Sex, Genre, and Rock and Roll

I feel like I ought to say something about writing sex scenes, but every comment that occurs to me seems glib, smug, pontifical, tedious, or just none of your dang business, you saucy imp. I will confess that if a sex-scene in a book that I'm reading begins to grow specific and linger too long on the details, I find myself growing impatient and muttering, "let's get on with the story, shall we?" If I want detail, I can read a Romance. If I want to read a blow-by-blow account (as it were), there's always porn.

Which brings me neatly to the topic of genre fiction. The series I am writing now is different from anything else I had ever done, not least because it is a mystery series.

Are you like me? I was an English major and an English teacher. I was into serious literature. I was taught and I believed that if it wasn't literary fiction, it couldn't impart depth of meaning. That it didn't have gravitas.

Shame on me.

I discovered mysteries only about five years before I decided to write one. I always loved historical fiction, and quite by accident I got hold of Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael historical mystery series set in 12th Century England and Wales. These books are so charming and philosophical, and even poetic, that I ended up reading all twenty of them. They not only had all the elements that I love about historicals and literaries, each novel also has an incredibly clever and downright cracking mystery. I went on to read every historical mystery I could get my hands on, then every mystery, and thriller, and I was off to the genre races.

I had finally discovered that good is good, no matter what the genre. Literature is like music in that way. You may not particularly like pop music but adore Gwen Stefani. Or hate opera but get chills when you hear Callas. A master artist transcends our preconceptions.

Genre is kind of a false construct, anyway, made up largely by bookstores, as Debby said, as a marketing tool. Bookstores love to put their books into niches, but most fiction books don't really fit completely into one category or another. In truth, the categories bleed into one another. Many "literary" novels have elements of mystery or thriller, sci-fi or romance, and sometimes all of them at once.

In an earlier post, I mentioned Diana Gabeldon's Outlander series. What the heck is it? It's historical, with elements of thriller and sci-fi and romance, but since the Romance genre outsells the other categories by a large margin, the publisher decided to call it a Romance. It was a smart move, obviously.

I rather enjoy Tony Hillerman's take on the idea that "Literary" novels are superior to "Genre" novels. He said, "Literary fiction is where nothing much happens to people you don't much care about."

I might not go that far, but I suppose the type of novel you choose to read all depends on whether you want to have an existential experience, or whether you'd like to read a story that has a point.

Let’s talk about sex

Charles posting today folks.

( First, Debby - great post - so many things to comment on, but as promised, I'm posting about sex. Next week it'll be genres. Not sex genres, fiction ones. But then sex genres could be interesting too...)

So Rick brings up the ‘sex in books’ question (see his entry below and the comments). Sex in books is something I struggle with as well. I mean, first you have to find a big enough book…

Carolyn Hart wrote the blurb for the cover of Relative Danger, and it says, in part, “the non-stop pace, exotic locales, exuberant sex and swashbuckling hero combine for splendid entertainment.” Now I’m not one to argue with a legend – especially a legend with such nice things to say about me – but exuberant? Like any scene, the sex scenes in RD were written to both advance the story and reveal something about the characters involved. The first scene to which Ms. Hart refers, shows the female lead, Aisha, to be strong, controlling and exceptionally assertive. In the second, we learn just how far out of his league Doug is when he’s with the wild and self-confident Aisha. They are hardly titillating scenes – unless you’re the kind of reader who finds words like titillating titillating – and there’s a lot more humor written into them than erotica. Same with Out of Order – one sex scene, fondly remembered the next morning in hazy, vague detail. Again, I wrote a punch line into what should have been the “hot” part, which I guess tells you more about me than it does about the characters. And even though good chunks of Noble Lies take place in Thai whorehouses, there is no sex scene. There is one implied sex scene, but I’m always amazed by the attentive readers who miss it (page 130).

