Year: 2013 (page 44 of 66)

Last week’s challenge: “The Titles Have Been Chosen.”

This week is pretty simple.

Using a random sentence generator, I’m concocting five random sentences.

Pick one and use somewhere in your story for this week.

The five sentences are:

1. The shape fights the motionless ink.
2. The portrait cat sneakily gestured at everyone.
3. It walked inside the spaceship and then it sat down.
4. When does the family document the thunder?
5. The rough sex arrives by adhesive smoke.

So — you have ~1000 words.

Post online at your space, link back here.

You have one week — due by noon EST on Friday, May 10th.

Wesley Chu’s written a corker of a book — a twisted, funny head-tripper. And he’s a nice guy. Which means we all get to hate him. Talented? Capable? Nice? BURN HIS HOUSE DOWN. Ahem. Point is, Wes is here to answer some questions about his book, so I’ll get out of his way in 3… 2… 1…

TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

Hello, I’m Wesley Chu. I’m a member of the Screen Actors Guild and a former stunt man, specializing in being the token Asian male. In other words, I play roles like businessman, doctor, computer geek, and getting my ass kicked. I’m good at that last one.

I get the token role because in every commercial with a group of guys, there always needs to be a token me alongside a token white guy, black guy, Latino guy, fat guy…etc. Do I mind? Nah, being token is my bread and butter.

Oh, I also wrote a book. My debut novel, The Lives of Tao, from Angry Robot Books, came out two days ago. By the way, this Saturday May 4^th, I have a release party. If you’re within three hundred miles of Chicago, you should come. You don’t have to buy my book, but at least party with me.

GIVE US THE 140-CHARACTER STORY PITCH:

Fat loser meets snarky alien. Gets in shape. Fights war over control of humanity’s evolution. Gets a girlfriend. Not in order of importance.

WHERE DOES THIS STORY COME FROM?

I’ve always been a big history buff and one thing that fascinated me was the reasoning behind the events. Sure we know that Genghis and Alexander conquered faraway lands for fun, but why did they do it? Did Alexander really just enjoy visiting new places, meeting new people, beating the snot out of them, and then moving on? What were the political motives behind the Spanish Inquisition? How did the Black Plague positively affect humanity?

For me, the logic was more fascinating than the actual deed. Was it murder or manslaughter?

My original idea was to explore and retell that why, and tie it in with the present. How did we get to where we’re at now? The brouhaha going on in the Middle East is the perfect example of all the events that happened since World War II building up into the mess that it is today.

Now, what if there were wizards (the aliens) hiding behind the curtains pulling our strings. Toss in a fat lazy guy who hates his life, and let the fun begin.

HOW IS THIS A STORY ONLY YOU COULD’VE WRITTEN?

This book is a mash up from many different parts of my life. The humor and verbal banter I attribute to my acting and those many dumb nights hanging out with my boys in Vegas. The fight scenes and action are from my martial arts and stunt work background. I choreographed and re-enact every fight scene in the book. Well, I used to be able to; I’m not so limber anymore.

Roen’s transformation from his meandering life to that of a secret agent was also a mental journey as well. I went through a similar transformation when I wasn’t happy with the direction my career and life was heading. I did some soul searching and took a step back to reevaluate my job and hobbies. That was when I decided to stop practicing martial arts and begin working on a book.

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST THING ABOUT WRITING THE LIVES OF TAO?

Lee Harris, my editor at Angry Robot, made a pretty difficult request during the acquisitions phase. He asked that I take out my historical plotline that followed Tao’s progression through several famous historical figures. The book was already a big boy so something had to give in order to trim it down to a svelte 464 pages. We ended up condensing those chapters into expositions and in the end, the story was definitely better for it. The robot overlords are indeed wise! The robot overlords plan to release the historical plotlines in their entirety at a later date as supplemental stories.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WRITING THE LIVES OF TAO?

I learned that dreams do come true if I sell my soul to the devil. Besides that, I learned that in writing, often less is more.

In fight choreography, every move has to be specifically dictated, from the positioning to the beats to the physics. You mess up one of these and someone gets hurts. So, a good fight scene needs to be fully controlled and laid out.

That is exactly what you don’t want to do in a book fight scene.  When I first started writing The Lives of Tao, I wrote out everything in a fight. From hand placement to interlocking to foot positioning, it was all there. Basically, a skilled person could reenact the entire scene. And it was a bore to read. What works on film, television, and stage, does not necessarily work for books.

