Lessons from Literotica, Part II

So, what do I do when I finish a book? Have a cigarette and a glass of Dom Perignon? Drop onto the couch and scrub all coherent thought from my mind by watching Sci Fi Channel movies? Hell, no. I treat myself to a session of Lessons from Literotica! (Can't afford to stop honing my craft. Not for a minute.)

In this installment, I practice the delicate art of collaboration. (Well, not really.) Below, in boldface, are actual lines from actual stories at my favorite free erotic-fiction website; they're not my words. Following them are my additions/continuations. (I admit, I did have to clean up some of the punctuation to make for more seamless transitions. But I left much of the original stuff as it was found.)

* * * * *

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to...to...to come."

"I want you to" you breathe softly, "All over everywhere!"

"Listen, moron," I tell you. "In case you haven't taken a reality check lately, everywhere is a honkin' big place. You think I got nuts the size of Jupiter's moons? And even with these toasted almonds I do have--guess what? We're in a closed car rolling through Jiffy Wash! Are you gonna clean up the mess, dumbass, or should I just open the windows?"

* * * * *

"Please oh pleease pleease, god I need you I can’t take this, please please" was all that escaped my throat in a hoarse whisper between stuttering breaths and muffled sobs. And let me tell ya, I was pretty damned disappointed in myself. I should've been able to do better than fourteen words, even with the extra vowels and in spite of my hoarse, stuttering, sobbing breathlessness. I mean, I've been practicing in-bed begging for, like, years.

* * * * *

While I was in the midst of my incredulousness he entered me. I went from there to dismayedness to pissed-offedness. In my awedness, I'd overlooked a need for carefulness. Because, in his excitedness, he'd fallen into stupidness. Bastard isn't wearing a condom, I thought in the midst of a wave of homicidalness.

* * * * *

“Fine I’ll give it to you. My fat hard 9 inch cock inside your tight pussy, bitch. Spread em, whore,” he demanded, pulling my legs apart.

“oh god yessss” i moaned.

I've always been a sucker for the sweet-talkers. And this adorable buckaroo could lay it on ... thick as honey.

* * * * *

She slowly released her lips from around the tip of his penis and let the saliva ooze down. Because she'd heard somewhere, possibly from a sexually confused televangelist who'd suffered irreparable brain damage while stumbling in and out of the closet, that nothin' says lovin' like gobs of spit crawling amoeba-like over a flaccid dick you have to hold beneath the cap just to keep it from folding over.

Yum.

* * * * *

Running her fingers through the pubic hair, again she felt the matted feeling of sweat, dried cum, saliva and her own juices from last night but, hell, she'd have a shower later and clean up. Maybe. She shoved her fingers through it again, or tried to. Yeah, nice. Like last year's lutefisk encrusted in the beard of a drunken Norwegian fisherman. She figured it was good for another week, at least. Her hand moved lower and she rested it over her vulva mound again, as she had done a few minutes ago in bed, felt her outer fanny lips. And then, drowsily, she thought, Shit, wait. Should there be two pair? I can't remember. Oh, damn, there could be Americans reading this. They're going to think this is a story about filthy, reeking female aliens with double sets of labia growing out of their arse cheeks like bloody flippin' gills! The idjits.

* * * * *

“I’m not really a slut” she stammered, “its just that the way you kissed me awakened an uncontrollable urge, I felt like such a dirty girl a slut, your slut! and I wanted to get dirtier and sluttier and taste your cum!” she went on, a look of confusion on her face. “I have to go this isn’t right!”

I smiled as she went through the door. I allowed a few minutes before I sent a text message to her mobile phone “Yes you are my slut, and you will do as I say Lisa, you will learn to crave the taste of my cum, and allow me to take you for my pleasure (signed K).

It took another 15 minutes before she replied “yes I will be your slut, teach me! use me! please! L.”

I chuckled to myself as the seed of a plan grew in my minds eye.

[Note from KZ: I'm afraid I can't work on this one. It's so exquisite, I feel daunted.]

* * * * *

Carol latched onto his lips with hers. She turned the key in the lock. That'll teach him, she thought with vicious satisfaction.

Kathy saw his tight ass staring her in the face. Pity he couldn't coax it into relaxing. It had such beautiful blue eyes.

