How Many Times We Did It

Okay, by “it,” I really do mean “it.”

This weekend the family was discussing a unique party we had about 13 years ago, a type of party I can’t help but wonder may be the only one of its kind in human history. If you have ever attended a similar one, by all means let me know—I’d love to hear about it.

It was my and Davie’s 500 Party, celebrating our 500 times.

Whenever we tell people about this festive gathering (and no, we don’t tell everyone), the spoken or unspoken question is always, “You keep count?” My ready answer is, “Please keep in mind that I was married for 15 years to a gay guy before my marriage to David.” Yes, I keep count to this day. Kinda funny, but when you’ve been counting up to 500, you really feel like you might as well keep track.

So, how does one hold a 500 Party? Well, you don’t want to be tacky about it. Although…I will admit it was a little tacky for me to sing “We’ve had sex 500 times and we’ll have sex 500 more” to the tune of that 1988 hit by The Proclaimers. But mostly we simply sported our simple “500” buttons and put “500” signs on the lawn.

The only possible controversy arises concerning the involvement of my daughters, then ages 15 and 12, in the party prep. As they were piping 500’s in frosting onto a couple dozen brownies, they were not ignorant of the meaning of the party theme. They were also aware of how crazy (in a completely healthy way, of course) our particular gang of friends would get at said party. But our crew was a bunch of fun-loving, perfectly functional, responsible adults and they were all really fond of the girls. Which is not to say we didn’t consider it best that they spent the night elsewhere.

So, to that mix add food, plenty of beer, and some great 80s music, and that’s a 500 Party.

My older daughter likes to joke that things like this “scarred her for life.” But she was actually no more embarrassed about it than any of the other things that embarrassed her about me when she was 15. As in, “Mom, PLEASE don’t dance.” Her sister said the other day, “I’ve always been really glad that you guys were so open about it, like there was nothing to be ashamed of. It made me feel comfortable talking about that stuff with you.”

And that, really, was the general idea. As much as Davie and I are private about this stuff, and very monogamous and trusting, and as much as we take sex very seriously, we are also big believers that it is nothing to be ashamed of. If a married couple can’t have a couple dozen friends over to celebrate a great occasion like 500, then what is the world coming to?

For me, especially, it was a wonderful and happy thing. I imagine most old married couples take for granted that they make love regularly, but if you are like me, you don’t. There was a time when my acceptance of being married to a gay man (and why I accepted that is a long story) had me convinced I would never have male physical affection, much less sex, in my life again. So I treasure greatly both the number we are at now (wouldn’t you like to know?) as well as the approximately 5,000 cuddle cabs (as we call snuggling at night).

And OMG, as I type this the PC radio is playing that old 500 Miles Proclaimers song. What are the odds of that? I guess I was supposed to tell you this story today.

I Need You to Help Me Figure Out My Brain

Seriously. I’d like to know if the events of my last 24 hours of reading are as weird as I think they are, and you can help me figure it out.

There are two snippets I encountered in the text that I would like to run by you. I’d just like to know if anyone else’s brain works like mine does.

Test #1:

The story begins with the line:

“—sentences.”

Just like that, and carries on from there with a new paragraph. Does that one line, “—sentences.” suggest anything at all to you? Anything come to mind?


Test #2:

The story is entitled:

“The Problem of Susan”

Any guesses what the story might be about? Remind you of anything at all?


You don’t have to give these tests a lot of time. If nothing comes to you right away, that’s fine. Now please scroll down aways and find out what happened with my brain.


















The book I’m reading, of course, is Neil Gaiman…specifically his collection Fragile Things.

Test #1: In the story called “Strange Girls,” I read the line “—sentences.” and without a moment’s hesitation I thought “finish each other’s sentences.” I found that idea very curious at first, but then I thought, “Well, there’s some amusing irony in finishing someone else’s sentence when it actually ends in the words ‘sentences.’” The passage in question, it so happens, ends like this:

“Sometimes they even finish each other’s—”

I kid you not. And do not fail to notice the double irony (or are we on triple now?) that I am finishing Neil Gaiman’s not sentence, but story. Spooky.

[And I hope Neil will forgive me for spoiling any surprise. Please buy this book and make it up to him, it’s awesome. LOL]

Okay, I can let one spookiness go by unreported, but on to Test #2.

Test #2: From the moment I scanned the Table of Contents of Fragile Things and saw the title “The Problem of Susan,” only one thought came to my mind—Susan Pevensie. The older sister among the four Pevensies of The Chronicles of Narnia fame. It wasn’t weird to me that I thought of it, for to my mind there is indeed a problem of Susan…it’s the eventual fate of Susan that is pretty much the only problem with the Narnia books. I did not for a moment though seriously think Neil Gaiman was going to write a story about Susan Pevensie in order to work out his discomfort over her fictional fate. Then I read this in the story’s introduction: “There is so much in the [Narnia] books that I love, but each time I found the disposal of Susan to be intensely problematic and deeply irritating.” And that was exactly what the story was about.

Cue the Twilight Zone theme.

