
(1770-1811)

Naked Men at Naked I

It's time for a new F-Stop post and this week we have a meditation on the pleasures of the male body by one of my favorite erotica writers, Susan DiPlacido. Susan provides our first sampling of original art, the eye of the artist. I'm so thrilled with the amazing variety and depth each writer is bringing to the topic of self-exposure. So head on over to F-Stop and start thinking of your own way to expose yourself for us! (Thanks, Susan, for a great post!)

Plotting a New Course at ERWA

Say what, it's March already? You know what that means--another installment of my sex-food-and-writing column, "Cooking Up a Storey." You may have noticed last month I moved to a new address in Author's Resources. That's because I'm trying to focus on this new novel and I figured if I kept a sort of journal of my process, the column would be less distracting from my work. Perhaps more importantly, I'm hoping that by going public, I'll be embarrassed into actually making some progress. It's rather like one of those diet features in a women's magazine where you're weighed in every month for all of America. That would keep my hand out of the cookie jar (and you know how much I like cookies).

Anyway, if you're interested in some second-time-around strategies for novel writing, check out "Trying to Get the Feeling: Barry Manilow, “Successful” Passions, and “Let-the-Feelings-Flow” Almond Cake." Regular visitors will remember the recipe, but it's still just as tasty and just as fail-proof as ever. Fingers crossed writing this novel will be the same.

Also check out Ashley Lister's wonderful interview with Neve Black. You might find yourself heading off to your favorite cocktail lounge with a copy of Anais Nin--and who knows what adventures await you?

Craig Sorensen Shines This Sunday

Today at F-Stop we have our first male artist revealing himself and his art in a rich and moving essay "Warm Comforts on Naked Flesh." This photograph of the author in his writer's "zone" was taken by Craig's talented wife, DeDe Sorensen--I just love that spiritual glow. When you read Craig's essay, I'm sure you'll be inspired to expose yourself at F-Stop, too, so hop on over for a true Sunday treat and then put on your thinking cap. We want you naked!

I've Been Tea Bagged!

I just got a Google Alert for a mention at the right-wing blog "Side-Lines" in "Yet Another Liberal Who Loses It by Just Thinking About Sarah Palin." They also post the first paragraph of my Clean Sheets story "Chasing Sarah Palin" followed by some ill-aimed slams of yours truly.

One says: Porn is a writer's way of saying, "I'm out of imagination."

We all know better and if you read the story you see it is very imaginative. (Perhaps it's folks who watch Fox News who are out of imagination?)

But anyway, tea baggers, thanks for reading and bringing my story back into the public eye!

Beauty in the Eye

Well, this week it's my turn over at F-Stop to reveal my "naked I," or at least a few choice body parts. I'd say my first entry falls on the shy, virginal end of the spectrum, but then again I am describing my first experience in public erotic self-expression. We're open to all forms of self-exposure at F-Stop.

Let me know what you think, and get working on your own post for us--pretty please!

The Accidental Ambassador

Today I'm making a very special kimono-clad appearance at Yvonne Burton's Japan-U.S. Business blog. I met Yvonne on my New York stop of my Amorous Woman book tour, and we had the most inspiring breakfast at French Roast in the West Village. Every time I talk with Yvonne, I feel so positive, like I really can make the world a better place by telling others what I've learned in my Japan travels. Plus, you know, I used to want to be in the Foreign Service, and in a very strange way my dream has come true.... So check it out and let me know what you think!

F-Stop Debuts with a Very Naked Truth

It's Valentine's Day, the we celebrate erotic love and chocolate, and what better occasion to kick off our new blog F-Stop: Expose the Naked I? Today Shanna Germain pulls down the sheets to reveal herself in a way that--to take my turn at revelation--grabbed my insides, shook me up and really turned me on. Click on over and see what you think. There will be a new erotic artist revealing her/himself every Sunday, so if you'd like to take it all off with us, drop me an email and start unbuttoning!

A Roaring Interview at Logical Lust

This weekend, I have roaring good news to share with you on official blog day. Valentine's Day is tomorrow, bringing not just just chocolates and flowers, but the release of an awesome new erotica anthology, The Cougar Book, edited by Jolie du Pre.

Today I'm interviewed over at the Logical-Lust blog, with some insights into the inspiration for my creamy story, "Comfort Food." It's all about the power of pudding to heal and arouse. Butterscotch pudding, rice pudding and the chef's special pudding. Recipe included. And I have to say the condom on the cover of the book is also especially appropriate for my story!

