Supersize Me! (or: Whatever Happened to 'Less is More?')

There was a tradition in Greek Theatre that violence almost always took place offstage. If a character was murdered, he or she left the stage, the act took place as the audience listened to the screams of the victim, and then a messenger character returned with a gory mask (actors all wore masks) and the hair-raising tale of the character's demise.

Some scholars believe this tradition rose due to the limitations of the time. There were a limited number of actors, thus, it didn't make sense to kill off an actor when he was needed for another role. (I find this unconvincing, since indeed, all actors wore masks.) Another explanation is that they lacked the technical skills and special effects to pull off a really good scene of violence. Again, that really doesn't hold water with me. Its more likely that the Greek playwrights were fully aware that a well-crafted story and the suggestion of horror was more effective than the graphic, in-your-face violence and sex of later Roman theatre.

Like the Romans, today's western audience wants it bigger, badder, and more realistic. Thankfully, we haven't yet resorted to carrying out executions on screen for the edification of the movie-goer. We seem to want to see the pins gouging out the eyes, the woman raped with nightmarish brutality, or the splatter of blood drifting toward the camera in graceful slow motion. Like your favorite meal at a fast food restaurant, if a little is good, a lot must be better.

Unfortunately, I've seen this trend in romantic fiction as well. Tortured heroes are...tortured. Literally. Characters with backgrounds of abuse are forced to play out the horror of their past in loving detail over and over again. Authors seem to want to throw in the blood, anguish and outrage by the shovelful, which eventually loses its ability to move the reader emotionally. As children, characters are raped, molested, maimed and otherwise abused. Their bodies and minds are scarred, which gives foundation to later conflict in the story. Emotional threads in stories are reduced to the lowest common denominator. That's ok, but do we really have to watch?

Greek drama strove to produce an emotional catharsis in the viewer. A well crafted novel or play has the ability to drag the reader along, inspiring fear, dread and grief for the characters without the use of cheap tricks and excessive gore. The audience could only watch helplessly as Oedipus moves relentlessly toward his tragic fate, or as Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter to summon the winds to Troy. Read the Grapes of Wrath, and write down how you feel upon finishing the book. Watch Steven Chow's HK comedy King of Beggers. You'll find yourself laughing, and then crying, and then laughing again.

In Blacque/Bleu, Oliver Bleu has a truly horrific past. He was a soldier in the trenches of WWI and I could honestly have dedicated chapters to his suffering. In his present, he's dying and is unable to prevent that slow degenerative process. He can only watch with grim acceptance as his body breaks down. He boils the process down to a single line of poetry by Yeats: "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold." As an author, I decided to let his scars tell the story of his pain. When he shares the story of his past, he does so briefly. We hear of the phrase, 'show, don't tell.' I was trying to show Bleu's suffering rather than tell the story of it.

In some ways, Bleu was modeled off my own grandfather, who was of that generation. When he told the story of a horrifying fall on a dam construction accident, he simply said, "I slipped off a ladder and busted my leg." He'd show his scarred leg, and my stomach would twist in sympathy. His understatement was much more effective than a blow-by-blow recounting of the event. Grandpa's family contracted the flu during the 1918 pandemic. His brother was brain damaged by the fever, another brother didn't survive. When grandpa recalled his illness, he'd smile, run his hand over his balding head and say, "Yeah, I think the fever caused my hair to fall out." He was a man of few words, yet his words had impact.

As a writer, that's what I'm striving for. In college, when I was working on a history paper, I often found myself padding my sentences, stretching the paragraph to increase the word count. Now I look at a manuscript and search for what needs to go. Take the angst, boil it down to its essence. Temper the tragedy with comedy. Let the character show the story through her actions and words. A single well-crafted sentence can sometimes say more than pages of overwrought chest-beating.

All you want to know about...

Let’s Talk About Sex BayBee…

Or let’s not. That song just keeps on running through my head tonight, which is odd, since I haven’t actually heard it in years. But here, let’s all share the joy…



OK, so I’ve got to fess up, I’ve been stunned, amazed and humbled at the response to “An Uncommon Whore.” In fact, it almost made me forget that I had another book come out just within days to that release. (Devil’s Advocate, which I’ll write about later this week.) Anyhow, I decided to give some time to some of the questions and comments about this book.

Yes.
Yes.
Maybe.
No.

All right, enough smart ass stuff. I’ve had some letters, read some discussions and feel the need to talk about the book a little more in depth than I have. There are also a few questions I want to answer.

“Is this your first m/m book? Why did you decide to write in this genre? Are you leaving your other genres behind?”