So this is why I wanted to find out if anyone else out there scored 100% or even 50% on my tests. Just how weird is it that I’m tracking like this with Neil Gaiman’s thought patterns? Now before you call the men in the white coats, let me reassure you. I do not think I’m psychically linked with the man or that we share a brain. Speaking to that issue, I must mention that I found “The Problem of Susan” probably the most horrific (not badly written, but horrifying) story I’ve ever read. That was fully Neil’s intent but he went way overboard in my opinion—I almost couldn’t read it. So sometimes he is, if anything, like me turned inside out.

It does, however, make me wonder. Are we perhaps products of the same sort of imagination (although clearly we imagine quite different things)? Did we just read a lot of the same books? (He did dedicate Fragile Things to my two favorite science fiction authors, Harlan Ellison and Ray Bradbury.) Or will a good 50% of the population that happen to be fans of Narnia give the same answers on Tests #1 and 2 as I did?

I can’t tell you what it does to a person’s psyche to feel on the one hand like they have connected so well to an author’s imagination—disturbingly well—only to be slapped in the face by that author’s ability to go places you’d never dare and say things you shudder to hear. I am running back into the arms of C.S. Lewis for comfort.

And yet, I just know the next time Neil sets out down some shadowy, thorn-bound path, beckoning me along, I will traipse after him again, hanging on his every word. And occasionally guessing in advance what those words are going to be.

My Awe Fetish

My, I have become picky in my old age. There was a time, not so long ago, that I could get turned on by a pretty face alone. Okay, a pretty face and a good story. Take for example the character of Sayid on “Lost”: The swarthy good looks drew me in, and the concept of a former torturer from the Iraq Republican Army sealed the deal. (Don’t tell me I’m the only one who has had fantasies of being captured by the flashback version of Sayid.)

A couple years later, I find it just isn’t enough for me anymore. I don’t know if it’s the physical changes happening to me at 51, or the result of my life experiences, or both...but it’s getting so I just can’t get excited without awe. (Davie, don’t worry—husbands are exempt! Not that you aren’t replete with awe, of course.)

This awe fetish isn’t exactly something new. I’ve been into awe ever since I was a teen and in love with Mr. Spock because he was all other-worldly and super smart. I’ve always been a sucker for authority figures, even when it was really a bad idea: like one of the professors at my first husband’s seminary, my boss at the law firm, and my confessor. (Yeah, and he was an archbishop too, not to mention married.) Trust me, not a one of these guys was handsome, much less sexy. But they were, to one degree or another, awe-inspiring.

The guy just has to have something really impressive going for him. It doesn’t matter a whole lot what it is, just that it sparks a little awe.

When I first got interested in hockey, I fell for the goalie on my husband’s favorite team. He was one of the better goalies, don’t get me wrong, but I think I was simply so impressed by the skill it takes to play goal in the NHL that I just glommed on to him. The reflexes, concentration and stamina required by that job just fascinated me. When I met this guy in person I could barely speak, as if I were in the presence of deity. Sometime later he got in trouble with the law and turned out to not really be your most “character” guy, and thus lost all appeal for me. (When the awe goes, so does the desire.)

You are all well aware of my devotion to Les Stroud. Talk about awe-inspiring; well, I’ve done just that enough on this blog in the past. Point is, find a guy who is courageous, a talented filmmaker, and a superb musician, and I’m not sure how ugly you’d have to make him for that fellow not to get me excited. Les is not one bit ugly, and his character hasn’t failed me yet, so he’s one of the few guys currently able to pique my “interest.”

More recently, as you know, I got on my Neil Gaiman kick. (By the way, I finished American Gods and Stardust and just started Fragile Things. I saw “Beowulf,” too—best thing about it was Neil’s screenplay.) Now there are a lot of authors I very much admire, whose work I love to read. I would call Stephen King, John Updike, and William Goldman all genius contemporary authors. But for reasons I can’t explain, they do not provoke from me the awe that Neil Gaiman’s writing does. It may be that he so often has the voice of some charming and brilliant 19th Century Briton, I don’t know. But there is so much richness and profundity in his work, it just blows my mind.

And with me, blown-mind is the ultimate turn-on.

You get the picture: professor, priest, athlete, daredevil, musician, artist...whatever it is in a person or character that makes me feel amazed and humble, that’s what gets to me. I don’t care if he’s drop-dead gorgeous, has six-pack abs, or is an alpha male oozing sexuality. If he has some startling talent, if he has accomplished some remarkable achievement, or if he is simply unique and special and somehow out-of-this-world, he’s my guy.

Now there’s one serious downside to having an awe fetish, my friends, and here it is: People are (oh curse the dreadful truth!) only human. Just as those gorgeous centerfold chicks in Playboy are air-brushed and otherwise enhanced, my awe-inspiring men have plenty of faults as well. I have learned for the sake of my fantasy life not to inquire too deeply into their real lives. Better still, I look for fictional characters whenever I can; Faramir (“Lord of the Rings”) is not going to lose his glamour by turning out to have bet on dog fights or something.

Please post if you too have an awe fetish. I fear I may be the only one. Perhaps we can form a support group. I think creating a clearinghouse for guys who inspire awe would be very helpful.

In the meanwhile, I’m going to keep reading Fragile Things and having Neil Gaiman haunt my dreams.