So stop on by with your spoon in hand and leave a comment if you're in the mood!

How to Write Good Sex

Can't keep me away from my blog, can you? Well, I'm just popping in to let you know about a very educational interview over at The Loft Literary Center's website called Capturing Chemistry: Writing Good Sex. Veteran erotica writer Catherine Lundoff mentions yours truly as one of her favorite erotica writers in company with some of the best writers in the genre. Thanks so much, Catherine, and by the way, the feeling is mutual!

Amorous Woman at Fleshbot!

Well, just when you thought Lydia had truly taken her vows, she's back to her old tricks at the super-sexy site Fleshbot, with an excerpt from the ever-popular threesome scene with Kimura and Naomi from my novel, Amorous Woman. If you'd like a little nibble of some Japanese delicacies, stop on over and enjoy!

What's in a Name?--A Website for Writers

Okay, this is about my novel. Really. I'm researching names for my third major male character and I found this website which lists the most popular names by year. I own a copy of Beyond Jennifer and Jason as a professional resource (somehow using both Jennifer and Jason a lot in my stories), but this site really is more useful in terms of placing names historically, whether it's Edna in the 1880s or Michael throughout the twentieth century. The real reason I'm here, though, is that I discovered the name Donna was the seventh most popular girl's name of 1961, my birth year. I don't think of it being especially popular (and never really loved the name to be honest), but there you go--I'm popular!

And I have settled on a name for the guy, which is way better than calling him "young guy." Mission accomplished and back to work!

An Insight About CEO's Who Like to Bottom

So, I was on my walk this morning and somehow I got to thinking about the phenomenon of CEO's or other powerful men who like to be sexually dominated, and sometimes use their great wealth to purchase the services of a dominatrix. I read an article about this in The New Yorker back in the Tina Brown days, and ever since it seems that even minimally savvy people know this is a truth of human nature. How ironic indeed that the powerful yearn to be powerless in their deepest fantasies.

But I got to thinking about this in a different way, especially with regard to my own checkered past as an traditionally ambitious person (I don't consider myself such now). In fact, these "powerful" men are not overturning their basic nature when they kneel before their Mistress. They are simply continuing in their obeisance to an outside power that defines what they should do to be worthy. For indeed even the highest powers in Hollywood, Wall Street and the government have surely had to bend over and take whatever to get where they are, so that they can dish it out to others.

I don't know, maybe this isn't the most earth-shaking epiphany, but it struck me as an enlightening shift of perspective, a fruitful way to challenge "common wisdom." I've been in a questioning, challenging mood recently. Good for novel writing, perhaps?

What do you think? (And pass those cookies, please!)

Crappy Novels and the Years in the Cold

In honor of the big snow storm on the east coast, I thought I'd pass along this essay by Dani Shapiro that I saw reprinted in a friend's "room" at the Zoetrope writing workshop. This essay really touched on a lot of topics I've been pondering recently. It's long, but worth reading. Dani Shapiro is a "literary" writer, but her work has appeared in Best American Erotica as well.

This article is from The Los Angeles Times. And you know, I'm thinking I might need to read Shapiro's new memoir....

DANI SHAPIRO:

In the late 1980s, when I was a graduate student working on short stories and flirting with the idea of a novel, I came across an essay that was being passed around my circle of friends. It was titled "Writing in the Cold: The First Ten Years," and the author was the legendary editor and founder of New American Review, Ted Solotaroff.

Ten years! In the cold! Solotaroff wondered where all the talented young writers he had known or published when he was first editing New American Review had gone. Only a few had flourished. Some, he speculated, had ended up teaching, publishing occasionally in small journals. But most had just . . . given up. "It doesn't appear to be a matter of talent itself," he wrote. "Some of the most natural writers, the ones who seemed to shake their prose or poetry out of their sleeves, are among the disappeared. As far as I can tell, the decisive factor is what I call endurability: that is, the ability to deal effectively with uncertainty, rejection, and disappointment, from within as well as from without."

The writer's apprenticeship -- or perhaps, the writer's lot -- is this miserable trifecta: uncertainty, rejection, disappointment. In the 20 years that I've been publishing books, I have fared better than most. I sold my first novel while still in graduate school and published six more books, pretty much one every three years, like clockwork. I have made my living as a writer, living off my advances while supplementing my income by teaching and writing for newspapers and magazines.

