Sharazade

OK, I will admit that I just a little nervous about offering my book for review to someone who writes gay male romance — because there’s none of that in my book. But if we always say that “good writing is good writing,” then it shouldn’t matter, right? Obviously, the smart thing to do would have been to ask him first if he even wanted to read a book like this. I certainly meant to, but … apparently I did not!

Shar had neglected to warn this middle aged gay man who writes m/m erotic romances that hers was a book of (gasp) heterosexual sexual adventures, but the first of the nine stories, “Schiphol” (A Dutch name) had me hooked.

Oh, whew! He did like it.

Sharazade is a story writer of exceptional power, and her erotic adventures are, well, exciting.  …there is one story that I think should be required reading for all women in America. Make that just everyone. It’s the second one, “Flaws.”

His review ran a few weeks ago, so it’s no longer the top post on his blog. If you check out the rest of the review here (and hey, even if you don’t!), I recommend going on to his homepage and scrolling around a bit to check out his other stuff, which includes excerpts from a work in progress. And who doesn’t like a little free fiction? Ike also posts at the wonderfully named blog It’s Raining Men.

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I’m a development editor and copy editor with over ten years of experience, including three years in-house with a New York publishing firm. Experienced with publishers and independent authors, fiction and non-fiction (including academic work).

Services I offer:

• Overall manuscript evaluation

• In-depth critique (plot, character, language)

• Detailed copy editing and proofreading (grammar, punctuation, word choice)

Of course you want to know what it costs. Of course rates vary! It depends on what you want, what shape the manuscript is already in, and how long it is.

I’d ask you for a short sample of your writing (around five pages), which I’d mark up and send back to you, free of charge. At that point, if you think I’d be useful, we’ll discuss the project and I’ll propose a fee. I prefer to agree on a set fee rather than charge by the word, page, or hour (“I should add another three pages — but I’m not sure I can afford to!”). The set fee covers an agreed-upon number of entire drafts, and as many back-and-forths on smaller sections as it takes.

I’m not the cheapest, but I’m not the most expensive. The most important consideration is whether we work well together. Do the personalities/communication styles fit? Can I help your manuscript be its best? That’s what you need to decide. References available upon request.

If you’d like to inquire about a possible job, reply to this post with a “comment.” The comment will not show up on the site, but I will get it. Leave your email, and I’ll get back to you with mine.

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image courtesy of healingdream

Fellow erotica author and Facebook friend Gregory Allen made a post on his page recently that mentioned the theatrical maxim “Acting is reacting.” Because I’m ever so witty on Facebook, that prompted me to respond, “Does that mean that ‘writing is rewriting’?” (slaps knee again)

It is, though, isn’t it? I mean, it’s lucky that we’re not stone carvers, because inevitably, whatever we write, no matter how inspired or well planned, is going to need some reworking once it’s done.

First, of course, I look a piece over on my own. However, unless something is really bothering me, I notice that I tend to do more editing than revising — that is, I’ll swap out a few words for better choices, I’ll fix a typo or two, I might add some more details or combine some sentences. It’s rare that I’ll make sweeping changes to structure or character or plot.

I wish I could say that’s because those larger elements never need to be changed. But alas, it’s more that I have trouble seeing the changes that need to be made. For those larger elements, then, what I need is an outside reader — someone to read my story and give me a critique.

I’ve published over 20 books, now, of one type or another, and countless journal articles and magazine pieces and blog entries. I’m a good writer. I sell stuff. And yet… and yet… it is still surprisingly hard to offer something up to “other eyes.”

Harder still to get the piece back — with suggestions. Or criticisms (and isn’t any suggestion actually a criticism at some level?). It’s funny, of course, because the entire point of asking someone to critique a piece is to get suggestions on what to change. If I really thought it was absolutely perfect as is, there’d be no need to show it to anyone (except an adoring public with their pocketbooks out). When critiquers respond only with “That was great, I wouldn’t change a thing,” I worry that they’re not being honest, or that they’re simply not astute to find the flaws that must be there.

When I do get the suggestions back, though, I know that, inevitably, I must go through what I’ve come to think of as The Four Stages of Rewriting:

1) Denial. Yes, that’s right — I’ve asked for advice, and now that I have it in hand, I argue against it. My hero is weak? No, he isn’t. My heroine sounds snotty? No, she doesn’t. And my piece is not too long/too short/too pornographic/not sexy enough. If you can’t see its brilliance, then you just didn’t get it. It’s perfectly fine how it is!

This stage never lasts too long, because it so easily bleeds into the next stage, namely:

2) Anger. And just who the hell is he to say that my writing is flat? What’s he published — recently? I read her poem last week; I thought it trite. So where does she get off telling me my plot is overused? I guess some people feel they have to criticize in order to be useful. Harumph!

After I’ve had a good seethe comes the next stage:

3) Grief. I thought it was good. I really did. I thought I was done. I worked so hard on this! I wanted to submit it next week. I spent all that time researching prices of pensions in southern France, and everyone says that scene should be cut entirely. This is too hard. I’m not a good enough writer to make this work.

