Apple-Obsessed Author Fella
“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:
(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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I’m going to give away five copies of Blackbirds on Kindle.
This is open only to US residents because, well, I can’t gift copies outside the US.
It’s 12 noon EST right now.
You’ve got till 3PM EST to play ball.
Three hours.
Here’s how you win a copy:
Leave a comment below with your favorite piece of creative profanity. The standards will not apply — we’ve all heard “fuck” and “shit.” Let’s hear something new.
(Example: “cock-waffle.”)
Impress me with your vulgarity.
I’ll pick five winners this afternoon and boom, free Blackbirds e-book.
For the rest of you, Blackbirds remains $3.49 at Amazon and has popped into the Top 20 Urban Fantasy releases there (this, a year after its release!). Thanks, all.
Now get thee to a cursery!
EDIT!
We have our winners!
“Muggle-fuckers.” Wren Roberts (bonus points for her being named after a character in Mockingbird, which provides nice parity, here.)
“Pink-eyed jizz-whistler,” Cameron Clemons (so jaunty! so fun!)
“Festering pile of diseased feces covered in the aborted senate bills of a bygone era. ” – D. Moonfire (really, it’s the “aborted senate bills of a bygone era” that is most profane)
“Cock-kicking fuckpucker.” –Megan Hart (pure art!)
“Picklesniffing turdmonger.” – Hilary Monahan (vulgar while still utterable by a toddler!)
And a runner-up that will not win because I am a jerky-faced stickler-jerk for spelling, but just the same, I love it oh-so-very-much:
“The YouTube comments of a menstrating badger.” – John Gardner
Wren, Cameron, D. Moonfire, Megan, and Hilary —
Email me the email address where you want the e-book sent.
Hit me at terribleminds at gmail dot com.
I like to cook.
But I’m hell with desserts. I do make a mean ice cream these days (recipes forthcoming for my strawberry creme fraiche and Earl Grey vanilla mascarpone ice creams), but for the most part, I’m fucked when it comes to taking a tram-ride to Dessertsville.
Desserts?
MORE LIKE DESERTS AM I RIGHT?
…
I’m not proud, no.
Anyway, let’s hear your dessert recipes with one qualification that I’d really like said dessert recipes to be fairly easy. (Double-points if it includes no baking, but that’s by no means a requirement.) Assume I’m a dessert dipshit, and answer accordingly.
I’ll hang up and wait for your answer.
*click*
* * *
Looking for an excuse to buy in and try out Blackbirds?
The first Miriam Black book is now just $3.49 for Kindle and Nook:
(The paper books are on sale, too, at Amazon or B&N.)
(EDIT: B&N has already bumped it back to $6.49?)
I’m poised to begin work on The Cormorant this week (playlist incoming over the next day or three), so now’s a good time to jump in and check out the first book in the series. Book #2, Mockingbird, is already out, and The Cormorant drops in December of this year.
It’s actually been a year now that Blackbirds has been out, so thanks all for checking out the book and saying lots of nice things and leaving a wealth of spirited, positive reviews. For a book that took a long time to write and get out into people’s hands, it’s been very satisfying.
You rock.
Hope you dig the book.
*disappears in a puff of black feathers*