As smooth as this trajectory might seem, however, my internal life as a writer has been a constant battle with the small, whispering voice (well, sometimes it shouts) that tells me I can't do it. This time, the voice taunts me, you will fall flat on your face. Every single piece of writing I have ever completed -- whether a novel, a memoir, an essay, short story or review -- has begun as a wrestling match between hopelessness and something else, some other quality that all writers, if they are to keep going, must possess.

Call it stubbornness, stamina, a take-no-prisoners determination, but a writer at work reminds me of nothing so much as a terrier with a bone: gnawing, biting, chewing, until finally there is nothing left to do but fall away.

I have taught in MFA programs for many years now, and I begin my first class of each semester by looking around the workshop table at my students' eager faces and then telling them they are pursuing a degree that will entitle them to nothing. I don't do this to be sadistic or because I want to be an unpopular professor; I tell them this because it's the truth. They are embarking on a life in which apprenticeship doesn't mean a cushy summer internship in an air-conditioned office but rather a solitary, poverty-inducing, soul-scorching voyage whose destination is unknown and unknowable.

If they were enrolled in medical school, in all likelihood they would wind up doctors. If in law school, better than even odds, they'd become lawyers. But writing school guarantees them little other than debt.

The instant score

Rereading Solotaroff's essay, as I did recently, I found that he was writing of a time that now seems quaint, almost innocent. By the 1980s, he bemoaned, the expectations young writers had of their future lives had "been formed by the mass marketing and subsidization of culture and by the creative writing industry. Their career models are not, say, Henry Miller or William Faulkner, but John Irving or Ann Beattie."

With the exception of Irving, most of the writers referenced by Solotaroff (Beattie, Bobbie Ann Mason, Joan Chase, Douglas Unger, Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Alan Hewat) would draw blank looks from my students, and the creative writing industry of the mid-1980s now seems like a few mom-and-pop shops scattered on a highway lined with strip malls and mega-stores. Today's young writers don't peruse the dusty shelves of previous generations. Instead, they are besotted with the latest success stories: The 18-year-old who receives a million dollars for his first novel; the blogger who stumbles into a book deal; the graduate student who sets out to write a bestselling thriller -- and did.

The 5,000 students graduating each year from creative writing programs (not to mention the thousands more who attend literary festivals and conferences) do not include insecurity, rejection and disappointment in their plans. I see it in their faces: the almost evangelical belief in the possibility of the instant score. And why not? They are, after all, the product of a moment that doesn't reward persistence, that doesn't see the value in delaying recognition, that doesn't trust in the process but only the outcome. As an acquaintance recently said to me: "So many crappy novels get published. Why not mine?"

The emphasis is on publishing, not on creating. On being a writer, not on writing itself. The publishing industry -- always the nerdy distant cousin of the rest of media -- has the same blockbuster-or-bust mentality of television networks and movie studios. There now exist only two possibilities: immediate and large-scale success, or none at all. There is no time to write in the cold, much less for 10 years.

I recently had the honor of acting as guest editor for the anthology "Best New American Voices 2010," the latest volume in a long-running annual series that contains some of the finest writing culled from students in graduate programs and conferences. Joshua Ferris, Nam Le, Julie Orringer and Maile Meloy are just a few of the writers published in previous editions, but now the series is coming to an end. Presumably, it wasn't selling, and its publisher could no longer justify bringing it out. Important and serious and just plain good books, the kind that require years spent in the trough of false starts and discarded pages -- these books need to be written far away from this culture of mega-hits, and yet that culture is so pervasive that one wonders how a young writer is meant to be strong enough to face it down.

The new bottom line

At the risk of sounding like I'm writing from my rocking chair, things were different when I started. My first three books sold, in combination, fewer than 15,000 copies in hardcover. My editor at the time told me there were 4,000 serious readers in America, and if I reached them, I was doing a good job. As naïve as this may sound, it never occurred to me that my modest sales record might one day spell the end of my career. I felt cared for, respected. I continued to be published, and eventually, my sales improved. I wrote a bestselling memoir, appeared on "The Oprah Winfrey Show" and published a subsequent novel that found a pretty wide readership. My timing has been good thus far -- and lucky.

But in the last several years, I've watched friends and colleagues suddenly find themselves without publishers after having brought out many books. Writers now use words like "track" and "mid-list" and "brand" and "platform." They tweet and blog and make Facebook friends in the time they used to spend writing. Authors who stumble can find themselves quickly in dire straits. How, under these conditions, can a writer take the risks required to create something original and resonant and true?