• No, actually, this is not my first m/m story. Bad Angels: Falling is for all intents and purposes a m/m romance. It was marketed as a bisexual ménage because it was the prologue to the story of Rion, Rex and Noemi that begins in Bad Angels: Burn and finishes in the upcoming BA: Heaven. We didn’t want readers to expect books 2 and 3 to be m/m.

• Why did I decide to write m/m? Well, I’m a writer, and at times, I’m subject to my imagination. I write what the story demands. In this case, the romance is clearly between Griffin and Helios. That’s the way life is, romance isn’t just for boys and girls…and boys…and maybe another girl…In truth, I’ve also written f/f (Jimmy the Dog in the Masquerade Anthology) and gender queer and cross dressing. (Draggin’ in Phoenix in the Phoenix Rising anthology) I’ve been fortunate enough to live in a very diverse community and my writing reflects that.

• I am not leaving anything behind. I really hate to get locked into any single genre. For those of you who didn’t know, I have a sweet western short floating around, and a BDSM novella on the way. Belle Starr has werewolves in space. :)

Was that really the end of the story? Will we read more about Helios and Griffin?

• That was the end of Helios' narrative. No, it isn’t the end of the story, there’s still a lot to come. It ended there because frankly, politics is boring. What Helios and Griffin are facing at the end of Uncommon Whore is really not the stuff that action stories are made of.

• Yes, you will read more about Helios and Griffin. Those two are the gift that keeps on giving. Next up is Griffin’s narrative. It begins about a year down the road when the young king is faced with the prospect of a mining run on their planet.

Helios doesn’t seem like king/warrior material.

• Give him time. He’s been through a lot and is still finding himself.

Is this going to be a series?

• Yes, there are other books planned. Yes, the series will continue as a m/m series.

Will we ever find out who was behind Helios’ kidnapping? Will he get his revenge?

• Well, Markus is now enslaved on Warlan, so doesn’t that mean he’s guilty? Hmm? Hmm? (or does it? Mwahahahaha…)

• Yes, Helios will get his revenge.

What culture did you base this story off of?

• This was sort of a mish-mosh of ideas from Golden Age Greece, and Sparta with some Roman elements thrown in for fun. Mostly, I started with the Spartan tradition of young soldiers taking their brothers-in-arms as lovers. It was believed that a soldier would fight more bravely if he fought to impress his lover. Also, the Spartans viewed capture or the loss of the shield as horrifically shameful. “It’s better to come home on your shield than to come home without it.” That’s what Spartan mom’s told their sons. My mom just told me to wear clean underwear. That aspect of honor will come up in the next book.

• The Temple of the Sun was drawn from Apollo, of course.

When will the next book in the series come out?

• I’m working on it!

To read an extended excerpt of An Uncommon Whore, or to purchase the book, please visit: http://www.loose-id.com/An-Uncommon-Whore.aspx

Extended Excerpt! An Uncommon Whore

I didn't have time to do today's blog article, but hey, I've got to put something up...right? Well, why not a never-before-seen, extended excerpt from An Uncommon Whore?

Look for this January 26 at Loose Id Publishing.

Excerpt contains graphic sex.

“And as apology for ruining your clothing, my boy here will be glad to service you. No charge, good sir.” He poked me, and obediently I dropped to my knees, waiting for the stranger to accept or reject the offer. He looked me over, no doubt seeing heavily lined gray eyes behind the mask, but little else. He grunted in acceptance, and I awkwardly crawled under the shelter of the table and folded the robes to cushion my knees.

I knew my job -- keep him unsettled, distracted. U’shma was a conniving old bastard. We’d played this game before. Kneeling between the stranger’s spread legs, I palmed my cock, moaning silently at the agony of denial. Unless he hired me for the night, my climax was expressly forbidden. I mean, what if the next client wanted to be fucked? It happened often enough. The electro-magnetic cock and ball ring kept me in a continual state of discomfort. U’shma kept the remote that would free me, and that particular service cost the client dearly.

The stranger’s legs were long and hard as iron beneath the leather of his pants. I ran my palms over the insides of his thighs, wondering how much foreplay I dared to indulge in. It really depended on the game they played up on top of the table. U’shma tapped once on my right shoulder, telling me to take it slow.

Fine by me.

Running my hands up his groin, I felt the length of his cock. He was aroused. Through the thick leather it was hard and broad and hot to the touch. I rolled my face over it, sliding my hands up to his stomach where the skin was a bit sticky with wine. Swiftly I pulled the shirt up higher, unlaced his trousers, and then, lifting the veil, lowered my mouth to his belly, slowly licking his skin clean. My lips tingled. The house wine here packed quite a kick; I’d probably pick up a mild buzz just by cleaning him up.