The first bit of fiction I ever had published was a Letter to Penthouse Forum. If you don’t know what Penthouse Forum is, a) I don’t believe you and, b) just ask for a copy the next time you’re at truck stop magazine stand. I was working at a small, mostly female college in upstate New York at the time with my pal and fellow late-night security guard, Frank Neville. Combining our less-than-original ideas, we composed a letter about the sexual adventures of two late night security guards at an all-female college in upstate New York. It was one male-fantasy cliché after another, but I’m sure it earned many a round of applause. Well, one-handed applause anyway. It was also awful and not in the least bit erotic or believable. Worst of all, it was written in first person. Now I don’t know about you, but when I’m reading a book and the characters starts in with the old, “I cupped her tight breasts in my hand…” I’m flipping pages. Seriously, are we in high school? No, that’s not fair – even in high school we didn’t brag about our exploits (mostly imagined, but still). I find that even some of my favorite authors do this stuff and it always creeps me out. Know what’s uncomfortable? Sitting at a bar with an author pal whose book you just read and he/she asks you what you thought about the sex scene. It’s like the morning after a double date and the guy who was in the back seat coming up and asking how it looked in the rearview mirror.

There are some things better left unsaid and for me, that’s the sexual details. I tend to do as Rick has done – pull the curtain and let what happens happen with out us knowing the details. Speaking of which, time to close this little missive as Rose is busy pouring me a glass of wine – which is quite tricky what with me cupping her tight breasts and all.

NOTE: This Sunday guest blogger Lorraine Bartlett (aka Lorna Barrett) regales us with tales about here new series launch.

Thoughts on Fiction Genres

I’m preparing a lunch talk today to a group of people, and I decided to talk about genres within fiction. The topic has been buzzing around for a while, mostly among authors, publishers, and bookstores. And I'm curious as to whether readers think about it much beyond what their favorite categories are. I know I didn’t give it much thought before I got published.

Not long ago, Rob Rosenwald asked Publishers Weekly reviewer Peter Cannon, “How come you review Robert B. Parker’s Spenser novels in Fiction?”

Cannon ended up writing an article, where he answers Rosenwald’s question. If you’re curious, here’s the link to the article: http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6552980.html

Cannon’s explanation exemplified what I’m beginning to think of as the Genre Wars, a hierarchy that has less to do with the kind of book an author writes than the kind of marketing and sales for which the book (or an author) is being positioned. And this, it seems to me, is something readers would care about. What do you think?

Cannon said, “The basic rule I follow is this: thrillers (spy, legal, medical, etc.) are reviewed under Fiction; mysteries, ranging from cat cozies to hard-boiled noir, under Mystery. To make a simple distinction: in a thriller, the heroes are in a race to save the world from known villains out to destroy it; in a mystery, a sleuth seeks to solve a murder committed by an unknown killer whose identity the reader tries to figure out before it's eventually revealed.”

That makes sense, but he went on to say, “One can understand the impulse to call what the average reader might consider a mystery something else—like fiction or suspense—given that many thrillers sell at bestseller levels, while most category mysteries depend on relatively modest library sales.

“Not so long ago, Janet Evanovich's publicist suggested it was time Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels were reviewed in Fiction rather than Mystery. I had to agree it was, now that the series was hitting bestseller lists, and I made the switch.”

And that’s where my eyebrows went up, along with at least a thousand other people’s, I’m sure. It also jibes with another factoid that came to my attention. Have any of you heard that publishers pay up to $10,000 for placement of books on those round tables at the front of chain bookstores? I asked some of my non-writer friends how they thought those books got there, and all of them replied that the books must be best sellers or readers’ favorites. Hmm...

Now I’ve got to run and get ready for this lunch. Plus, there’s a south swell a-breakin’ and I think I may put my surf board in the back of the car.

How much is too much?

Blechta at the controls.

I will be attending the Bloody Words conference here in Toronto in just a few weeks and the panel I've been assigned to is "Sex and Violence". You know where this panel is going to go right away, hence the title of this week's blog entry.

With Type M's earlier discussion about James Patterson, we've already delved into the topic of violence. Most of us seemed to feel that his writing went too close to (and probably over) the edge.

