Fifty Shades of Suck.

I’ve got three *species* of vampires, ranging from sexy to, well, gross. In history, each culture has their own version, and it’s here that I found my playground from which to draw ideas for how I’d approach the beasties. Vampires, like Christian Grey, might be considered predators, but to what extent?

There’s something visceral about a sexual predator– and vampires are, make no mistake– that dances on the edge of cultural conscience between fascination and disgust. Vampires scare the hell out of some people because their abilities remove control, and thus, agency. Yet, many of us think of vampires as elegant criminals rather than hideous beasts. Why?

I chose to give one of my vampires a single, thin fang that slips into an artery, draining away life as the victim is mounted in a tangle of sexual heat and confusion. Sure, two fangs seem balanced, but in biological terms, wouldn’t one do the trick? For me, it worked. For others, there’s an appeal to the symmetry of a beast with two fangs, eyes flashing with promise of things that are illicit and dangerous.

Does this mean we’re all, in a way, adrenaline junkies? Is this the ultimate risk, in terms of sexuality? You give in to the monster: you die.

Or worse.

I wonder how we let the violation of vampires slip through our collective mind, shifting from the ultimate predator into something to be desired, even sought out. It’s a long trip between those two states of being, or is it? Is this a question of domination and submission, or is it something even more simple: the fulfillment of sexual pleasure through fantasy?

I ask these questions because of erotica in general, and the film¬†Fifty Shades Darker hits theaters. As a casual observer, the phenomenon of women– adult, independent, educated– embracing the concept of submission is nothing short of fascinating. Is it because we fear asking for what we want, and it takes a monster to give it to us? For that matter, how often is anyone¬†truly honest with their partner? There’s a fine line between thrill and disgust, a vague demarcation that lovers may never cross in their hunt for the thing they want most.

Is it also tied to the appearance of the monster, so to speak? I’ve always thought that we tolerate far more brutal behavior from beautiful people. Is this true? Are we conditioned to forgive, based on an expectation of cruelty from that which is deemed perfect and beautiful?

In a sense, I think we are. That’s why vampires (and Christian Grey) aren’t shunned. They’re embraced. Desired.

I think it’s as good a time as any to ask yourself, “What do I really want?”. If you can be honest, then you’re with the right person.

 

How To Write a Love Scene

I’ve cracked the code, people. I have the power. Sexy time? I own it. Lovemaking? Booty Call?

Drive By Quickie?

Check, check, and mate.

Fellow writers, pay attention. This is my gift to you. Dear readers, use this information as you see fit.

*Cracks Knuckles*

Writing the perfect love scene:

  1. List everything you would do with your partner if you didn’t have kids, pets, or a job.
  2. Cut the speed of all those things in half.
  3. Add candles and chocolate.

 

You’re welcome, people.

I Dun Been Kilted: A Hole In Juan

So, here we are at the cusp of the gruesome, raw, beautiful end. My wishes are quite simple, but my hopes are– well, there are reservations.

I am hoping for a Hole in Juan. The Juan of course being that thoroughgoing bastard  of a velveteen demon,  Jonathan Wolverton Randall. 



But Black Jack is a slippery wee bastard. I know that there will be need of more than one set o’ horns, so to speak.



But dammit if I haven’t read, listened to (God bless the golden pipes of Davina Porter) and re-read the books. Therefore, my actual hopes are somewhat more pedestrian:




Now then, a couple items of fun coming up.

1) Bangles. Jewelry. A giveaway of both. Freebies for my readers. Color themed to my new paranormal series “Halfway Dead”. What do you think? Here is the cover, and the bangles:



So, lots of purple and such. 


And a second set, with moons and waffles (really!) based on this second bit of art:


Stop by for a look, wont you? Books. Stories. Tales.

Cheers!
Terry

I Dun Been Kilted: Nothing New Happened Whatsoever

Oh, hi. What’s new? Nothing here, busy weekend reviewing some tax policies that have troubled me for quite a while. I just cannot fathom how to logically claim certain business–


So there was a wedding, eh?