The Author's Space...Upgraded

I'm so happy about my new workspace I just had to share.

After saving up for five years we finally replaced the depressing light blue-gray carpet that was in our condo when we bought it (having fallen in love with the place in spite of said carpet). Since my desk, one of those ready-to-assembly jobbers like they sell at Target, barely stayed in one piece during that move, we knew replacing the carpeting also meant a new desk. Well, I saved up for that too! And a new chair! Woo hoo! So take a gander at the before picture (and my pal Cody in the chair)...

And the after picture...

Of course now this means I have to rededicate myself to working at this desk. I'll get busy on that!

Old Flames

This week I made arrangements with The Romance Studio website for an interview that will appear next month, and agreed to focus on my first published novel. The Resurrection of Captain Eternity is a very obscure contemporary romance read by few, but it has a handful of die-hard fans so I like to think it’s decent. Well, since I was going to have to talk about this book, I thought I better reread it quick since it’s been a long time.

Captain Eternity was revised and released in 1998 but in fact I originally wrote it in the early 90s, and it takes place in 1990. That means the title character, whose real name is Fritz, is a guy I fell in love with almost two decades ago. The whole book is a real nostalgia trip, as there is much reminiscing in it about the 70s and of course a real 80s sensibility to it. Maria, the heroine is slightly younger than myself birth-year-wise but her personal history is in many ways a peek into mine.

I hadn’t thought about Fritz aka the Captain in a long time. I still find the guy’s intensity, complexity and extreme self-confidence a little intimidating—but very sexy. It’s funny to be falling in love all over again with a man I invented myself, having forgotten in the interim what he was like. The imagination is such a weird place.

As I read Captain Eternity I have to reflect on other loves from my youth and consider whether or not the me of today would be likewise attracted to them. There are some infatuations that die off in the natural course of things, leaving you wondering what on earth you were thinking. But there are others that seem to abide regardless of the passing of years.

My last great crush of high school was on a guy named Mark. And after almost 35 years I am still not quite over this guy. Every couple of years I try Googling him again, but in spite of his not having a real common name, I can’t find out for sure what became of him. Frustrates the crap out of me.

Mark was an enigma. That was what hooked me on him. He was extremely intelligent and firmly ensconced in the “brains” clique, but he had shoulder-length hair. Now in 1974 only “freaks”—the kids who cared more about pot than grades—had long hair. I wanted desperately to get to know a guy who was all National-Honor-Society-and-Key-Club but had hippie hair. He was also cute in a geeky sort of way, and had a great sense of humor.

I was obsessed with this kid all of my senior year. You know how it was when you were seventeen: if the guy you liked spoke to you, it sent you reeling with joy for the next 24 hours. I remember one basketball away game we both attended right before Christmas break, when Mark oddly made a point of seeking me out and wishing me Merry Christmas. It was my best Christmas in years just because of that.

I know it seems odd that I fell so hard for a guy merely because he was “an enigma.” But keep in mind that being enigmatic is very sexy. There’s nothing like an inexplicable mystery to draw you in (just ask Maria). And, for me at least, when that mystery involves the integration of two apparently opposite qualities, it’s all the more sexy. Especially to a teenager raised as I was. I was a classic “good girl” just a handful of years into puberty, trying to make sense of human nature at the tail end of both the Sexual Revolution and the Vietnam War. I’d spent quite a few years trying to avoid the dark and scary things in life, but was just discovering that sometimes those things are very intriguing.

I was at ease with “brains”; but “freaks” frightened me. And here was this guy who embodied both. I couldn’t have possibly analyzed it this way at the time, but Mark was the bridge from my comfort zone into unexplored territory. He had managed somehow to be like me but also embrace the things I feared. Consequently he seemed a source of power and enlightenment and fascinating erotic appeal. Not unlike Captain Eternity, really.

I suppose my ongoing yearning for Mark is due to the fact that the mystery was never solved, the enigma never explained. There’s nothing like lack of closure to sustain an attraction. Still, I’m sure were I to locate the guy and ask him to explain why he wore his hair long in spite of being one of the smart kids, he would look at me strangely and say, “I liked how it looked” or something equally non-monumental. I recognize that my adolescent imagination (which continues to serve me well today as a romance author) greatly embellished the character of Mark beyond realistic expectations.

I can only dream of finally finding him via Google and Google Images, and learning that he became a brilliantly eccentric mathematician who still has shoulder-length hair.

Ah well…at least my Captain Eternity remains the same enigmatically hot guy after all these years, and always will. See, this is why it pays to be a fiction writer.

Panic over Porn

I recently became aware of some controversy concerning the availability of Playboy and Penthouse magazines to U.S. troops overseas. People react in all kinds of ways to the idea of army PXs offering explicit materials like these to soldiers. There are many who are appalled at the idea, saying it encourages perverted behavior. Many others feel that such materials are a comfort to lonely men far from home, and providing access to them is the least we can do for those in harm’s way.

It’s panic over porn, and resolving issues that involve sex is never easy. Is pornography a bad thing? How should we judge it, and how best can we apply those judgments?

