Sacchi Green Blog Tour – Sex Scenes Without Fear

I have to admit I was pretty excited to be asked to host a stopover on Sacchi Green’s Wild Rides Blog Tour. After all, Sacchi is famous for writing and curating incredibly intense, hot, fiery, edge-of-your-seat erotica. And I’m famous for—Well, closing the doors and giving my characters a little privacy. Still, I think hot lesbian erotica is an important part of the lesfic world and I will always celebrate those who do it well.

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You can enter to win a free ebook or some other cool stuff at our Rafflecopter giveaway HERE.

Without further ado, please welcome the inimitable Sacchi Green.


 

I’ve been kindly invited to blog here on the occasion of the Dirt Road Books publication of Wild Rides and other Lesbian Erotic Adventures, a collection of my own stories. I’ve edited about fifteen anthologies consisting mostly of work by other writers, but I’ve also been writing for other folks’ anthologies, and the chance to have some of my own grouped all together in one book is a huge treat for me.

 

But I’m not going to talk much today about the book itself. In my years of writing and editing I’ve been dedicated to making a case for erotica as a potentially worthwhile sub-genre. I’ve done panels at various conventions on how to write sex scenes, and pontificated on the subject in online groups, so in spite of the fact that you wouldn’t be reading this at all if you weren’t already at least tolerant of erotica, I’ll share part of a chapter I wrote for a friend’s now out-of-print book.

 

Sex Scenes Without Fear

What is it about sex scenes? No other section of a book other than, possibly, the ending, inspires so much flipping through the pages. Some readers will be avid to find the “good parts” and devour them first, while others will want to make sure they know which pages to avoid. It’s equally true that some writers can’t wait to get working on the erotic bits, while others, pressured to include them by editors or by their own assessments of the market, avoid writing them until everything else has been done and they can’t procrastinate any longer.

I won’t try to tell you, as a writer, that whatever method you use is wrong. If you can make it work, that’s great. But I will tell you what kind of reader you should write for: one who opens herself to your characters, gets drawn into their lives and emotions, and follows wherever the story leads because it’s so compelling that she can’t bear to miss a word. Not even words she might usually avoid.

Your first responsibility is to give this reader what she needs. Being true to your characters is just as essential, but you’ve seduced the reader into some degree of identification with your POV character, so it amounts to the same thing. And what she needs, besides an emotional bond that intensifies into a physical one, is a scene that flows naturally from what comes before and advances the characterization and story arc at least as much as any other element of the work.

Sex scenes serve many purposes beyond satisfying an editor who believes that they sell books. Erotic interchanges can be as revelatory of character as any other basic human activity, and more so than most, since they deal with heightened emotions and senses and, in some cases, heavily weighted baggage from past experience. If you’ve already developed your characters fully, aspects of their personalities and histories can be emphasized in sex scenes, but you may also find that these scenes provide ways to slip in details not revealed in calmer moments. Shyness or confidence, impulsiveness or self-control, tenderness, vulnerability, repression, unapologetic sensuality; these are only a few of the traits that can be surface in the heat of a sexual encounter. The characters may even surprise themselves with their own reactions.

The sex scene can also serve less complex purposes. Sometimes your characters (and the reader) just need to have a really good time, whether as a counterpoint to the stresses of whatever else is happening in your story or as a pacing device to vary the mood from scene to scene. And eventually you have to deliver the implicitly promised payoff to all the emotional and erotic tension you’ve been building.

You have been building erotic tension, haven’t you? It’s a huge mistake to think of a sex scene as a single obligatory lump of action inserted into your story with no relevance to the rest, sticking out like a sore thumb. (Yes, that’s an unforgivable cliché. Yes, I could think of several metaphors more in keeping with our topic, but I’ll leave those as an exercise for the reader.)

When it comes to building toward sex scenes, foreshadowing is like foreplay. It’s not going to be convincing for your characters to leap suddenly into a passionate clinch without ever having given hints, in thought or deed, of a growing sexual attraction. Even if your plot involves repression or denial, you need to find subtle ways of showing that something is simmering under the surface. The reader, as well as the characters, has to be ready for an eruption. In a novel that isn’t specifically erotica you don’t want to overdo the sensual foreshadowing to the point of distraction from the other essential elements, but it does need to be part of the blend.