Perhaps there is a clue to be found near the end of Solotaroff's essay: "Writing itself, if not misunderstood and abused, becomes a way of empowering the writing self. It converts anger and disappointment into deliberate and durable aggression, the writer's main source of energy. It converts sorrow and self-pity into empathy, the writer's main means of relating to otherness. Similarly, his wounded innocence turns into irony, his silliness into wit, his guilt into judgment, his oddness into originality, his perverseness into his stinger."

The writer who has experienced this even for a moment becomes hooked on it and is willing to withstand the rest. Insecurity, rejection and disappointment are a price to pay, but those of us who have served our time in the frozen tundra will tell you that we'd do it all over again if we had to. And we do. Each time we sit down to create something, we are risking our whole selves. But when the result is the transformation of anger, disappointment, sorrow, self-pity, guilt, perverseness and wounded innocence into something deep and concrete and abiding -- that is a personal and artistic triumph well worth the long and solitary trip.

Shapiro's new book, "Devotion: A Memoir," is just out. She will read at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena on Feb. 24 and Diesel Books in Brentwood on Feb. 26.

I Love Sex With Strangers

Well, not exactly, but "Sex with Strangers" is title of my guest blog over at the wonderful "Oh Get a Grip!" today. I weigh in on the relative merits of sex versus love in erotica and life, and of course, given my focus on writing new stuff, I tie it all into the theme of "keep writing." I guess I'm just an obsessed would-be second novelist! And special thanks to Ashley Lister for inviting me to be part of the blog, and helping me to decide where I come down on the choice of sex or love. My answer surprised me!

So, I actually made some good progress on my outline this week, thanks to green tea. Honestly, I bought some new premium green tea at my local Japanese grocery store (you all have one of those, too, right?) and the first morning, I was so clear-headed I just sat down and typed out a skeleton outline. I can see why the medieval Japanese monks loved this stuff for meditation! Coffee just makes me jittery. Snapple makes me feel like an aspartame addict. But green tea--the best. And this time my novel isn't even about Japan. In the process, I got a much clearer sense of one of the lovers, almost as if he was sparked to life in my head and started talking to me.

Hmm, I know this makes a writer seem a bit crazy, and maybe we are, but it's a good crazy, ya know?

I hope you all had a good writing week. If you're so moved, head over to "Oh Get A Grip," leave a comment and check out the other wonderful posts on this very pertinent topic.

A Call to Expose Yourself

I'm very excited to announce a new blog project that Shanna Germain, Neve Black and I are starting up called “F-Stop: Expose the Naked I." Our goal is to create a space for erotic artists working in a variety of media to reveal themselves and promote their work in a sensually and intellectually stimulating way. And we started with our awesomely lush and sexy banner designed by Cyn Sorensen (website TBA).

It is the nature of erotic art to expose hidden truths about sexuality through photographs, paint, or words, but in the process we are also exposing ourselves. At F-Stop we’d like to explore the ways we reveal ourselves both literally “in the flesh” and through our art. Beyond that, we have no restrictions; each guest blogger can explore this as creatively, playfully or seriously as s/he chooses.

Because F-Stop was originally inspired by our own author photographs, we’re planning to inaugurate the blog with a “naked I” series which focuses on the concept of nudity and revelation. We want you to be part of it! Here are a few possibilities for your post: you may feature a photograph with a short blurb describing/explaining/questioning something about the image and/or a piece of your writing that goes along with the image in some way; you can just send an excerpt from your written work with or without an author photograph that is especially revealing; or send artwork or something else that pushes the boundaries of our imaginations. We’ll also include a short bio with links to your website and blog, so this will be a good way to get your name (and other parts of you) out there to new eyeballs.

Btw, a “naked” image doesn’t necessarily mean a full-body boudoir portrait if you’re not comfortable with that--an eye, a hand, lips, a glimpse of shoulder all qualify!

If you’re interested in participating, contact me we’ll put you on the schedule and let you know when your post will go live. We'll be starting the fun on Valentine's Day, of course!

We hope you’ll consider exposing your “Naked I”!

It's My Pleasure

Just wanted to let you all know that an excerpt from my "I Dream of Jeannie" story, "Yes, Master," appeared in Fleshbot's book club feature. This ode to genie power is part of a very spicy anthology edited by Alison Tyler, Pleasure Bound: True Bondage Stories. I'm really thrilled my story was chosen from so many excellent, spell-binding pieces. I probably have Barbara Eden's magic to thank for that!

Clearly I'm preparing for the Big Holiday tomorrow by venturing forth from my groundhog hole into blogland....