Also complicating the issue is the fact that there are grades of pornography; in that category we can lump everything from artistic, museum-worthy photography to kiddie porn. I used to be an avid reader of Playboy, and in fact the articles are interesting and informative, while the photos are quite tame by today’s standards. I understand Penthouse is a bit rougher, but neither one approaches a lot of the stuff anyone on the planet can find on the internet any day of the week. But for the sake of argument, let’s focus on the relatively “normal” raciness of the magazines in question and their ilk.

How you react to this issue concerning the military is obviously going to depend on your opinion of these particular magazines and “pornography” in general. There’s certainly room in the world for different points of view, but this is a case of one group of people deciding for another what choices they may have. Were these soldiers home, the freedom we all enjoy in the U.S. would permit them to decide whether or not to look at these publications. That suggests we should, as much as is in our power, extend those same benefits to them when abroad fighting for that freedom.

But some people consider reading prurient magazines as a shameful activity that ought not to be encouraged among men assigned to honorably represent our country. It’s difficult to argue with them on that point, because they themselves feel shame about the enjoyment of porn. They do not think it a normal or healthy expression of sexuality, so naturally the idea of soldiers “contemplating” the centerfold makes them cringe.

Personally, I came to terms as a young woman with the male propensity to enjoy looking at naked women. It’s so pervasive and commonplace that I don’t need a sociologist to tell me it’s hardwired in males. And truly, I’d rather have men express their love for female variety this way than by indulging in rampant promiscuity. And when they are currently deprived of the option of conjugal relations, it’s hard to expect regular guys to become monks in every way. I personally side with the “let’s do all we can for these guys” camp.

But like I said above, when people are ashamed of a behavior themselves, it’s hard to convince them of the harmlessness of it in others. I’ve run into this a few times before in a completely different context. Sometimes when a woman discovers her partner has been indulging in online porn, she can really freak out. Because most women (not all by any means) aren’t especially turned on by this stuff, they simply can’t relate to what their men are doing. Many women in this situation panic, wondering if their mates are perverts, or if marriage been so totally unsatisfying, or both. A female can react to this situation as violently as if she had caught her husband in bed with a flesh-and-blood woman.

I really feel bad when this happens. Because in the vast majority of cases, the guy is just being a guy. He loves his girlfriend/wife, he would never cheat on her, he’s not any kind of a perv, and his perusings probably simply serve to spice up his monogamous sex life. But here we have a woman feeling undesirable and betrayed, and a man feeling either guilty or terribly misunderstood...and it really doesn’t need to be that way.

It’s then that I really want to step into an area that I would normally not consider my business: someone else’s sex life. Because I hate to see people drawing harmfully incorrect conclusions that will only bring misery to themselves and others. I want to reassure these women that it’s okay, they did not marry monsters, their mates still love them. I want to teach them that male sexuality, while different from their own, is not something to fear or loathe. No normal, healthy male, even if he occasionally downloads a movie or saves a naked photo to his hard drive, is trying to say by this that he doesn’t want to be with and love a real woman. (Although he’d better have virus protection on his computer, or the household will be adversely affected!)

And I do wish a similar attitude could be adopted by those passing judgment on soldiers who want to read Playboy and Penthouse. They’re not cheating on America, people, they’re just being guys. If we appreciate their maleness when it’s applied to using force to protect us, it’s not fair to begrudge them that same maleness in other contexts, now is it?

The Intimacy Factor

After making love with my husband the other night (and if my dad or my girls are reading this, it’s okay, everyone…no details will follow!), an interesting thought crossed my mind. There’s a factor involved when you are sexually engaged with another person that sometimes gets lost in the fireworks.

Everyone recognizes that sex is significant to a relationship because it is physically intense. That special person who is there when you reach the pinnacle of pleasure is bound to mean a lot to you, if only in that moment, no matter how much you try to treat the act as “casual.” But there’s something else that goes on that may create even more of an attachment.

Ever think about why it is that we are naturally shy about sex? Even if a person is raised without any religious guilt or other hindrances, he or she will tend to keep his or her erotic activities on the D.L. I think it’s because passion makes us a little crazy, and certainly different in our behavior than in any other circumstance, and we’re just not comfortable showing that side of ourselves. In order to be willing to let another person see us like that, we need certain assurances, like privacy and trust. [Well, unless we are drunk or simply too turned on to resist, that is. But if intoxication or extreme horniness came into play, the result is typically that “walk of shame” the next morning.]

My point is, we don’t give away our sexual selves easily without paying a price. The happier, more comfortable manner of doing it is in the context of a strong relationship, one where we have become at ease and secure with our partner. If you are intimate in other things, like knowing each other’s personal history, sharing times of illness or extreme emotion, creating a home, etc., you will likewise be intimate in bed. It’s hard to worry about what your mate with think of the sex noises you make when he’s seen you with the stomach flu!

People complain a lot about “losing the magic” as a relationship ages, and that’s a topic I could discuss for pages. But there’s one aspect of a mature relationship that is a real benefit: the accumulated intimacy. Being at ease in bed is a real boon, especially when you are too tired or stressed to worry about being really sexy or performing at your peak. When you’re not at your best, love and intimacy can take up a lot of slack.