My wife said I was mentally masturbating when she first read it. My agent told me to look up some of the masters like Lee Childs. I did my research and went back to the drawing board, and ended up stripping the action scenes to its base structures and amped the emotional levels. It worked much better in the end. Thanks Jack Reacher!

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT THE LIVES OF TAO?

I’m very proud of the relationship between Roen and Tao. Sure one of them is a lovable disgusting slob and the other is a gas-life snarky alien symbiote, but their relationship is real. One of the early reviews of the book labeled it a bromance like the Odd Couple or Ocean’s Eleven.

Sure, why the hell not?

Regardless of all the sci-fi elements with aliens, spies, war, and conspiracies in the book, at its core The Lives of Tao is a story about relationships. One of the important rules I made in this world was that the alien cannot control the human. Therefore, if the alien wanted his host to do something, he has to ask. This story is less Invasion of the Bodysnatchers and more Firestorm (bonus geek points for getting the reference).

WHAT WOULD YOU DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME?

I would get out more often. I’m a pretty OCD kind of guy. When I focus on something, I’m basically a Phillips screwdriver; a single purpose driven machine. If I’m going to play Magic, I need to have every Magic card in existence. If I’m watching West Wing, I need to watch it all in one sitting. If I want to write a book, it’s all I think about.

I lost touch with a lot of friends writing The Lives of Tao. People got married, moved to the suburbs, had kids…etc… One day, my pasty white ass walked out of the house and the world had changed. Everyone’ was using this damn thing called an iPhone, and Terrell Owens was playing for the Cowboys. Whaaaa?

GIVE US YOUR FAVORITE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STORY:

(This is only my favourite scene because it happened in real life. Roen is getting robbed by a mugger.)

He didn’t know what was going on or who was talking, but he was so scared right now that he did whatever this voice said. He took the two bottles and smashed them together.

Thunk. They didn’t break.

What the…? Roen looked down and tried again.

Thunk. Thunk. The damn bottles wouldn’t break.

“Oh, for the love of…” Roen gritted his teeth and tried again.

Thunk. Thunk. They finally shattered into two jagged shards and he waved them in front of him triumphantly, trying to imitate that already fading image of the gladiator.

Good. Say something mean.

“Wha’… what?”

Threaten him.

“You… you give me all your money!” Roen yelled.

That is not what I meant.

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AS A STORYTELLER?

Due to the positive early reviews for The Lives of Tao, the sequel, The Deaths of Tao, just had its publication date moved up to Oct 29^th, 2013. Huzzah! It’ll be five years since The Lives of Tao and all hell is about to break loose. Without giving too much away, the Prophus are going into the championship rounds of a losing fight.

* * *

Wesley Chu: Website / Twitter

The Lives Of Tao: Amazon / B&N / Indiebound

Dan O’Shea is the real fucking deal. He’s a helluva writer and a smart guy and a man I’m proud to call my friend. Further, he’s my Alpha Clone — I’m pretty sure I’m just a watered-down version of him. Regardless, I’m happy as hell to report his first novel has landed on bookshelves and here he’d like to give you some words of wisdom about PENANCE.

TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

I’ll start with who I’m not. I’m not your usual punk kid debut author. I’m on the wrong side of 50 – thought the more time I spend over here, the more I think it’s the right side of 50. Been a writer my whole adult life – business and financial copy mostly, a lot of it about the tax code. And, really, a writer is all I ever wanted to be. But another 5,000 word white paper on transfer pricing, that’s not exactly the dream I had as a kid. I wanted to write stories. Got married young though, had kids, a couple of the kids had some problems. Seemed to me I couldn’t waste time writing stories on spec when there were clients willing to pay me cash on the nail for real work. Writing a novel felt like one of St. Paul’s childish things, one of those dreams you put away when you became a man. I messed at fiction from time to time, but I would go years at a stretch without writing a word I wasn’t getting paid for.

Pissed on my own dreams, basically.

Thing is, you get to an age when people start to die. In the space of a few months, my best friend died, my dad died, my aunt died – and a couple of those deaths weren’t natural. The whole mortality thing went from being an abstraction to being an open wound. It sunk in on more than an intellectual level that there wasn’t going to be a second lap around the track where I finally got to do what I wanted.