So now your characters, setting, and emotional connection with your reader have been established. You’ve drawn on all or most of the senses, using sight, hearing, scent, touch, and taste wherever they might be appropriate. Erotic tension has mounted, and you’ve reached the point when a sex scene is the natural next step in the progression of their relationship (and your story). Many writers, as well as readers, would prefer to leave the rest to the imagination, but if you’re reading this we’ll assume that for one reason or another—editorial pressure, personal inclination, recognition of the importance to the story as a whole—you intend to create a fully developed and explicit sexual encounter.

Just how explicit is explicit enough? I used to say, when asked, that a story crosses the line into erotica when the writer has to make decisions about what terms to use for parts of the body. It was a stupid answer. It’s quite possible (and an intriguing challenge) to write intensely arousing and satisfying scenes without naming body parts at all. Anyone reading your work is likely to be familiar with the anatomical territory, and will understand what’s going on from the context and the reactions and dialogue of the characters (assuming that “Yes, there, please, right there,” counts as dialogue).

Nevertheless, the language you use to describe sex can have nearly as much impact on the reader as the actions you’re describing. For better or for worse, sex has accumulated so much baggage in our culture that “dirty” words carry an erotic jolt of their own, positive for some people, negative for others. All you can do is be familiar enough with your characters to know whether they’d say “pussy” or “vulva”; “clit” or “clitoris”; “labia” or “lips”, or…well, you get the picture. Even the choice between “breasts” or “tits” or “boobs” says something about the character’s personality, background, and mood.  “Tits” is a perfectly good colloquial version of “teats”, a term currently more in use in animal husbandry, but these days “tits” has a certain edge to it that might or might not be what you’re looking for. “Boobs” feels to me like a more casual, flippant usage, which can have its place as well. Just be glad that in lesbian fiction we don’t have to deal with labels for male genitalia, unless in a metaphorical sense, but really, let’s not go there.

My advice, from the perspective of just one reader/writer/editor, is to get as much mileage as you can out of non-controversial terms, and then use the others, but sparingly. Hands, fingers, tongues, thighs; few descriptions are more erotic than getting any of the first three moving between a pair of the fourth. When the focus inevitably becomes so narrowed that you do need more specific (or “explicit”) language, keep it short and non-clinical.

The one time above all others when you don’t want to throw the reader out of the scene (or have the book thrown against the wall) is in the full heat of a sexual encounter. Or a good fuck, if you prefer blunt to stilted. If you’re going to try your hand at new ways to describe, say, hardened nipples, you might come up with something creative and right to the point, but you’d better run it by an unbiased beta reader or two. (Acorns and berries and snails and pencil erasers have already been used, just so you know.) I’m not saying that you should never be creative, but you need to be aware of the hazards. All of the other advice you’ve seen about keeping adverbs and adjectives to a minimum applies here, as well, and ellipses, especially tempting in erotica since so much reaction is non-verbal, need just as firm a hand.

Another word-choice issue, one inherent in same-sex erotica, is the problem of pronouns. Which “she” is touching which “her” with whose hand? A first person point of view takes care of the problem with “I” and “She, but deciding what kind of POV works best for a story should be based on other factors.

So what can you do? Ideally the context, the individualized personalities of the characters, and their relative positions at a given time (if one is standing and the other is sitting, we know who’s reaching down and who’s looking up), will make some of the interactions clear. When these aren’t enough, don’t be afraid to use their names, even if it seems repetitive. Don’t give in to the urge to use too many adjectives, at least not in the form of “the darker woman” or “the whimpering girl”; these distance the reader from the action at just the worst time. This doesn’t mean that you can’t get away with some physical descriptions to indicate who’s doing what—“dark hair brushed her skin”, “her large hand moved faster”—but don’t rely on them too often. When you need to use a name for clarity, do it. If you’re handling the rest of the scene well enough, the reader will be too involved to notice.