And did it meet your exacting standards?

I surveyed one hundred ardent female fans of Outlander, and oddly enough, not one of them answered their phone. It was as if they were intentionally avoiding me!

I’m a huge fan of timelines that seamlessly transport the viewer (or reader) along a non-linear path. The episode begins at the end, so to speak, and reveals the intricacies of the day through vignettes. For me, that humanized the event. Due to the limitations of Black Jack’s request to *ahem* question Claire, there was no time for a long, dreamy montage of preparatory action and reaction. In short, you can blame that bastard Black Jack for robbing you, the audience, of the entire joy that planning such a wedding might bring to the viewer.

But, in a rare expression of kindness, it appears that Captain Randall heard the collective wishes of female Outlander fans, and actually accelerated the process of Claire and Jamie’s love story. Furthermore, he did it all of his own accord. Jack is really turning out to be a fine fellow.

But there’s so much more to be discussed! There’s a fantastic scene with our favorite asthmatic barrister Ned, who goes dress shopping for the blushing Mrs. Beauchamp and comes home with more than he bargained for. Who knew that Ned could be so randy at an advanced age? Who knew that Scottish prostitutes had such exquisite skin? Who knew that dresses could be traded for sexual favors?

Wait– that actually makes sense. No matter. Moving on.

This is, above all, the episode in which the duplicity of Claire’s life plays out over her face. If you didn’t think that the casting was perfect before. the interplay of Claire, Jamie, and the entire cast make a compelling case that this group of actors have fully inhabited their roles.

The flashbacks reveal that Claire was day-drunk, nervous, and adapting to Scottish traditions quite easily.

But enough chit-chat about “plot” and “acting” and such.
Three times. The consummation of the wedding is a play in three acts, described as follows:
One: Hey, give the guy a break.

Surely he can be forgiven for such a reaction to the mysteries of a woman. Plus, I sense there is more to Claire than meets the eye.

I’d be remiss if I said I didn’t hear the collective intake of breath from female Outlander fans when Jamie revealed his bum. Ok, it wasn’t a noise, it was more like a near-riot. Which brings us to the next iterations of the Wedding Night Love Train. This episode is a rarity in that is uses sex as a plot device to advance the relationship between two characters. These are people in turmoil. They’re nearly broken, but one can almost sense that something will happen to bind them together forever. The ring crafted from a key is one part of the equation, but there is something more, something drastic, that will cause Jamie to forever be linked to Claire. We’ve also got to mention the fact that Jamie, the virgin, thought that one made love a’la’ barnyard, via the back door. Och, lad.

But. . .heh. . .he gets the hang of it, and—
Let me stop here for a moment. While I can appreciate the passion that fans have for these characters and the actors portraying them, let’s never forget that they are, in fact, real people, and objectifying them can come across as crude or, in some cases, creepy. In fact–

What? I’m not weird. I’m just observant!

Round three in the wedding night is one of those events that caused unilateral jealousy among men and women. Well done, Outlander. Well done indeed. Women can both admire Claire’s beauty and relationship while simultaneously wishing she was sent to the great beyond, to be replaced by them, of course.

And from a male perspective, allow me to tell you what every single dude with a pulse was thinking at one point when Claire introduces Jamie to the greatest invention since the television remote. Jamie is, of course, powerless to resist. Heh.

 
There’s something to be said about sexual power, isn’t there? And remember, in the world of Outlander, apparently everyone gets their cookie, so to speak.

So, a rousing success. Dougal is still an asshole, the wedding is now complete, Claire and Jamie can get down to the business of navigating a vicious world, but they’ll do it together. Let’s close with a prayer, in honor of all the women who waited so patiently for this event to unfold on the screen.

Until Next Week!
Cheers!
Terry
Love Paranormal Fantasy? Let’s be book friends! Take a bite out of evil.

As always, thanks for the visit, emails, and support.