So I got serious about writing fiction. PENANCE is actually the first thing I ever finished.

GIVE US THE 140-CHARACTER STORY PITCH:

When the past won’t stay buried you have to kill it again.

WHERE DOES THIS STORY COME FROM?

I went to a strange high school. A Catholic military academy. The school motto was Crede de Deo, Luctari pro Eo – to believe in God and to fight for him. Always confused me. I always figured if there was one guy who could handle his own beefs, it was the almighty. Just as the good people of Sodom.

Anyway, I’m in theology class my junior year and the priest pops this question. Asks us “If you were going to die unexpectedly, say you were going to be murdered, where and when would you want that to happen?”

I was leaning toward never and nowhere, but he tells us we should want to be murdered walking out of the confessional because we’d be in a state of grace and would go to heaven. Besides adding to the pile of things that were already souring me on the idea of religion, that nugget rattled around my brain for years as a great jumping off point for a story.

When I started PENANCE, that was all I had – a killer with a bizarre religious motivation for murder. The rest of it grew out of that.

HOW IS THIS A STORY ONLY YOU COULD’VE WRITTEN?

I suppose it’s a story that any fifty-something guy who went to a Catholic military school, who had a Chicago cop for a grandfather and who had nightmares for weeks back in 1968 after watching his grandparent’s neighborhood burn on the news in the riots following the King assassination could have written.

Religion figures heavily in it, history figures heavily in it, Chicago figures heavily in it. All things I’ve thought a lot about.

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST THING ABOUT WRITING PENANCE?

Like I said, it’s the first piece of fiction I ever finished, so everything was hard. The biggest challenge was just learning the discipline, just making myself sit down every day, or almost every day at least, and knock out a couple of pages whether I felt like it or not.

Funny thing is I didn’t really have any more time when I finally got serious and wrote the thing than I did all those years I was telling myself I didn’t have time. I’m just as busy, I still have a day job, my kids still have needs, always will. So I watch a little less TV, maybe spend a little less time reading.

There is no muse, no magic. There’s you and there’s the keyboard. If you’ve got the chops to do the work then you can always do the work. Easier some days than others, of course, but you can always do the work.

I guess maybe the hardest thing was learning that, and then believing it.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WRITING PENANCE?

Here’s one thing: a novel should be somewhere between 70,000 and 100,000 words, maybe 110,000 on the high end. OK, everybody knows that now ‘cause you kids all grew up with Google. Thing is, way back in my late twenties when I had one of my brief, abortive fits of fiction writing, I got about 20K into a story, felt like I was getting traction. But I had no idea where the finish line was. Weren’t no Google yet. The internet was still a gleam in Al Gore’s eye. So I got this bright idea. Grab a book off the shelf, count up the words on a few pages, average those out, multiply by the number of pages and bingo – you’ll have a target. I don’t know what went wrong. Maybe I counted wrong. Maybe the pages I picked were all narrative and no dialog. Maybe I forgot to consider how many partial pages there are in a finished book. Maybe I grabbed a Steven King novel. But the number I came up with was 300,000 words. I quit on the spot, knew I’d never get that far.

Let’s see, what else? Dialog – learned that, for me anyway, the sooner in a scene I get my characters talking the better.

Learned to finish what I started.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT PENANCE?

The intersection of the city’s real history with the story, I love that. I didn’t grow up in Chicago – I grew up about 50 miles west. Now, I spent a fair amount of time in the city, even as a kid. We’d visit my grandparents, we’d go in to the museums, Cubs games. Then, as an adult, I commuted in and out of the city every day for decades.

But I remember watching the news as a kid. It was a pretty volatile time. The King riots, the ’68 Democratic convention after that, the Fred Hampton murder, Richard Speck, the ongoing civil rights struggles, the battles between the Daley regime and the parade of good government types that were always trying to unseat him, some alderman or county board member always being on trial for something. It was this other place where everything always seemed bigger, bolder, more dangerous – where none of the normal rules of civilized behavior that governed my immediate experience applied.

I realize that the Chicago in my book isn’t real exactly – some of it is, I think the sense of it is. But even when you set a book in a real place, that place is really a sort of parallel universe.

I like what Chicago is in my book.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME?

Write it when I was thirty. It would have been a different book for sure, probably not as good a book. But I can’t help but think sometimes how my life would be different if I had started my fiction-writing career a couple decades ago.

