Reaching Out from a Mind as Dirty as All Outdoors
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
No cover image yet for this one--maybe your story will be the one to inspire it!
Call for Submissions
Girl Fever: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex for Lesbians
Edited by Sacchi Green
To be published by Cleis Press in spring of 2012
1200 words maximum
Deadline: July 15, 2011 [Sorry, I had to move the deadline up.]
Payment: $20 per story and one copy of the anthology
I want them short. I want them intense. And I still want fully-formed lesbian characters, evocative settings, and well-crafted prose. I also want variety, so do as much as you can to make your story individual, unique, one that only you could tell.
The encounters can be chance meetings, established couples in a rush, strangers-on-a-train (or elevator, or ski-lift, or whatever,) as long as you provide some justification for the sex and for the hurry. Intriguing settings are a plus, if you can paint them in a few deft strokes. Every word counts. Sexually explicit words are welcome, but if you can get your characters (and, most importantly, your readers) where they want to go by more subtle means, that could be okay too.
I need sixty-nine of these hot, concise, well-written stories, so I’m willing to use more than one per writer. Send as many as you like, and send them early so I can let you know if some of yours don’t work but I’d like to see more. I’m willing to work with writers who have interesting ideas. Excerpts from longer works that can stand by themselves will be considered. Reprints from obscure places will be considered if I don’t get enough new work.
E-mail submissions (.doc or .rtf files) and queries to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Why is erotica so dirty? No, wait – that’s not exactly what I’m trying to ask. Of course erotica is going to be dirty. Reading or writing erotica means reading or writing about sex, and sex is always dirty or, at the very least, messy. Messy encounters, messy clothes crumpled on the floor, messy emotions. Even when it's trying to be, sex is rarely clean and pure.
Maybe what I'm really trying to ask is – why do we treat erotica like it’s dirty? Why do we keep it hidden? Hidden on back-of-the-store shelves, hidden in our drawers, hidden on our e-readers? Graphic novelist Alan Moore has wondered why there are, comparatively, so few books about sex when there are infinite books about aliens and wizards and hard-boiled detectives and talking animals. Most human beings have sex at some point in their lives, so why do we read and write so much about the unreal when the real is staring us in the face and saying, “Write about me. Write about what you love, what you lust for, what you burn for in the pit of your stomach and the valves pumping in your heart.”
Maybe that's just my Catholic upbringing. Maybe you didn't have to fear getting caught thumbing through erotica anthologies in your local bookstore. Maybe you didn't have to hide your collection of On Our Backs magazines for fear of your parents or your partner finding them and asking, “Wait, you like this?” If so, I envy you. If you buy a copy of Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations and read my story, “Officer Birch,” then maybe you’re someone who will keep the book on your bookshelf, unashamed of what you enjoy reading.
Or, if you’re more like me, I invite you to join me in taking a small step. Leave a review on Amazon.com. Talk about it with an online pal or someone you trust in your real life. At least let the world know I like this. For some of us, this is a hard thing to do. But, it’s time – for this writer especially – to stand up and be proud of who we are and what we like reading and writing about. I hope you enjoy the story. Yes, it’s about sex, but it’s also about love and shame and fear and a bunch of other stuff, too. This story is a part of me and my life, and I want the world to know that.
Excerpt from “Officer Birch”
“Why does she bully you?” you said. “From what I’ve gathered, she doesn't act violently toward anyone else.”
“I don't know,” I said. “Does there have to be a reason? Sometimes people here just get singled out, and we have to deal with it.”
You were silent until I lifted my head and looked at you. Did you know that I fell in love with you right then, Officer Birch? Could you tell?
It might have been your uniform, immaculate and wrinkle-free. It might have been the necktie and cap, which no cops in town wore until you showed up and made them look like slobs.
It might have been your face. You looked so young, almost my age. Let's be honest—you weren’t pretty. You weren’t cute, either, not like the few girls I had managed to fool around with. They had long hair, beautiful breasts, curves to their figures. You had sharp angles, small breasts, a strong jaw. I didn't know if you had hair on your head. I couldn't see any peeking out from under your cap.