The flip side of this is that when you choose to have sex with someone, that person is going to uncover a very private part of you, and vice versa. If that one piece of intimacy is out of balance with the rest of your relationship with him or her, some strange repercussions will develop in spite of both your intentions to be casual and not have the encounter mean anything. Perhaps it isn’t a big deal in the context of the rest of your life (although it’s sad when that’s true of sex!), but it will mean something, assuredly.

The Intimacy Factor does matter, whether in a stable relationship decades long or a one night stand. Those who are wise at love are mindful of that!

Nothing’s Sexier than a Guy Who Wants You

Warning, 4/17/08 “The Office” spoilers to follow!

First a bit of back story: A couple weeks ago my daughter broke up with her boyfriend of two and a half years. It was their second break-up: the other time was a year ago when her boyfriend called it off. It only took him like two weeks to beg her to take him back, to give him another chance, which eventually she did. He made a lot of promises, everything from quitting smoking eventually to marrying her eventually. Well, a year went by of her waiting for that ring, hoping he would change his various ways, and while at first it look promising, time told another story. Finally, when pressed, he admitted he didn’t really want to get married at all.

The “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me” rule went into play, and now my daughter is single again, and surprisingly happy. There are worse things than being single, and one of them is being with a guy who doesn’t truly want you—at least not enough to compromise his other wants.

So, this past Thursday night my husband and I were watching “The Office,” and our favorite TV couple, Jim and Pam, were up to their usual charming hijinx all episode. Finally Jim mentioned, humorously, that he intended to propose to Pam—not right then, but eventually. This was the same line that had been used on my daughter, but somehow coming from Jim, we knew he meant it down to the soles of his feet. Or so we hoped, anyway.

Next scene, Jim is talking to the “fourth wall,” the cameraman, and tells him he really means it. He whips out a small black box, flips it open, and there’s the ring! He says he bought it a week after they started dating and is just waiting for the perfect moment.

Wow. If you’re wondering what my daughter thought of this, she hasn’t yet seen the episode as of this writing. But David and I couldn’t help sighing and wishing it had been Jim who was our hoped-to-be son-in-law.

My daughters’ generation abounds in commitment-phobes, much to the dismay of both my girls (the other one is just looking for a nice guy to go out with once or twice and they even balk at that). Too many of these young men simply don’t want to grow up and be responsible for a wife, a home, and possibly even children. They need their time for playing computer games, hanging out in bars, or watching sports. They need their money for iPhones, trips to Europe, and lots of beer. One figures they will eventually develop different priorities and start to see the value of nurturing a relationship with a long-term companion, building a home, and setting goals for significant personal achievements.

There’s that word again: eventually. Meaning not now, maybe later, maybe.

These same guys don’t have a clue what being a real man means. Masculine virtue—the kind that makes a male attractive to the opposite sex and admirable to his own—lies on the other end of the scale from “eventually.” It encompasses qualities like determination, responsibility, reliability, devotion, maturity and discernment. The virtuous male also recognizes the value in a good woman, a woman who has the qualities to make a happy and secure home with him, and wants her in a proactive way. Not just in a “hey, it’s cool, we’ll just hang out” way, but in a “let’s take the steps to make a real future together” way.

Which brings us back to Jim. He knows Pam well enough to have figured out the two of them can be happy together. His conclusion: Why not get married? Why not promise to spend the rest of their lives together? In fact, his excitement at the idea is obvious and infectious. Who can help but envy Pam, that a good man like this wants her so bad?

Jim Halpert has been pretty damn sexy for the duration of this show’s four seasons. But I think he reached new heights Thursday night.

The Secret to Falling in Love

It’s spring, when hearts turn to thoughts of love, sex, and romance, hey? I know mine will, if it ever stops with the cold rain here in Wisconsin. This will be my life’s 51st spring, but who ever gets tired of falling in love? If the average human had her way, she’d like to do it every day.

I was pondering that thought this week while reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, during a chapter that discussed married love. My dear departed friend Jack (as Mr. Lewis was known to his friends) talked about the folly of expecting to stay in love with your spouse. And he made an excellent point: considering the insecurity, anxiety and nervous excitement that accompanies romantic love, who would want to experience that forever concerning one’s life mate? It’s fun, but just too stressful. The feelings of security, contentment, and quiet happiness that come from a good marriage are far better.

But didn’t I just say I’d like to fall in love every day? Well, yes...but I’d like to do it in a less serious and stressful capacity. I’d like it to be fun, exciting, arousing, adventurous, abounding in rapturous emotion, invigorating, fresh, sensuous, and glorious. You know, just like that spring day when you were nineteen and met that really cute guy in your Psych 101 class and dreamed about him meeting you for a beer, and you laid awake all night imaging kissing him...well, you know what I’m talking about.

You may be thinking, that kind of thing is possible when you’re young, but the older you get, the less likely it is that you are going to fall in love on any given day. You may feel that at this point in your life it’s impossible. Some days I sure feel that way. But in point of fact, the older you get, the more control you have over your life, and the less desperate you are. If the cute guy in Psych turned out to be not interested, or actually a loser, you were doomed to some very unpleasant disappointment relationship-wise. But an older, happily married woman is already contentedly attached. She doesn’t need to be desperate about falling in love, she can just sit back and enjoy it for the fun of it.