This brings us to writing the scene itself. “Focus” is the key word. Focus on what your characters are feeling. People read for the sensations it arouses. The stimulation might be intellectual, or something along the lines of sense-of-wonder, but far more often they’re looking for an emotional and sensual charge, something that stirs the body as well as the mind. A romantic scene can do this as well as an erotic one for many readers. There’s a physical reaction; the heart seems to swell, the pulse quickens, the face may flush, there may even be a hint of tears. It’s no accident that something with emotional appeal is often termed “touching”. Taking it to the next, erotic, level should build on this physical response, extend it to more areas of the body, and intensify it.

There’s no single required structure for a sex scene. For one thing, the scene doesn’t stand alone, unless it constitutes the entirety of a short story. You may have got your characters (and the reader) so worked up that they go right at it the moment they’ve made it to a private corner, or the tone may not even be overtly erotic at the beginning, until some catalyst triggers a reaction that becomes an irresistible force. You’ve been leading up to this, building erotic tension at various strategic points, sometimes subtly, sometimes with more emphasis. You may have established a pattern this way that echoes the overall structure of the plot, but by the time you reach the “real” sex scene the flow should be almost entirely forward. There can be exceptions; your plan for character development might call for one or another of the lovers to show hesitation, or experience painful flashbacks, or something along those lines; but your ultimate goal is an uninterrupted stretch of accelerating heat that comes to a satisfying conclusion. You don’t necessarily want to reach that point too fast, though–getting there is a whole lot of the fun. Wild Rides promo.2.2 (1)

Don’t feel that you have to include acts that you actually find distasteful. If, for instance, the thought of using teeth on tender parts makes you cringe (and assuming that cringing is not something you enjoy on any level), or feather-stroking strikes you as merely annoying, don’t use them. There are plenty of other options. A scene where everyone remains fully clothed and the major friction comes from thighs pressing into crotches can be as erotic as naked slippery bodies performing complex contortions. You just have to do a good enough job of showing how intensely the participants are enjoying it to convince the reader and take her along for the ride. Focus on the feelings.

But what do editors look for? Don’t they require a certain amount of explicit language and hotter-than-life sex? Probably most do, but they value the story component too. I’ve edited over a dozen erotica anthologies, and I’ve never consciously established any kind of quota for sexual content. Well, if it’s an erotica anthology, there should be sexual tension, and someone, at some point, should reach orgasm, although even that isn’t always necessary. Sex has to be a significant part of the story, but it needs to have a good story around it, and I especially like it when even the sex is about more than sex.

That’s really all I can tell you in general terms about writing sex scenes. Create characters, setting, plot, and sensory details that will draw the reader into the story, and when a sex scene is the natural next step, focus on feelings. Develop it just as you would in any other part of the story, but even more so, because there really is something special about sex scenes.

 

Have I followed my own advice in the stories in Wild Rides? I really don’t know, so feel free to let me know where I’ve gone wrong.

 

Upcoming stops on the Sacchi Green blog tour:

3/27 — Women and Words
3/28 —  Cheyenne Blue

Previous stops:

3/19 — Sacchi Green
3/20 — KD Williamson
3/21 — Annette Mori
3/22 — Andi Marquette

3/25 — R.G. Emmanuelle 

 


Sacchi Green is a Lambda Award-winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. She lives in western Massachusetts, with an alternate retreat in the mountains of New Hampshire and occasional forays into such real world spots as NYC for readings. Her work has appeared in scores of publications, including multiple volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica, Best Transgender Erotica, and Best Fantasy Erotica, and she’s also edited seventeen anthologies over the last fourteen years, most of them lesbian erotica. Nine have been finalists for Lambda Literary Awards, and two of those have been Lambda winners, while four have won Golden Crown Literary Society awards. All these awards, of course, are actually due to the fine writers who trust her with their work.

 

Sacchi has most recently edited Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year 20th Anniversary Edition, Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 2 and Volume 3, and, possibly the most fun of all, Witches, Princesses and Women at Arms: Erotic Lesbian Fairy Tales. Her very first novel is Shadow Hand, a superheroine book that puts a new twist on the genre, and her newest publication is a collection of her own short stories, Wild Rides and Other Lesbian Erotic Adventures, from Dirt Road Books. You can find her online at: https://www.facebook.com/sacchi.green and http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com, and contact her at sacchigreen@gmail.com.

