Erotic Writing

A Beginner Reports from the Bikini Line

I've discovered that my erotic writing, though competent, is too male-focused. If I want it to appear in anything other than lad's magazines, I need to change my heroes into heroines... Or at least see my sexual world through female eyes.

Where did I learn this? At an erotic writing weekend workshop organised by East Midlands Arts in Leicester and run by Mitzi Szereto and Cleo Cordell.

Twelve of us gathered at one of Leicester University's halls of residence, an early 19th century house set in parkland east of the city.

I'd signed up because I'm writing a novel. Actually several novels at once at the moment, in the hope that one will take the lead and become the one, the bestseller, the prizewinner, the film, the fame and fortune. If nothing else I'm good at fantasies. I want the characters in my novels, most of whom have libidos, to be able to have real and arousing and memorable sex, to be able to share their feelings and emotions and experiences with my readers.

fun
I also signed up because for me, writing about sex is fun. It turns me on, it commits fantasies to paper and therefore makes them a little more real, it enables me to explore ideas and feelings that are exotic, improbable, impossible sometimes. It offers me the chance to be something of a creative exhibitionist, to share my imagination and experiences, real or imagined, with anyone who might be interested.

So there we were on a Friday night, a very varied bunch, ranging from those who had yet to write a word about anything, let alone sex, to those already actively churning out erotic copy. There were one or two who had chosen the workshop by default, not fancying any of the programme's other offerings, and looking a little apprehensive

Who were we? A few were writers already, of plays, of articles, of short stories. Others were a marketing manager, a neurosurgeon, a photographic artist, a retired engineer, a production manager, a filmmaker, a couple of visual artists. We ranged widely in age too, from 30s to 60s, pretty middle-class, five men, seven women. All cheerful, some extrovert, some quieter. One the (female) writer of gay male erotica for women, already has her work out there on the Internet under a pseudonym.

None of us appeared at first glance to be astonishingly exotic. I must admit that I had imagined lots of black mascara and Indian cotton or crumpled linen. Or Birkenstocks, or sandals worn with socks. Or men with fake tans and too much hair and their shirts undone just one button too far. But we were actually quite normal-looking. Handsome enough, but certainly not a bunch who could instantly be recognised as people who spend more time than the rest of the world thinking about other people having sex!

the nitty gritty
Our two tutors, though charming and helpful, were surprisingly coy about the nitty gritty of their subject matter. They couldn't bring themselves to say "cunt" for example, yet I would guess that plenty of readers would expect that word to occur at least occasionally in what they were reading. One could hardly bring herself to read out "Fuck Ass", the straight-to-the-point title of one piece of erotic writing. Yet there was one of us who probably wrote that phrase a dozen times a day! Was this shyness, or caution? Were they tiptoeing over our collective sensibilities?

I was also disappointed that the tutors, based on their professedly extensive experience, didn't bring with them and share some examples of what they think is really good (or bad) erotic writing. Lists of titles and piles of books are not good enough...I want examples and I want to hear why people think they are good writing. I realise that tastes are as varied as individual readers, and I want to hear some opinions that differ from mine. It was a missed learning opportunity.

And surprisingly when it came to bad erotica it was mostly up to me (should I read anything into that?) to read some examples I'd gathered, the worst (which came to referred to by the group as "FMB") was a piece by one Kysa Braswell. I had also a printout of the Bad Sex award winner and short list.

Yet everyone (apart from me) was apparently quite clear about the difference between erotica and pornography. For example that we would of course not write about nonconsensual sex or nonconsensual violence, or sex with minors. But some of the most erotically-charged writing of recent (and ancient) times has not been afraid to approach these topics.

And we wouldn't use the word "fuck" too much. Despite the fact that it is the most frequently-used word in many people's vocabulary, along with "You know what I mean?". I fear that there is a degree of snobbery here. Is "erotica" merely a cleaned-up, respectable pornography for the middle class? Sex surrounded by lots of fancy plot and props and with no washing-up afterwards? No stains? No wet patches to be avoided. No nasty words?

body fluids
Yet sex means that there are stains, that there are almost always body fluids escaping here and there. Rather more frequently than many of the more usual erotic stories, where everything disappears tidily into whatever orifice is relevant.

Erotica also doesn't seem have much humour attached to it. It involves people who have perfect bodies and always-on equipment and who never seem to miss their target or fart or get cramp or dribble or collapse with the funniness of all this threshing about. Or get brewers-droop or scared or bored or simply too tired and just laugh at the whole strange wobbly business.

Everything that involves any of these aspects appears to be lumped together as "literature" and not erotica.

Is that what people like about this genre? That it is easy-to-read Mills and Boon sex, far removed from perspiration, seminal fluid, menstrual blood, worries about pregnancy or STDs, snoring, the people on the other side of the thin wall? With the heroines and heroes nevertheless freed to shout vocal encouragement (using words we wouldn't normally utter) at the tops of their voices, free to make free, at least on paper, with each other's anuses or to better their gag reflexes, freed to have amazing, noisy, multicoloured orgasms?

Perhaps being given permission to think about, to imagine these events occurring in otherwise sexually colourless lives?

So we tried our best: the lady who writes happily and frequently about men fucking men but who was almost unable to write about women fucking women or people sucking toes -- eeeugh!! The man who couldn't even THINK about men fucking men, let alone write about it, and who got quite upset about being asked to. The man unable to read a word of his own writing.

fumbling
Many of us shyly avoiding reading out our words describing actual sex by writing long preambles...setting the scene for raciness that never actually reached the paper, although the filmmaker, perhaps because he's been an actor, was able to instantly create real sexual energy. Nervously sharing our first fumbling efforts at writing about people sticking things into each other, or at least getting worked up about sticking things into each other. Was I any better than the others? No, of course not!

I thought that the absolute beginners did very well. The photo artist discovered a gift for communicating passion and melodrama that should serve her well. The filmmaker produced some very exciting words.

In the end we learned a little too much about selling erotic short stories and perhaps not enough about writing them -- tricks and tips for example. How to grab the reader. How to finish a piece. What vocabulary to use.

How about a round-robin on ways of avoiding blow-by-blow or biological approaches? How about a timed exercise where we are given an opening sentence and have to complete the story -- it would give a fascinating insight into the dozen different approaches in the room? How about a group effort on building a colourful vocabulary?

So what did I feel as I came away? Hungry for more. Inspired to attempt to create some erotic photography. Still enthusiastic about giving my characters real sex lives. Impressed by the approaches of others. Fired up by challenging discussions over meals and beer.

Freed, I hope, from my male-oriented tunnel vision.

Copyright Ralph Mills 2002