But what about sex in crime fiction stories?

My feeling with both sex and violence in any story is that what the writer puts in must be true to the paradigms that are set up in the beginning of the story. It would be pretty hard to swallow if an ax murderer walked into an English garden party and began hacking up the guests. That wouldn't be the case if the story was about a crack house in the Bronx.

I'll get off the fence right now and say that I find a bit of sex in a book to be quite, um, titillating -- but again, it has to be true to the story's set up.

I've tried to do this in my own writing. Some of my books have rather explicit sex and with others it's pretty much "Let's just draw the curtains here; you all know what's going to happen".

The reasons for this are the characters themselves. Some of them would tell you all about it. That's the way they are; maybe a bit in your face sometimes, but the sorts of persons who would tell you all about their latest conquest. Other characters are much more private, and while they wouldn't lie to you about getting it on with someone, they certainly wouldn't give you the "gory details", either. At best, they'd feel it was none of your business. At worst, they'd be too embarrassed.

Just like real people (hopefully).

Now, I expect a full and frank discussion from everyone reading this entry. If nothing else, I would like to collect your thoughts to share with those participating in and attending the panel I'm on.

(By the way, why don't you take this opportunity to join us? Visit www.bloodywords.com for more info! Vicki Delany will also be attending.)

Thanks for wading in!

The Perils of Fame

Fame isn’t all good. Let me explain. Last week I was in Toronto for a book signing at my favourite branch of the big chain, the Indigo Spirit store in Royal Bank Plaza. Before going to the store, I popped into the bank to deposit my royalty cheque from Poisoned Pen Press. The teller read the cheque. She looked up. “Are you a writer?” By co-incidence I just happened to have some of my bookmarks in my bag. I gave her one. She oohed, and aahed and sounded most impressed so I explained that I would be at the store in the mall underneath the bank at noon for a signing. She said she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get away then, so she’d ask her manager if she could come with me – right now! – to get a book signed. And off she dashed. There was some kind of an argument going on at the wicket beside me; a supervisor had been called over to intervene. The customer broke off the discussion and turned to me. “You’re a writer are you? What do you write?” So while the supervisor glared at me, the argumentative customer proceeded to talk mystery writing with me. He, by the way, does not read mysteries. He used to but life is hard enough without reading about other people’s misery in your spare time. I explained that part of the pleasure of a good mystery can be seeing everything put to rights. I don’t think he was convinced.

Understand that this was at 11:30 on a payday in the biggest branch of the biggest bank in Canada. Lines were forming while my teller ran to get permission to take a break, and the customer who’d tied up a teller as well as a supervisor was discussing mysteries with me. Heads were turning to see what the hold up was.

It was all getting rather embarrassing.

I wonder if Angelina Jolie feels like that some times.

Sunday's Guest Blogger, Baron Birtcher

Baron R. Birtcher
Blog: May 18, 2008

Aloha, Y’all.
Apologies for the mixed patois, but I’m on week six of an eight-week signing tour promoting my new hardboiled mystery, ANGELS FALL, the third book in the Mike Travis series. The tour has thus far taken me to Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Orange County, San Diego, Phoenix, Dallas, San Antonio, Tyler—and most recently— Houston, hence the newly acquired “y’all” that I now find so useful.

I had the great privilege of signing (and talking story, Hawaiian-kine) with the lovely, charming and talented Deborah Atkinson at the LA Times Festival of Books a few weeks ago, and I offer a very large mahalo for her kind invitation to join you as a Guest Blogger.

I couldn’t help but notice that there have been a number of entries regarding the pros, cons, and vagaries of touring to promote our work, so I hope you will indulge me if I weigh in on the topic as well.

I’ve had a bit of time to ruminate on the subject—some of which while staring at the front door of one or another Big Box bookstore feeling a bit like a carnival barker (or something even less dignified). Like many of you, I’ve spent my share of face-time with the Endless Talkers, the Let-Me-Tell-You-About-The-Book- I’m-Writing(ers), the You-Should-Write-MY-Life-Story(ers), and my new personal favorite: the reader who painstakingly inspects every aspect of your book—from cover art to binding—quizzes you on the content, then informs you, “I never read anything that has a Prologue.” What? Excuse me?