Celebrating Women (Subtitle: Leave My Sister Alone)

I’m a fat activist. That is, I’m fat and I am an activist. Or, at least, I’m as much of an activist as I can be between teaching five classes, running an online writing academy, donating my time to sit on the board of directors for the Golden Crown Literary Society, marketing my novels, finishing my second master’s degree, trying to find a publisher for my women’s fiction book, and dealing with immigration with my Canadian wife. I’m not glorifying busy here, it’s just the state of my life right now.

When I *am* focusing my attention on the fat-phobia that permeates our nation, I generally do so by pointing out the wage gap often seen between fat people and non-fat people, the way folks seem to think it’s okay to yell insults at me when I’m outside exercising, and the way seemingly well-meaning people like to say, “I have this new diet you should try.”

Mostly, my activism comes in the form of gently correcting people who mean well and raising my middle finger to people who don’t. Sometimes it comes in the form of reposting quotes from people who step outside of the patriarchal idea of womanhood in adele.PNGone way or another.  Do I shave my legs? Nope. Do I care what you think about that fact? Nope.

Most days, however, my activism just comes in the form of living my life as a large woman and dealing with the bigotry and hatred that is often directed at people, especially women, of size by this world that has somehow made it clear that being skinny is preferable to being fat, even if that comes at the cost of one’s health.

 

On a related topic – my sister has always been unhappy with her weight. Like me, she yo-yo dieted for much of her life. Like me, she grew up in a household where our weight was a main topic of mockery and discussion. Our father used to have a saying, “There’s large, there’s extra-large and then there’s you – Whoa, my god, it’s coming toward me.” Like me, she got into relationships with people who didn’t value her body the way it was. Like me, she suffered insults and jabs and substandard medical care. Like me, she felt out of place almost all the time. Like me, she learned from our mother that dieting and self-deprivation is the only way to be a good person. Like me, she hated her body and everything else about herself. Like me, she lived with abusive people far longer than she should have because she didn’t think she had any other choices. And like me, she ultimately came to fall in love with someone who loved and accepted her just the way she was.

This is where our stories diverged. I threw myself into my life and, with the help of my wife, decided to stop dieting ever again. We’re vegan, we eat mostly whole food, plant based. We sometimes have cake. We’ve been known to order a vegan pizza here and there and eat the whole thing while watching Doctor Who episodes. We go for walks, we go for bikes rides, we sleep in and drink coffee in bed. We eat the same things, same portions, same snacks. The difference is that my wife is tiny and I’m fat. (And she also travels so she sometimes [often] gets bags of M&Ms on the road. I see you, babe. Love you.) I didn’t spend my time losing weight, but I spent my time getting happy with my body, luxuriating in how it feels to be intimate with someone who adores the feel and look of my body. I focused on self-care, self-advocacy, and self-love. I learned to stand up to doctors who, when I walk in to talk about a sore throat, say, “Let’s talk about weight loss.” I’m fat and I’m healthy. My blood pressure is normal, my blood sugars are normal, and I have an incredible life in every way. In essence, I became a fat activist simply by existing.

My sister, on the other hand, decided she wanted to lose the weight. She wasn’t happy with her body, she didn’t feel comfortable moving, and she wasn’t healthy. She started Brightline Eating and she lost a lot of weight and she has kept it off. If anyone here has ever lost a significant amount of weight and kept it off, you know what an incredible feata laura that is. I liken it to being harder than quitting smoking, because when you quit smoking, you can just be done with cigarettes for life, but you always have to come back to food. She put a ton of work into it – skipping parties or taking her own food to restaurants, weighing and measuring everything she ate. And she is happy with her accomplishment. She’s happy that she can move her body in ways that feel good to her. She’s happy that she succeeded at something so hard.

And she got to be on a magazine cover! I mean if that isn’t a super-incredible reward for a ton of hard work, what is? My sister worked hard and she’s proud of herself. And she should be.