Well, clearly I’m talking about a certain sort of falling in love, and it’s the kind in the realm of fantasy. (And after all, if you’re going to be truly honest about it, all falling in love is in the realm of fantasy!) Whenever you discover someone new that you find attractive, whether it be a character in a book, an actor on TV, an athlete, or your new pool boy (naughty!), you can play at falling in love. You can enjoy the thrill of masculine beauty and charm, you can revel in the particular gifts of this guy, you can rejoice that he exists and that you encountered him...and most of all you can rejoice that you are only playing at being in love so won’t ever have to learn all about his shortcomings by actually having a relationship with him!

While it’s spring, and we’re focusing on falling in love, why not broaden our definition a bit for the fun of it? You can fall in love with a piece of music (try Beethoven’s Ninth), a dish (there’s this amazing orange liqueur cake I make), a piece of art (I felt that way about a statue of David once), a film (how many times have I watched “Love Actually” now?), a pair of shoes, a lilac bush, a pet, a cologne, etc., etc. This kind of romance may not venture into the realm of the erotic (that cake comes damn close), but it still satisfies the soul.

Of course, being a romance writer, I especially love to fall in love with characters. I think romance readers are on to something: they know how to fall in love over and over again throughout their lives, deriving great satisfaction and pleasure therefrom, without any of the unfortunate side effects that come from lusting after “real life” romance experiences.

Jack Lewis is one who highly recommends that rather than trying to force ourselves to feel romance in areas where in fact we might be perfectly content, we be open to the exciting things each day brings our way. Fall a little in love with each good thing you encounter, and you’ll have plenty to be romantic about.

Of course, it’s a lot easier--at least here in Wisconsin--to do it in spring.

Me and My Shadow

“The devil inside, the devil inside, every single one of us the devil inside.” The band INXS was onto something there. The devil inside is a concept explored extensively by my mentor, psychoanalyst Carl Jung. Dr. Jung termed this phenomenon “the shadow,” and defined it as those anti-social, morally negative traits we all possess and bury deep in our unconscious.

I doubt that too many people would argue with this analysis, whether you call it “original sin” or take a more humanistic view. Each of us has a sort of light half and a dark half, angel and devil, but we prefer to see ourselves as the light half. The dark half we deny, suppress, and try to ignore.

Jung saw this dichotomy reflected in mankind’s art and legend and superstition. He wrote, “How else could it have occurred to man to divide the cosmos…into a bright day-world and a dark night-world peopled with fabulous monsters, unless he had the prototype of such a division in himself?” Whether you think of centuries-old scary fairy tales or Stephen King thrillers and Eli Roth horror flicks of today, we see our own shadows in fable and fiction even if we ignore them in ourselves.

Jung would call that a good thing. Ignoring the dark side is the worst you can do, while understanding your shadow can lead to enlightenment, balance, and wholeness. “To confront a person with his shadow is to show him his own light...Anyone who perceives his shadow and his light simultaneously sees himself from two sides and thus gets in the middle,” advised Jung, on the subject of finding healthy psychological wholeness.

So what’s this shadow business got to do with sex? I believe Jung would back me up when I say, sometimes it is the erotic lure of the darkness that invites us to come to terms with our shadow. When a wholesome, cheerful, kindly young woman finds fascination with, say, vampires, she is forced to recognize her own suppressed amoral bloodlust. It beats the heck out of denying your shadow any means of expression and ending up acting out its yearnings in real life.

I have been reflecting this week on my own shadow, which (not surprisingly for those of you who keep up here on my waxing and waning obsessions) has recently taken the form of one renowned fantasy author named Neil. As my reading of American Gods progresses ever closer to the end of the novel, I find myself amazed by two things: (1) Mr. Gaiman’s devotion to making his fiction as bleak, grimy, horrifying, disgusting, and even painful as possible, and (2) my unmitigated joy in reading it.

You readers who have been kind enough to partake of my own fiction know that I write in a very different style than this, even when I’m penning a scene that is unhappy. Case in point, there is a passage in American Gods where a character undergoes a sort of drawn out, dying torture that parallels a similar scene in one of my works. (First of all, Neil’s version put mine to shame—I have never felt so literarily inferior!) His character’s suffering was gritty and ghastly and perfectly like your worst nightmare. Mine, while reasonably moving and engaging enough, was clean and purely psychological, and doubtless left the reader shedding a tear or two but not praying to never have a dream that vaguely resembled the passage.

I’ve said it before: I couldn’t write in Neil’s style if I wanted to. But the interesting thing is, his writing is very much a shadow of my own. It’s harsh, unblinking, uncensored, whereas I create worlds that are pretty and poetic. I write scenes that are transcendent fantasies of delight, he writes of maggots, grimy dishes, roadkill, and dirty snow (hey, it’s April in Wisconsin, there’s nothing so hideous to us as dirty snow right now!).