Then I had one of those unexpected, big, hairy reality-checks.

I received an email from a reader who actually apologized for missing a workshop I did while in Arizona. It was one of the kindest, most heartfelt pieces of correspondence I’ve received in quite a while, and more than a little humbling. It ended with the phrase, “I just wanted you to know that you are living the life I have always dreamed of.”

Wow. Right between the eyes. Then I remembered: “Me, too.”

Forgive the forest-for-the-trees metaphor, but it’s easy to get our noses pressed right up against the tree bark, and temporarily forget what an enormous privilege it is to be able to have the freedom to practice the craft of writing, to experience the thrill of holding a book in our hands that contains the end-product of the stories we worked so long and hard to create; and most importantly, to meet and talk with the people who read them. And, of course, our collective lifeblood, the Book Sellers. We couldn’t do jack squat without ’em.

I have come to look forward to signings as the culmination—the final act—of the writing process. Sure, the travel can be an Industrial Grade Pain in the A** but so worthwhile. Always a great reminder of the real reason we do what we do.

I’m honored to be a part of this industry, and to share shelf-space with y’all (there it is again…) And I’ve never encountered a more helpful and generous group of writers than those who write Mysteries. You have my greatest respect and gratitude.

A hui hou,
Baron R. Birtcher
www.BaronRBirtcher.com

Piecing it all together

Charles at the helm today. Hang on.

Last night Rose and I attended Art Loves Jazz, a fundraiser to benefit Jazz 90.1. It was held at ARTISANworks, this amazingly eclectic art gallery here in Rochester. There were all the things you’d expect at a charity event – hors d’oeuvres, live music, a silent auction and, since it was ARTISANworks, a live art auction. We had spotted a collage we both liked and, after a short bidding war with another determined collage fan, we added a new piece to our collection. We have maybe 40 works of art hanging up in our home, half of which are collages, and many of those by the Buffalo, NY artist, Pat Presutti. Now I love all the art that’s hanging in our home – from traditional Indian miniatures I picked up in Jaipur, the crisp pen and ink drawings of idealized Arabic motifs, to the wonderful airbrush work given to me by my artist/architect friend, David Gardner, but I have to say that there is something about a collage that pulls me in and won’t let go.

I’m sure that when some people see collages the first thing they think is, “I could do that.” Admittedly, all you do is cut out pictures (and other stuff), and glue it all together, and everyone made at least one collage in high school art, so how hard can it be?

Anybody can do it. Doing it well is another thing.

I think one reason I’m drawn to collages is that, on many levels, it parallels what I do as a writer. I don’t create anything completely on my own. Thailand is a real place, Raffles is a real hotel, there are trains in India. What I do is go around finding interesting snippets of stuff, isolate them and then mash them all together. Like a collage, it’s the unexpected juxtapositions of found images that make the piece work, the subtle placement of select elements that make it resonate with the reader. Now, choosing the right images, the right scraps, the right what-the-hell-is-this stuff and then assembling it all in a way that is compelling and exciting and different and surprising – well, that’s the challenge. Millions of people have seen the same things I’ve seen – how do I bring them together so that it seems fresh even to those who see it every day?

When I get it right, I know it’s good. The Egypt Air flight in Relative Danger, the bus ride in Out of Order, the club scenes in Noble Lies. Great art? Maybe, maybe not. But it’s the stuff that lets me know that with the right words and phrases, nouns and verbs, commas, dashes and incomplete sentences, I can create a collage as expressive as the ones I hang on my wall.

NEW NOTE: Guest blogger Lorraine Bartlett's blog will appear NEXT SUNDAY - so drop what you're doing and plan to read it. I know, I said this Sunday, but it's worth the wait. So, once again it's SUNDAY, MAY 25th. Got it? If not, let me know and I'll send you a reminder.