But finally, thank goodness, I get to

4) Acceptance. OK, it’s not perfect. And if three people say my heroine sounds snotty, then I need to adjust that, because that wasn’t the effect I wanted. No one said it was awful, after all, just that it needed some tweaking. If I cut out the opening paragraph and start with the action, it really is a better story.

I think it’s important to point out that “acceptance” is not the same as “agreeing with every suggestion you get.” It only means that you realize that a reader sees something you didn’t intend. You may want to change it, and then again, you may not. Final choice rests with the author. However, if several readers all offer a similar criticism, you’d be foolish not to listen. I know that’s hard. I just offered a short piece up for critique and two very different readers objected to the same sentence, which had been one that I really liked. Well, it could be a fine sentence, but just not for this piece. I sort of skimmed over the first reader’s objection, then stopped and paused again at the second reader’s objection… I might have to give it another day or two, to get over my denial and grief (it’s only one sentence, I’ll just skip anger altogether!), and then I’ll change it.

I’ve been writing and publishing since 2001, and professionally editing since 2003. I’ve worked with new authors and experienced authors, authors of fiction and authors of non-fiction. I’ve seen those four stages in myself and in my authors over and over again. I don’t know that the four stages ever go away completely. But I do think I get through them faster now, and at least I can see of some of my resistance for what it is — mere resistance, and not the Defense of True Art.

Best advice I could give a new author would be not to respond to an email or discussion while wallowing in stages 1, 2, or 3. Take your time, take a break, take a deep breath, and get over it. Get to stage 4, where you can make reasoned decisions about what to keep and what to change and how to change it.

Authors, I’m interested in hearing your thoughts on dealing with critiques!

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This site was a great discovery for me — tons of reviews, and nice detailed ones, too. I also love the display of all the book covers. It’s like being in a virtual bookstore! And let’s face it, we do judge books by their covers, don’t we? We at least want to see them!

Of course, I was also pleased that they liked my book.

An excerpt:

This book is full of the wonderful world of seduction. Erotica takes on many forms, but with Transported, it isn’t all about the sex. There’s a delicious feel to every tale that woos the reader, cajoling them into the web of the story until you’re stuck like a fly in the centre, just waiting for the spider (main event) to appear. I loved that waiting, that sexual tension build-up that has you squirming in your seat and your cheeks heating.

Read the rest of the review here, and then head for the home page, and then the archives, and wallow in books for a while.

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A freelancer has no set schedule. Projects turn up here and there — they’re offered to you, or (if you’re less fortunate) you go looking for them. In my non-fiction writing life, there is more work available than there are hours in a day, so whenever a new project comes up, there are questions to be asked: When does it start? How long will it last? How many hours a week will it take? What does it pay? How difficult is it? At least, those are the questions I’ve always asked. But recently I thought of a new one.

A publisher I’d worked with before called me up. “Are you available in April?” she asked. “I have a project I think would be perfect for you.”

“Is it more fun than porn?” I asked.

A short silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I’ve started writing erotica. I’m really enjoying it, and I’d like to write more of it. But of course it takes time…”

This is a woman in her 60’s, very sharp and experienced, a no-nonsense “New York” sort of person. Top of her field. She sounded a bit worried. “Well, we really need someone with X qualifications” [here she rattled off a list that sounded like it had been stripped straight from my resume] “so naturally I thought of you…”

A pause.

“I don’t know. Do you think it sounds ‘fun’ enough for you?”

“Well, possibly… what does it pay?”

“Oh, right. Erotica pays well, does it?”

“Well, you know what they say — the recession-proof businesses all involve liquor or sex,” I said, neatly avoiding the question.

“Can we meet in person next week to discuss it?”

And so we arranged to do so. I’m pretty sure I’ll take the job — it does sound right up my alley, and I’m sure it pays better than writing erotica, at least for me.

Am I the only one who gets tired sometimes of hearing, “Do what you love and the money will follow”? There’s some truth to that, certainly — especially if you love things like tax law, structural engineering, or dentistry more than you love yoga, childcare, teaching, or… writing fiction.

Some fiction writers make money, of course; and those are often the ones we hear about when someone says “writer.” But there are plenty of writers out there, good writers, who can’t make a living out of it, or not much of one. They might work other jobs, or share expenses with a spouse or other type of partner.

I think it’s more accurate to say, “Do what you love, and you’ll wind up loving what you do. Which may or may not pay.” However, that is an important consideration. I am fortunate enough that some of my writing, the non-fiction part, does pay the bills. Once they’re paid, though, I want a bit of fun. Perhaps when I’ve written (and sold) more erotica, it will pay more, to the point where I can devote more time to writing it, and it will spiral slowly up. Or it may not. It may remain an outlet for creativity, for playfulness, for enjoyment–for fun, in other words. And that’s important. If I don’t schedule time for fun, fun is going to get shoved aside.

Therefore, I’m going to take fun into consideration now, with all the other factors, when I consider how to spend my work time.

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