Fast forward to people sharing the picture from the magazine above and inevitably, someone has to say, “You’re harming fat women by celebrating your weight loss.” My sister calmly responded that this was a personal achievement that she needed to do for her own health and happiness. And at least one person came back with the idea that my sister was parading and flaunting herself and putting it on magazines which perpetuates the idea that thin = healthy.

Folks. this entire culture is designed to make women feel bad about their bodies. Everything in the media, in commercials, in movies, in music videos is designed to make women hate their bodies.

For us to turn around and shame a woman who has moved out of the cycle of self-hatred is also participating in that culture. My sister is a rock star and I celebrate her hard work. When she posts a picture of herself celebrating having lost the weight, the person who shames her for that is just as bad as the culture that created a need for women to hate their bodies. It isn’t right. And it isn’t fair. How dare you blame my sister for perpetuating something we are steeped in 24/7 from the moment we are born? How dare you slam her for finding her own way to deal with a culture that tells her (us) that she is wrong no matter what she does? How dare you?

Women, the only way to truly lift ourselves and each other out of this lifetime of oppression is to support and nurture each other. That means accepting each other’s choices. It’s why my sister doesn’t try to force her lifestyle on me and it’s why I don’t get to force mine on her. It’s no different than accepting that some women will color their hair and some will go naturally grey. Some will be bald. Some shave their legs. Some have armpit hair. We don’t get to tell another woman what she should do with her body and we don’t get to decide for another woman how to survive in a culture designed to bring us down.

 

 

 

2019 – The Year of Beth

I quit smoking ten years ago this month. It was, at that time, the biggest and hardest thing I had ever done. I went cold turkey and I spent the first three months feeling as if I was going to die and the next three months wanting a cigarette every single day. After a year, it was over. And ever since I made that change, I have started every new year with this statement. “This is the year of Beth.”

brutie and gordoSome amazing things have happened since the first “year of Beth.” I’ve written eight novels and published six of them. I’ve had stories in several anthologies. I went back to school and proceeded to get my BA in English, then an MA in Creative Writing, and (almost) an MA in Communications, Marketing, and Digital Media. I adopted Gordo the Magnificent. I bought a home. I went to my first Golden Crown Literary Society conference, then got elected to the board, then moved into the Director of Education position where I took over running the writing academy and have continued to help it evolve into the incredible program it is today. I become an adjunct instructor teaching core English at a community college and literature for an MFA program. I left a long-term toxic relationship and, after several years and several near-misses, met and married the love of my life.

It has been a pretty incredible ten years. 

It wasn’t all rosy. There were tears and heartache and moments of not being able to pay the bills. I remember a winter sitting in my living room wrapped in multiple sweaters, and blankets, shivering because I knew if I turned the heat any higher, I wouldn’t be able to pay the gas bill.  There have been depressive episodes so bad I couldn’t leave the house. There was a bout with the flu that almost killed me. There was a relationship that ended so badly, my ex took to social media to tell lies about me to our (former) mutual friends, many of whom ditched me based on her say-so. There was the time when Brutus was diagnosed with diabetes and refused to eat so I could give him his shots and he got thinner and thinner until I was sure he was going to die. (Note: He is a chunky-monkey now and doing just fine for a thirteen-year-old dog.) Continue reading “2019 – The Year of Beth”

Tell a Writer You Love Them

Today, a woman messaged me on FB to tell me she loved my book Coming Around Again. She mentioned how much she loved the character development of the group of friends and the ups and downs of everyone over a lifetime.

Related to this – authors go through ups and downs, just like our characters. Of course, I can only speak for myself, but I have moments when I wonder if I’m in the wrong career. I have times when a bad review will send me spiralling. I have times when I recognize my books aren’t selling or I haven’t been nominated for an award and I start to feel that I’m wasting my time writing.

I should qualify this by saying there are times when I absolutely love writing, when I can’t imagine doing anything else, when I know in my heart of hearts that I write for the sanity of my own soul and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

And still, I have those days when I wonder if I simply suck too much to ever make it.