Okay, it may be this book in particular—I’m sure Stardust will be different—but my point is this: The part of me that operates in day-to-day life, my outward face, is Diana Laurence. The part I don’t want to deal with, deep down inside, is a lot like Neil Gaiman. To be a whole person, to integrate both sides, I need a good dose of American Gods. You might even say I lust after a good dose of American Gods.

I’m sure I won’t go postal having nourished my soul with this book. It’s just what Dr. Jung ordered.

My Own Personal Jesus: Victor Garber

I know what you're thinking: Just how do I plan on writing a post about Jesus for Erotica with Soul?

Remember, you can experience erotic influences when sex is the further thing from your mind. This will be my case in point: my personal experience with the 1973 film "Godspell," which I just watched again on Easter night.

I was 16 when I first saw this movie. I fell in love with the spirit of this film: the childlike joy of camaraderie and celebration. The whole cast was wonderful: their antics, their clothes, their love for each other, their happiness at the simple pleasures of friends and fun. The songs were wonderful, of course: I listened to this album more often than any other in my life (including even Les Stroud's CDs!).

And I went head over heels for Victor Garber as Jesus. I think I can articulate better now how that happened than I might have in 1973.

I was raised agnostic and up until that point, had very little experience with churchgoing or Christianity. I became a Christian due more to "Godspell" than anything else, really, and eventually found myself a Lutheran pastor's wife, then an Anglican, and briefly a Roman Catholic, before evolving into what I am today...with which I won't bore you. My point is, this movie had an intense and long-lasting impact on my life, and while you can give credit for that to many things (like the gospel for example), you must give some to Victor.

I see now, particularly in view of the man as he appears today, still handsome, but a grayed, mature figure of some dignity, that Victor played Jesus as about as young as a man can be. He was so fresh-faced, so pure, so innocent, and so beautiful in face and voice, he is truly a paragon of youth. In the context of the rock opera, which in classic 70s style is symbolic and stylized, he plays Jesus not at all as the man he was historically, but as an archetype of one aspect of the Messiah: the child of God.

He is the leader of the ten 20-something children in this sweet, careless playground (which in the film is ironically New York City), and he engages himself with teaching them the simplest, yet deepest, lessons: how to play well with others and how to be good children of God. There is no complex theology here, and no Passion-of-the-Christ-style atonement scene either: even the suffering is a kind of play.

But that is the charm of it all, and the charm of Victor Garber's Jesus. Don't forget, I grew up in the world of Vietnam war footage on the evening news, race riots, campus unrest, LSD and Charles Manson. New York City was no playground in 1973. And yet here was a guy in rainbow pants and a Superman shirt, who was gentle, and funny, and tender, and loving. He had a perfect face, an angelic smile, eyes full of light and warmth. He had a voice that would melt your heart. You just wanted him to find you in some dreary urban setting, and take you to a park, and paint something whimsical on your cheek with his slender fingers.

Are you following me now? Yes, it did work because he was a lovely young man, and I was a 16 year old girl. I never had sex fantasies of him--heaven forefend--but I did think of him in ways I would not have done had he been an old man or a woman. It was an erotic pull that bound me to him, that intensified the delight I felt for his music and the humor I drew from his jokes...and the love I felt from him and for him.

And to this day I think that while this is not the most well-rounded portrait of Jesus on film, it does capture with amazing clarity certain aspects of Him, whether you consider Him a historical figure or an archetype. Grown men, in real life, do not exhibit this kind of innocence, this childlike exuberance, this joyful and potent tenderness...but the Son of God surely would.

Victor Garber brought the role to life in a way that truly touched mine...and he will always be my personal cinematic Jesus.

Notes on the Gaiman Crush, Part 2

So, I’m sure you’re burning with curiosity how I am faring with my temptation to crush on Neil Gaiman. I’d have to say I’ve lost the first week’s battle pretty soundly.

Planning to read more of his books? Yes.
Thinking of doing a tribute site? Still no!
Hoarding a few more wallpapers? Yes.
Marveling at his mind? Yes, yes, yes.

What I really love about Neil boils down to—no, not the smile—his ability to describe exactly what it is like to be a writer. I mean, in the same terms (although much more eloquently) than I would. Before you non-writers tune out, bear with me: Imagine encountering someone who really gets [fill in your particular passion here], in a manner you thought was practically unique to you. Yeah, it’s a heady trip when that happens.

Case in point: I watched the rest of the Google interview video. In response to a question about archetypal hero themes, Neil brought up Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with 10,000 Faces. As a Jungian author I’m all about archetypes, and I’ve read some Campbell, and I followed where Neil was going with this. But personally, I’ve never wanted to read too much Joseph Campbell, for fear that studying the creative process in that way might inhibit my natural ability to tap into the unconscious and draw stories from it.

I was thinking about this, just as Neil said [something like] “I was part way into the book and I thought, ‘I shouldn’t be reading this.’” In that moment I realized he and I had the very same thought on the subject. It was spooky. Even spookier was the fact that as Neil went on, expressing basically what I just did in the paragraph above, the questioner responded in a way that demonstrated he had missed the point. He was a smart guy, he just wasn’t a writer.