GIVE US YOUR FAVORITE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STORY:

Little more than a paragraph on account of it’s dialog, but there’s an exchange early in the book set in 1971 between a character named Clarke and Chicago’s mayor, Hurley, where Hurley’s complaining about Chicago’s iconic Picasso statue, which would still have been relatively new at the time, just a couple years old. I like the way this passage gives a sense of both the character and the city. And, like I said, it’s early in the book. It’s something I wrote in the first few weeks when I’d finally decided I was going to finish a novel. It was one of the first passages that, even as I was writing it, I was thinking, “Hey, this is some good shit. Maybe I can write a novel.”

“Fucking statue, still don’t get it,” said Hurley.

“Pardon?”

“The Picasso. Junior’s idea, you know. Public art, he says, so we can be a great city, like New York or Paris. Like we ain’t a great city already. Like I gotta put a fucking steel monkey in the middle of the Loop so we can be a great city.”

“Picasso is a genius, sir,” said Clarke. “Subjective as individual works may be, to have his work on so prominent a stage.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Make all the art critics in the world gush about us. Course you could move all the art critics in the world into the same damn place and you wouldn’t have a city, you’d have a village, cause there’s maybe a couple hundred of ‘em, and the village wouldn’t need an idiot. And then they’d all starve cause they don’t know how to do nothing. What I like about it? The Picasso? I look out on a nice day in the summer, and I see the kids climbing up that slanty part at the bottom and sliding down. Got the parents standing there, trying to figure out is it a baboon or what, and their kids play on it. I like that. Some guy from the Art Institute came to tell me I gotta keep them kids off it, that it was sacrilege or some shit. Scrawny atheist fuck in my office talking about sacrilege. Told him that Picasso might be a drunk and can’t keep his pants zipped, but at least he makes a decent slide.”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AS A STORYTELLER?

I’m putting the finishing touches on my second novel, MAMMON, (coming to a book store near you in early 2014 from the good folks at Exhibit A).

Those who follow my blog or my short fiction career might also know I’m a bit of a Shakespeare fan boy and that I’ve messed around writing some stuff that features the Bard as an unwilling Elizabethan private dick. Not quite ready for a formal announcement on that yet, but let me just say you’ll be seeing more from ol’ Will.

* * *

Dan O’Shea: Website / Twitter

Penance: Amazon / B&N / Indiebound

“And so it is with the Underworld: you may enter its depths and walk into the dark, but something is always taken from you. And it remains ever-uncertain whether your entrance will be mirrored again by your escape.”

The Blue Blazes

Coming May 27th, 2013.

Pre-order:

Amazon

B&N

Indiebound

(text by Chuck Wendig; art artifact by Joey Hi-Fi)

EW NOT LIKE THAT I’M NOT FLIRTING WITH YOU

*bats eyelashes*

*flicks tongue, licks fringe of mustache*

*combs melted chocolate chips out of beard seductively*

Anyway.

So, I like to make ice cream.

I use a modified version of the Jeni’s Ice Cream base, which is, essentially, this right here. I have been known to replace the corn syrup with honey. Because, I dunno, corn is stupid and honeybees are rad? That seems like a snap judgment but there it is.

For the record, I completely and utterly recommend the Jeni’s Ice Cream cookbook.

I also totally love Lili Chin’s We All Scream ice cream site, where she takes totally fabulous and bizarre ice cream recipes and dolls them up in adorable graphic design.

Anyway.

I am currently fond of two particular flavors of ice cream I make, and both of these are based off of Jeni’s recipes but with my own li’l twists.

Here you go.

Roasted Strawberry & Creme Fraiche Ice Cream

Cut up a bunch of strawberries. Murder them. This will feel like murder particularly because your hands will be stained red with their blood and you will raise your crimson mitts to the sky and cackle madly. You’ll scream something about vengeance. And berries.

So: one pint of little green-haired red-headed murder victims.

Chop ’em up, mix with 3 tbsp of sugar, 1 tbsp of honey, a squirt of lemon juice.

Into the oven. Four hundred degrees for eight minutes.

Delight in their screams.

Only you will be able to hear them. This is totally fucking fine.

When that’s done, whip that shit out of the oven, let it cool down before you start shoving magmaberries into your greedy maw. Once appropriately un-hot, dump those suckers into the mass grave that is your blender and whip it into a frothy scarlet slurry.