And then someone messages out of the blue to tell me they couldn’t put down my book, that they fell in love with my characters, that they feel as if they haven’t left my fictional world even though they finished the book days ago. Continue reading “Tell a Writer You Love Them”

Boxing Day – Flash Fiction

Boxing Day. Who the hell invented this stupid holiday anyway? I could have been in a boxing match last night considering how I feel this morning. I yank open the curtains, letting the bright morning sun burn my eyes. Squinting, I peer into the front yard. My neighbor is outside in boxer shorts, snow boots, and a parka, picking up beer bottles and ashtrays.

He looks up and waves. “Come on out, Greta. We’ll have a hair of the dog.”

I shake my head and turn away from the window. My gratitude for his invitation to the drunken family Christmas only goes so far. Besides, I brought a present – the scented candle my mother sends me every year despite my lifelong allergy to scents.

A vague memory of making out with the neighbor’s cousin from Winnipeg prods at the corner of my mind. Did I do that? She’d cornered me several times, excited to meet the next-door lesbian. Cute girl, buck teeth. I had scraped my tongue across them by accident. I prodded my front teeth with the tip of my tongue. Yep. Had a sore there.

My slippers are on the couch. I toss them on the floor and slip my feet into them. They’re red and green and have bells on the toes. They’re lined with some sort of fake fur. Green fake fur. Mel got them for me last Christmas. I remember her little smile, the flush on her cheeks. “Your feet are always cold,” she had said. “And you refuse to wear socks.” Continue reading “Boxing Day – Flash Fiction”

Grief and Legacy

Grief is weird, isn’t it? Sometimes it hides and you go days or weeks feeling great. Then it jumps out at you at the strangest times.

A few years ago, I went to the LCLC literary conference held by Sapphire Books. There, I met Amanda Kyle Williams, a lovely, brilliant, introverted author. She gave an incredible keynote speech and later, volunteered to speak to the writing academy students twice.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, my mother knit her a blanket which was promptly taken over by the pets in her home.

I have a few fun and funny memories of Amanda, but my favorite was when I tried to teach her a song to sing to Spike, the neighbor cat.

(To the tune of Let’s All go to the Lobby)

I like singing to kitties,

Cuz kitties like my singing

And humans don’t like my singing

But kitties like it a lot.

There’s another verse, but you get the idea. We sang it together a couple times, then I told her she could sing it as she went to feed all the neighborhood cats. Her response – “Right, because the neighborhood doesn’t already think I’m insane, wandering down the street in pajamas and rain boots with a wagon full of pet food and a herd of animals following me.”

This is only relevant because years later, for some reason, this morning I woke up with that song in my head. And as I was singing it, I was swept with such a huge wave of grief for this lovely woman who fought long and hard and ultimately lost her battle with cancer.

I was thinking about grief and how it attacks when you least expect it when I logged on to my email this morning and saw this blog post by my friend, Carleen. She was reviewing an excellent book by Anna Burke – and in the post, she referenced Sandra Moran, an author who also died way too young because of cancer.

Thinking of Sandra, reading about one of the authors who is succeeding because of her, lifted my grief. These women left a legacy – that of using their talent and their voices to help other writers find ways to bring their own voices to light.

And that’s the legacy I hope to leave. Through my work with the writing academy, through my beta reading for my students, through teaching everything from freshman comp to advanced studies in literature, I am using my voice to help other writers find theirs. Just like Amanda. Just like Sandra.

That’s why I devote so much time to the GCLS Writing Academy. And it’s why I spend time helping my students really understand the concepts we’re addressing in class. It’s important to me and if it’s important to them, I want to be there to give them every chance to succeed, just as others have done for me.

That’s the true circle of life – supporting others so they can go on to do the same.

 

NaNoWriMo

I can’t believe I’m considering another NaNoWriMo. It’s addictive. Last year, I wrote 51,000 words in a month. Maybe some people do this on a regular basis, but for me, it was a struggle. Yet, I did it. What’s more, I proved to myself that I *can* do it.

So when a friend asked if I was going to do it again this year, I thought, why not?

It’s not as if I have anything else going on.

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Last year, I did Coyote Ate the Stars. This year, I’m going to do a sequel in which Coyote and his sister go back to Adumbrate to rescue the man who was left behind in the pit of souls.

It’s just 1667 words a day for 30 days. I can totally do this.

I hope.