He shifted a bit, which told me to get down to business. Reluctantly I left the hard planes of his abdomen and followed his silent command. With a gentle nudge, I urged his hips up and slid the leathers down just a bit. Much as I’d like him bare-ass naked, they couldn’t come down far, not with my kneeling so close.

His cock spilled out, as hard and dark with blood as I could have imagined. Even in the dim light under the table I could see the thick shaft capped by a heavy, graceful head. Again my cock gave an answering surge, which was rather amusing. As often as I serviced men, usually the women were the ones who really did it for me.

Maybe I just had a thing for big, battle-scarred warriors.

Gently I worked my hands into his pants and lifted out his scrotum. I rolled his balls in my hand and then paused. Make that…ball. He had only one. That didn’t seem to be affecting his pleasure though. I lowered my face to the silky skin and gently cherished that one ball, taking care not to injure what had already been so badly damaged. I ran the tip of my tongue over ridges of scar tissue there. I was gentle…so very gentle. He became very still in his chair. I paused until he flexed his hips, urging me on.

Raising my head again, I shifted his heavy cock to the side and laved my tongue over the surprisingly soft skin of his belly, picking up sweet wine and salty man as I followed the trail of fine hair up to his naval and then back down to his groin. His pubic hair was thick and wiry, and I nuzzled into it, grasping the root of his shaft to hold him ready.

The first taste made me shiver. I lapped up the salty tear of precum and let the thick hood of his cock slip between my lips.

He was big and powerful, and I adjusted my position, angling his cock so I didn’t accidently slam my head into the table above me. That was an occupational hazard around here. I’d seen whores carried out unconscious and bleeding after their client got a little too enthusiastic at the moment of truth. He was strong, and I was a little too tall to give a blowjob with the table above my head, so extra caution was called for.

When I took him deeply into my mouth, he sighed. Not much; he probably didn’t even betray himself to U’shma, but I saw it…felt it. For a few moments, I allowed him to gently ride my mouth, shifting my hand so that the penetration wasn’t too deep.

And then I let him go, placed one fist at the base, squeezing hard, and nuzzled down to his scrotum again.

If I could reach, I’d have fucked his tight ass with my finger, but that wasn’t happening. Not this time. And somehow I got the feeling that this man was just dominant enough to refuse that particular service. But he’d probably be more than willing to dish it out. That thought made me shiver in delicious fear.

I played. Up the length with my tongue, and then down with my lips. I pushed his foreskin back and teased that tiny, precious spot behind his cockhead. I kissed my way down that faint line of skin as far as I could possibly go. When he grew close -- so close that he grew that shade harder -- I opened my mouth as wide as possible and laid my teeth in warning at the base of his cock. His hips jerked.

God only knows what compelled me to do it -- he was so fucking close, and I knew my instructions -- but I wanted this man to come. I wanted his seed on my skin and in my mouth. I wanted his hands on me, his skin against mine. I wanted to make him want me so very badly that he’d pay for the night. Just one night. Was it completely inappropriate to pray for such a thing?

I bore down just slightly into the meaty flesh of his cock, feeling him go still…so very still. He liked that…a lot. Releasing the pressure, I dragged my teeth up the length of his shaft, then slid my incisors lightly over the ridge of his cockhead. It would be too much for most men. Not him. My pirate liked that kiss of pain.

Without warning, his rock-hard hand came down and fisted into the veil. I could see his belly pumping. No doubt he was panting for air. His hips thrust as I swallowed down his cock. As his hot semen spilled into my mouth, his hand dug under the fabric of my veil, trembling fingers skimming over the surface of my skin. He traced the hollows of my eyes, the slender length of my nose. Pushing back the covering on my head, he dug his hand into the long braid of my hair and held tightly, his fingers flexing convulsively as his climax twisted his body in the chair above me.

He pulled away, and I let his semi-erect shaft slip from my mouth, but he did not release me. In fact, he pulled me closer to his body until my face was pressed against the damp warmth of his groin. He adjusted his pants and then pulled me close. I rested there between his powerful thighs, feeling oddly safe and content.

http://www.loose-id.com/An-Uncommon-Whore.aspx

New Book Video: An Uncommon Whore

Cover Art goodness! (plus a brag)

This lovely cover is by PL Nunn, and just blew my socks off when I saw it! An Uncommon Whore will release at Loose Id January 26, 2010.

And for the brag...I found out that Sex and Chocolate: Toxic was nominated for a CAPA award! And I was nominated in the "Favorite Author" category! What a buzz! LOL!