I had seen butch women before. Our Midwestern county was closeted back then but not totally straight. The difference was that none of them were anything like you. So handsome, so powerful in your uniform, even while sitting down and doing nothing. Masculine in every way yet nothing like a man. I got moist right there, and I didn't even know I was attracted to butches.
You rambled on about handling bullies. I wasn't listening; I was thinking. What would it be like to kiss your lips? What was underneath your cap? How would you teach me about hardcore dyke sex shit?
Friday, April 8, 2011
About A Cop’s Wife…
When I first saw Sacchi’s call for Lesbian Cops, my mind filled with a hundred hot and dirty imaginings. When I sat down to begin writing, I was certain what would emerge would be kinky and sexy. I mean hey – who hasn’t had a fantasy about a smokin’ hot woman in uniform? But when I tried to assemble all the parts in my head, it just wouldn’t come together. There was another voice in there, telling me very pointedly that I had another story to write.
Sometimes the things that we write are fiction through and through. Sometimes there’s something – a mannerism of a lover, a turn of phrase, a kernel of truth – around which we craft fiction. And sometimes, entire stories are based on our experiences. I’m not married to a cop, but my story A Cop’s Wife is probably the most personal story I’ve ever written.
Two things were at work for me, and they blended their way into a fiction that nevertheless feels very real to me. Once upon a time, I had a long relationship with a firefighter, and I have endless respect and admiration for all emergency responders – police, firefighters and EMTs – and for the partners and spouses that support them at home. I drew on my own history to craft my character Amie, and to describe how she feels about being married to a cop:
There is an understanding that, on any given day, the likelihood that bad things could happen to your spouse is much greater than if they were say, an accountant, or a school teacher. You imagine what it would feel like to get the phone call, or the knock on the door, that tells you that they’ve been injured, or worse, that they’ve been killed.
People say I don’t know how you do it, but the fact of the matter is, that despite this understanding, the fear remains mostly abstract because by and large, nothing does happen. And at the end of the day, you trust in the training and the instincts and the support that enable these men and women to do their jobs and protect the public.
Much more fresh in my mind though, was the subject material of the story: how do you deal with someone threatening your life? My partner (a very different kind of hero) spends much of her time helping people who suffered terrible abuse as children. Sometimes these people grow up to be very damaged adults, with a lot of misguided rage. And sometimes, though rarely, it winds up directed at her. We found ourselves in a situation similar to the one in my story in the spring of last year. How do you deal with that? What do you do when someone says I will kill you, with every bit of conviction they have? Let me tell you, it’s the stuff of nightmares.
And then I wondered, how would a cop, someone trained to deal with all manner of violent situations, handle something like that? How could they –how does anyone – fight something as intangible as words?
…[E]ven like this, held tight in the circle of her arms in the privacy of our bedroom, he was there. He was everywhere. His taint was like a mist curling in through a crack in the window, seeping under the doorframe, spilling through the keyhole. It was insidious, filling the inside the room until I felt like I couldn’t breathe again, until I felt like I was suffocating in fear and anger and despair.
Patrice was vibrating, struggling with emotions of her own. I knew I should say something about how everything would be o.k., and about how I knew she would catch this filthy coward, but the words couldn’t make it past the lump in my throat. I was determined not to cry – she didn’t need that from me right now, but when she said, “I put a copy of my will in the lock box…” the tears fell of their own volition, and she rocked me in the dark, and nothing more was said.
Fortunately for me, and the characters in my story, things work out in the end. And the relief when it’s over? Indescribable.
After all these weeks of vacillating between belief and disbelief; strength and weakness; between calm assurances and horrible despair, I needed her – the indisputable, solid proof that she was real, beneath my hands, against my flesh – more than I needed air to breathe.
Sacchi has put together a tremendously diverse collection of stories which manages to capture both the fiery-hot fantasy that women in uniform can inspire, and the sometimes more serious reality of a cop’s life. It’s a great read, and I’m honored to be in the company of such fine authors. If you haven’t read it yet – pick it up already! You won’t be disappointed.