Now, go forth and implement the ice cream base linked to above.

Go. Click. I’ll wait.

JESUS CHRIST HURRY UP.

Okay. Here’s the modifications to that —

In that bowl where the cream cheese goes?

You also want to plop in a dollop — 1/4 cup, to be precise — of creme fraiche. Just what the hell is “creme fraiche,” you ask? It’s French for “pretentious-ass sour cream.” (More seriously, creme fraiche is more stable and holds up better against that lemon juice.)

Then, at the step after you pour the already-thickened ice cream base into the creme cheese (and creme fraiche) mixture, you want to stir in 1/2 cup of the screaming strawberry slurry.

Mix, mix, mix. Blah blah blah.

Then you cool it down and glop it into your ice cream maker as intended.

(I use the Cuisinart ICE-21. Also, ICE-21 was my codename in the NSA. TELL NO ONE.)

Freeze. Eat. Shut up.

Earl Grey Vanilla With Mascarpone

Earl Grey was an Earl of Country Knoxfordshiresburg, exiled to the Hebrides for lewd sexual misconduct with a pelican. But still his special blend of tea lives on today in various tea bags across the world. Or something. I read some weird history books. Anyway — technically for this recipe I don’t use proper Earl Grey tea, but rather I use this stuff: Steven Smith’s Lord Bergamot tea. Lord Bergamot was Earl Grey’s rival, and it was his pelicans what got shagged by the vicious pelican-fucker known as Earl Grey. Again, or something.

I use six of these teabags. (HA HA HA TEA BAGS IT MEANS DIPPING YOUR BALLS IN STUFF except seriously please don’t dip your genital configuration into scalding hot ice cream base. For god’s sake, let it cool first.) You can use any Earl Grey teabags or really, any teabags at all. I don’t give a shit what you do, lady-dude. Your destiny is your own, I’d dare not infringe upon your liberty. Which makes me think of that old flag? The one with the snake saying DON’T TREAD ON ME? Which is pretty dumb if you think about it because if I see a talking snake the first thing I’m doing is treading all over the motherfucker. Probably with some deadly golf cleats.

I feel like I’m getting away from the point.

Six teabags. Okay.

First things first: with the cream cheese mixture you want to put in a 1/4 cup of mascarpone cheese. “Mascarpone” is Italian for “pretentious-ass result of when creme fraiche has sex with regular ol’ cream cheese.” It’s a little thicker and more robust than creme fraiche. Kay? Kay.

So, as you’re following the ice cream base recipe above and you mix all the initial stuff together (milk, cream, sugar, etc) in the saucepan, you also want to scrape one vanilla bean into the mix. Scraping the vanilla bean is a delightful process that makes your whole house and your fingers and your knives smell like vanilla. Just make sure nobody is staring in your windows as you take great pleasurable sniffs of your knife and your fingers. They will call the police.

I speak from experience.

Let it all do its thing.

Then, when the first four-minute boil is done, you want to drop those teabags (seriously, put your genitals away, this is hot stuff) into the mix and let them steep for ten minutes.

Do something awesome for ten minutes.

Skateboard on a brontosaurus’ back or some shit.

When you’re done with that, return, then once more follow the recipe to its conclusion. Get it in the ice cream maker and let it chug-chug-chug and do its frosty thang.

I like to cover my ice cream with parchment paper in the freezer.

I also do this with all the body parts I keep there. Stops freezer burn.

ANYWAY THERE YOU GO YAY ICE CREAM

*eats all the ice cream*

Some folks are allowed to post guest blogs here. Even fewer of those folks are allowed to take over the coveted Tuesday “25 Things” spot, but here’s Delilah Dawson anyway, with a post I couldn’t refuse if only because of the word “humpalicious” (AND ALSO SHE HAS A GUN HELP PLEASE HELP SEND HELP CALL SOMEBODY CALL ANYBODY). Delilah has a new book out today: Wicked As She Wants. You can find her at her blog or on The Twitters, and you can check out her book at Amazon or B&N or Indiebound. So without further adieu (CALL 911):

I never set out to be a romance writer. When I was asked to turn a black-out scene into steamy hot sex, at first I panicked. Then I followed these 25 easy steps and panicked some more. And then I got a three-book deal for a paranormal romance series with Simon & Schuster, despite being a somewhat prudish Southern girl who’s been married to her college sweetheart since 2002 and has never actually seen a pair of assless chaps. And you can, too! Here’s how.