He saw his cock waving in the air and, after a moment's hesitation, waved back.

~~~

Phrew! Well, enough for tonight. My creative juices are tapped out.

A "Cold Shower Required Read"

Pleasant surprises sometimes turn up when you least expect them.

Unbeknownst to me (until I stumbled upon the post), Tuscan Capo over at Pickled Cupid gave Wing and Tongue--yup, it of the beautiful cover--a RED STAR! This time, though, the accolades are for the actual story, not the cover. And that red star entitles me to put up the icon you see in this post.

I'm so grateful. I was starting to think people just stared in hypnotic wonderment at the artwork but never read a word of the text.

Capo doesn't review books, just reads and sometimes recommends them. Good enough for me, baby!

Update: The Book Nobody Wants

Do NOT follow this cliched advice: "Write what you love." Well, go ahead and follow it if you must, but don't expect to get published.

Poor, uncategorizable InDescent is still making the rounds and bouncing off pigeonholes into which it just can't fit. This hybrid urban fantasy/journey of self-discovery/m-m erotic romance has no niche!

Objection #1 - The villain isn't villainous enough. (Uh...that's because he isn't a villain. A wannabe villain--yes. A little bit of a prod, an antagonist, a foil--maybe. Primarily, though, this superficial, self-centered doofus serves, through contrast, to highlight the essential albeit flawed nobility of the protagonist and his lover. If the book has a villain, it lurks within the hero's internal landscape. In other words, he's his own worst enemy...and must come to realize that.)

Objection #2 - The "love interest" doesn't appear until halfway through the story. (Not entirely true. He isn't part of the on-scene action, although his presence is felt nearly from the start. When he does show up in person, things really start getting intense.)

Ah, well. I never bothered actually responding to these objections. There's no battling publishers' models or genre norms, and there's no point in trying. I learned that a long time ago. All one can do is swallow and move on.

So just bear in mind when you write what you love that it may not fit current fiction formulas. Be prepared to put on your patience-pants.

Wing and Tongue cover scores again!

I'll tell ya, that Syneca really puts out some impressive work. The Fantasm Awards finalists for fantasy/paranormal cover art are now posted. It isn't a surprise that my luminous cover for Wing and Tongue (from Ellora's Cave) is one of the nominees. It's already received one award, and deservedly so. I'm still bemoaning the fact Syneca didn't do the covers for the other two books in this fantasy cycle.

And this brings up the interesting point of a cover's role in a book's saleability. There's no doubt in my mind that the quality of cover art makes a difference.

I've posted before about the success of Wing and Tongue in relation to Cauldron of Keridwen and Prince of Glacier Glas. The last of these is, I believe, the best book by far in the Galdeshian fantasy cycle, and I wanted the cover to reflect that.

So I specifically requested art similar to Syneca's. I was presented with a cover that was kinda-sorta like hers but just didn't have the GASP! quality -- the brilliance, the finesse. When I asked the art director for some minor touch-ups and polish, he pretty much blew me off.

It rankles to this day.

Anyway, if you're a fan of Syneca's craftsmanship, please click on the post title and give her work a vote. Not my work, mind you; hers.

Award nominations ~ what are they about?

Last night, I got an impersonal email from The Romance Studio informing me that one of my books was a CAPA nominee. They didn't mention the title of the work in their email; I had to go to the TRS site, find the CAPA page, then scroll down the long, long list of nominees and search for one of my titles. Damned if I knew what book they were referring to, because TRS hardly ever reviews my stuff.

There it was, near the bottom of the page in the "Psyche" category: Cheer Givers & Mischief Makers. Huh? This Quickie was first published two years ago, as part of the "Valentine Vixens" series for Ellora's Cave. Truth be told, I'd pretty much forgotten about it. But because TRS didn't review the story until May of 2008, it apparently was eligible for a Psyche award this year. I was flabbergasted . . . and not in a particularly good way.

There are probably fifty titles, give or take, in the Psyche Award category. It's a big ol' catch-all stewpot of romance fiction, from shorts to full novels to anthologies to at least one series, in every imaginable subgenre, by big names and no-names. A HUGE ol' stewpot.

It took me a while to figure out what these disparate works had in common. Twenty minutes later, light dawned. They all received five stars from TRS reviewers but were actually published long before they were reviewed. So, rather than put them in the running for Da Major Award (which is only for books published and reviewed in the past year), they were all dumped into Da Minor Award category. Together.

So I'm looking at the nominees. And I'm thinking, WTF? There's no division here. My fluffy little Quickie is up against the likes of Shiloh Walker and the freakin' Adrien English mystery series! Okay, let me go smoke something until this makes sense.

If Valentine's Day weren't right around the corner, I would've been too ashamed to post an excerpt at TRS, which I was requested to do. Even with Valentine's Day coming, I balked at the thought. CGMM is an enjoyable bit of smut based on an original concept but hardly my best work. Were it up against other enjoyable bits of smut, I wouldn't care. I'd even pimp my bit of smut. Hell, I'd root for my bit of smut!

But this contest? This is just plain humiliating.

I would've been more than content with, and grateful for, that very nice review.