1. First of all, get drunk.

See? It starts out with something easy. Pick your favorite liquor—the one that makes you loose and happy, not upchucking into a clothes dryer. Get comfortable. Light a candle. Have two drinks. Slide down in your chair. And then gently place your fingertips on the hot, slick… buttons of your keyboard. If you’ve never written a sex scene before, you’re probably going to be either terrified or embarrassed, and both of those emotions are a lot easier to swallow when mixed with vodka.

2. Pop your cherry in private.

So let’s assume you’re drunk and about to start writing words like “pert nipples”. Trust me on this one: you’re going to want to do it alone, not at Starbucks with some little old granny staring over your shoulder as some baby screeches to Jason Mraz in the background. You also don’t want some well-meaning and curious spouse or roommate butting in to ask if you could take out the trash or, even worse, to see how the pornifying is going.

3. Prepare to have hairy palms, but in your brain.

Writing sex is a lot like masturbating. It’s all in your head— what you like, what you think would be hot, what two ideal people would hypothetically do with a hypothetical saddle. And if you can translate that well enough into words, other people will be titillated and foam at the mouth for your books and stick greasy one-spots in your literary g-string. So really put your back into it.

And that’s another reason to do this alone: it can… affect you. In physical ways that can be embarrassing. Your hands might roam as you contemplate the prose, your mouth might fall open, a small moan of “Ooh, Thorin Oakenshield!” might escape you. Did you masturbate for the first time in a public place? If so… wow. Congratulations on not getting arrested, or at least on having a good lawyer. Do this alone.

4. Do not stop. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred paddles with a riding crop.

Sometimes, as a writer, it can benefit the story to leave a scene half-written, take a break, and come back to it. Not so with sex. What if someone stood up in the middle of your sweat-laced tomfoolery and went away to reblog gender-reversed Batman comics on tumblr? No, if you want it to read like one smooth, seamless experience, just write the damn thing in one heaving burst. You’ll make changes later, but don’t stop writing until the walls would look horrible under a blacklight.

5. Self editing while writing a sex scene is like apologizing during bad sex.

Just as all first drafts are vomit, and just as you need to get this scene hurled out, don’t go back and reread bits and rethink your word choices and how many times you’ve used the word “wet”. You’re going to use it a lot, if the sex is decent. Do not look back while you’re writing it or think about how wretched it is. Of course it’s wretched. It’s the literary equivalent of virgin sex. Just be glad no one’s mom is going to walk down to the basement and catch you on the pool table with your Hammer pants around your ankles.

6. Do not be a body snatcher. Unless it’s some kind of alien porn.

Some books switch back and forth between points of view, but in general, writing sex is far more fluid– HA HA FLUID– if you limit yourself to one character’s thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Not only does this help the reader keep track of pronouns and hands, but can you imagine having sex if you had to hear every single thought the other person was having? DEAR GOD, THE GROCERY LISTS. And that should go without saying– no grocery lists, even if you’re out of butter. Like Marlon Brando.

7. Consider the lowly Jimmy hat.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when a romance book neglects to take into account that most women (and men!) have very strong feelings about whether or not they wish to end up preggers after a sexual encounter. A simple throwaway line about a condom, how glad she is she took her pill, how he’s always wanted a son, or why he has a big red V tattooed across his balls should do it. You are, however, forbidden from using the phrase “the telltale rip of foil”, as 50 Shades has copywritten it.

8. When in doubt, carefully study porn. I mean, read romance. And porn.

If you need inspiration, go read the sex scenes from your favorite romances– or check out Chuck’s post about it, including oodles of recommendations. See what works for you and what doesn’t. Notice how the author builds to it, what the characters say and don’t say, the words and euphemisms and cliches used. Or– best homework ever– have sex. Or watch porn. It’s not great for emotional value, but it can remind you of the very many bizarre ways bodies can meet. As a serious writer, it’s all too easy to get caught up in word count and plot and no adverbing and OMG, is spanking in this week? But at the base of it, we’re talking about a very primal act, and practice makes perfect for doing it *and* writing it.

9. Remember setting, because no one wants splinters in their pudendum.

Another pet peeve: a virgin’s first experience takes place in Earl Humperdink’s hayloft. Sounds sexy, but have you ever been in a hayloft? Dust, dirt, cobwebs, maggots, scorpions, stray cats, tetanus-laced nails, the scent of dysenteric cows, and possibly an entire barn full of zombies. Not sexy. So if you’re putting your characters in a weird place, trespass on someone else’s property and literally roll in the hay to see how very much it pricks your prick. Try having sex on a counter, or kitchen table, or a hammock. At the very least, simulate some moves in the setting and see if you can stay upright/undiseased/free of porcupine quills. If it’s not realistic, your readers will lose trust in you. And your ability to sex.

10. Let shit get cray.

I have no idea what this means. I wrote this list at 2am while on NyQuil. LET SHIT GET CRAY sounded pretty good at the time.

11. Words to avoid, even if they’re true.

Turgid, swollen, purple, wrinkled, tumescent, pert. Those are on my list. You probably have different ones, although I suggest you add “turgid” to it right now. While some words may accurately describe sex or a sex organ, they are not, themselves, sexy. Like moist. Or penis. I mean, it’s just an awful word, and all of you men should be ashamed of having one. Read several romance books and angrily circle the no-no words to refresh your mammary. I mean, memory.

12. How cray does it get?

Oh, wait! Now I remember why I wrote #10. Your first instinct will probably be to keep things very conservative and not let your freak flag fly at all, lest people see what a truly twisted nympho you are. But “John laid Mary gently on the bed and they did it missionary style and it was nice” does not sell 1/1,000,000th as many copies as “Mr. Gray beat a clumsy teenage girl with a garden hose and then stuck it in her armpit with a scoop of pizza sauce to lubricate.” Just as you have to let things get a little out of hand, you have to know when to rein it in. How far it goes will depend on your audience, and only erotica writers can really get freaky with pizza sauce.

13. Double rainbow? Unrealistic as hell, but almost expected.

Count the number of times you and your partner have had simultaneous orgasms. Unless you’re Sting, I won’t have to wait for the tally. It happens 4000 times more in books than it does in real life. But most readers will feel better if everyone gets their happy ending, even if someone has to be finished off in some other way, or one person uses their lack of confetti cannons as character development or a sign of why this relationship with the undead wereunicorn baron… dum dum duuuuuuum! CANNOT BE.

14. Have a cigarette. But a bubblegum one, so you won’t die of the cancer.

So you’ve just written The Best Sex Scene Ever. Time to end the chapter and move on to the real action, right? Wrong. Your story needs a lull, an afterglow, a reaction to the sex just as honest as people have in real life. It doesn’t have to be all cupcakes and rainbows—maybe he storms off, maybe she runs for the shower, maybe they tell Muppet jokes while he offers her a Clorox wipe. But what happens immediately following the sex can be just as important as the sex. It may seem like a small thing, but falling asleep in a lover’s arms (or not) for the first time can be a big deal. Especially if he’s the kind of guy who has a hook for a hand.

15. Just like in real life, avoid eye contact.

Ever notice how sex often makes things even more awkward? It may scratch one itch, but then it works you over like a hungry ferret and leaves you with hundreds of new trouble spots. After sex, the characters will glance away, avoid eye contact, doubt themselves, doubt each other, maybe rethink their involvement. Chances are, one of them feels more secure than the other. At the very least, even if they’re both happy, something in your story must push them apart, or they would just spend three months in bed, humping like rabbits.

16. Keep writing, motherfucker.

Because the story keeps going. Let the new sexual tension and awkwardness play into the story’s climax, but don’t let the entire point of the book be about sex. Most romance novels have a kissing or make-out scene that surprises both characters early on; one very detailed “first sex” scene somewhere between halfway and three-quarters of the way through; and then at least one other, “Oh, okay, we’re good at this; let’s hump HARDER scene” closer to the end. Your mileage/sexytimes meter may vary. But keep writing until it’s done.

17. Bad news: Hemingwway said you have to edit sober.

My writing process = vomit up an entire first draft, leave it to marinate slone in the dark, edit. Which works for sex scenes, as I need to get some distance away from them to really see them with new eyes and clean them the hell up. At the very least, don’t write the sex scene on Monday night and expect to perfect it on Tuesday morning. Go away for a while and let the fetid, bleach-like funk dissipate and harden. Then bring a chainsaw instead of a mop.

18. Don’t forget the granny.

Remember that granny at Starbucks? You can call this one Delilah’s Rule: The dirtier the scene you’re attempting to edit at Starbucks, the older and sweeter the granny that sits beside you. You can’t avoid it. Just be ready to show your aggressive introversion with headphones and slightly cant your laptop to the side. Because granny’s curious. And she probably misread the word “cant” and already thinks you’re a horrible person.

19. Count hands. Find panties. Provide tissues.

The little details can make or break a sex scene, for a reader. Have a clear idea what the characters are wearing before they start to get undressed. Make sure everything—or at least the obstructions– get removed in a sexy fashion. Make sure he takes off his socks and shoes if he gets totally nekkid, because… have you seen porn? Ew. Make sure there aren’t six hands touching that chick if there’s only one dude involved. When I wrote my first sex scene, the hero accidentally removed the heroine’s corset three times, which made me sound like an idiot with a corset fetish. AS IF.

Oh, and if you have one of those scenes where the guy “leaves his sperm” in “her vagina”, she can’t just stand up and slip on a short skirt and play tennis. If you don’t know why, ask your sex ed teacher. Give the girl a shower or a tissue or SOMETHING.

20. Hello, thesaurus. Goodbye, thesaurus.

The first time you edit your sex scene, you’re going to see these words a thousand times: hand, fingers, lick, taste, tongue, thigh, skin, hot, wet. Because… those are very accurate descriptions of the main tools of sex. You’ll want to vary usage so that it reads seamlessly. Be careful of using the thesaurus too much, though, because some words are too accurate and unsexy to work. “He laved her creamy pillows until his penis turned purple” might be true, but dry heaving should not be a reaction to sex scenes. If something stands out to you, rework it. Put your thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

21. Make it a jackhammer.

Remember in Mallrats, where they were doing the dating show, and the suitors were asked if their kisses were like a soft breeze, a firm handshake, or a jackhammer? Gil answered, “Definitely a jackhammer, I’m in there with some pressure and when I’m done, you’re not the same as before. You’re changed.” And we laughed, because he was a douche. But your sex scene should be like that: it should move the story forward and somehow affect the characters emotionally. Maybe the hero learns to open up, maybe the heroine decides she wants to be more aggressive in her real life, maybe they’re just having what they think is a last fling before a giant orc battle. But it has to mean something, or else it’s just porn.

22. Ask someone else to read it and give you their honest opinion, preferably not a clergyman.

This is possibly the scariest part. With my first sex scene, I blushed and handed it to my husband. His response? “That’s hot.” And then I put down the bottle of wine. What works for you might not work for someone else, and you need an outside source you trust to tell you gently if your menage a trois with a penguin is just too much.

23. Edit again. Really. Did you count the hands?

Polish that rocket with a little extra elbow grease. When your regular book is rejected by agents or editors, it hurts like hell. When they softly and gently critique your sex scene, it’s like being kicked in the ‘nads and being told you’re a horrible lover. Do yourself a favor and really make it gleam, first.

24. Buy yourself some pretty new panties, sport.

I’m a big believer in letting shit go, especially things that have served their purpose. If you’ve written the scene, edited it, shared it, cried, accepted the criticism, edited again, and hit the send button? Forget it. Don’t stay up at night, thinking about how there really were four hands and a rogue penguin flipper on her freckled mound. Just put the entire book, story, WHATEVER, right out of your mind and start writing the next thing. Let those raggedy-ass panties with the stretched-out elastic go and buy some frilly ones, possibly in that exciting new “Tonga” style.

25. If anyone complains, do not fling used condoms at them.

Truth? For some reason, I can read bad reviews and nod along and think, “Yeah, okay, I guess I can see that; my entire book is Buffy/Pirates of the Caribbean cross-over fanfic.” But when a review says the sex isn’t hot, cites parts of the sex scenes negatively, or otherwise critiques that hot, steamy pile of lovin’ I concocted? I cringe. And it’s going to happen, every time. As a writer, you must understand that this says as much about the reviewer and their sexual issues as it does about you and your writing issues, and that you therefore—even more than usual—cannot say anything in response or defend yourself intelligently. Just shrug, watch some porn, watch some more porn, and write harder.

Because you know what? Writing sex makes you feel powerful. It’s like lingerie for your brain. It doesn’t matter what you look like, how you dress, how you feel about your body, or how you can dance: if you can write a sex scene, you can turn people on with nothing but words.

And that’s pretty turgid.