Earlier in the video, Neil read another of his poems, this one about Scheherazade inventing the Arabian Nights tales. This poem also hit upon the writing process in a manner that to my mind was spot on. I felt like if Neil had changed some of the words he could have been describing what I’ve been doing lately with the Bloodchained sequel! Of course I’m not under threat of death like Scheherazade, and my book can hardly compare to Aladdin’s adventures, but you get my drift.

Last time I posted, I discussed how scary it can be finding out about the real life of the object of one’s infatuation. I won’t lie that I am terribly intimidated by this man, who has a dozen celebrities on speed dial, sees his work adapted for movies and musical theater, and is adored by millions. I have no wish to throw myself among the rabid crowd of fanboys (and in the case of sexy Neil, there are plenty of fangirls as well) that follow Neil Gaiman from sci fi con to sci fi con.

Nevertheless, I’m beginning to think some good could come of this thing.

As always happens when I read good fiction, I find inspiration in Neil’s work to improve my own. For example, he has a tremendous knack for embellishing a scene with a few marvelously selected details, phrased utterly without cliché, thereby making that scene more colorful and substantial in the mind’s eye. My own personal weakness has always been description—I ought to be a playwright with my love of dialogue—and I can only dream of having such a skill. Nevertheless, I can try to emulate the man a little, and my prose will only be the better for the effort.

I explained this to my husband yesterday, saying “Of course I could never write like Neil Gaiman.” Davie replied, “Well, and he could never write like you, either.” It was a very kind thing to say, and also, I’ll admit, true. I don’t want to write like anyone other than myself, and no doubt Neil would encourage that attitude. I am at last too mature to want to express my worshipful feelings for another person by trying to be him.

That said, however, I cannot help but be moved by the man’s perception of the creative process and the way he describes it. In this one small way (actually in my case, not so small), he and I are soul mates of a sort.

Therefore I am becoming more comfortable with the idea of having my imaginary version of Neil Gaiman—for how could my concept of him be anything but imaginary?—serve as a sort of muse. My imaginary versions of celebrities I’m "in crush with" have often served as inspirations to my life and work, and considering this is the first time I’ve glommed on to an author, the muse thing is definitely in order.

So, doesn’t it sound like I’m being all sensible about this and stuff? Doesn’t it? Acting my age and all that? Well, don’t think that I’ve ruled out the possibility of seeing him in person some day…he lives in Minneapolis and that’s just over the border from Wisconsin, people.

I’ll keep you posted, you know I will, whether you like it or not.

Neil Gaiman: Trembling on the Brink

Today I trembled on the brink of developing a whale of a crush.

Back story: A couple years ago my husband, ever vigilant for guys he thinks I’ll find attractive (see also “Cody Willard is My Type”), pointed out Neil Gaiman on a book cover. Davie’s really good at spotting my type (I’m not bad at returning the favor, either). At the time I looked up Neil on the web and was impressed with his body of work: he’s a fantasy/sci-fi author known for, among other things, authoring the Sandman comics and writing the novel American Gods. Although only four years my junior, he still has the boyish good looks and mop of curly dark hair I find irresistible.

I let the moment pass, and even when Davie asked for American Gods for a Christmas present and read it, I forgot about Neil Gaiman.

Fast forward to a week or two ago when we rented “Stardust.” I loved the script to this movie, as well as the story itself, and noticed in the credits it was based on a novel by Neil Gaiman. By this time the name merely rang a bell—I couldn’t place why my heart skipped a beat when I saw it. I hit Google and remembered my past encounter with the man. I asked Davie what happened to American Gods and he dug it out of the basement.

Today I read the first chapter. The writing style is quite reminiscent of one of my favorite authors, Stephen King. It’s too soon to say how much I’ll like the book, but so far so good. Very good.

And there’s still the problem that I really like what this guy looks like.

Like a fool, I googled him again, and happened upon a 2006 video of him doing a public appearance in relation to his collection of short stories and poetry, Fragile Things. I only had a few minutes to view this hour long video, but I couldn’t resist a peek.

Oh great—he’s British, too.

So I watched and listened to Neil do an absolutely wonderful reading of his absolutely wonderful poem “The Day the Saucers Came.” It was spell-binding really. He’s funny, quirky, and fantastically imaginative, in addition to his looking like that.

I went to his article on Wikipedia and learned he was influenced by, among other people, my beloved C.S. Lewis. And that he wrote the marvelous English screenplay of “Princess Mononoke.” And so on. In short, I uncovered a bunch more reasons to like the guy.

Then I peeked at his blog, and it was at this point that I began to feel true fear.

You see, the biggest threat to a crush is always reality. Infatuations used to be a whole lot easier before the internet. Back then you could find a few reasons to be drawn to someone, then a few reasons why you and he were destined to share some meaningful connection, without having reality thrust upon you. But then technology came along, and even celebrity’s lives can be open books. Neil’s blog, like anyone’s, is full of commentary on what he’s doing, communications with his friends, all sorts of evidence that he is a real and regular human being with a life in progress involving a billion personal details that seem infinitely distant from my own existence.

For awhile there I had been tempted to throw myself into this Neil Gaiman thing: watch the rest of that video, read all his books, get the Sandman comics, etc. But this is happening to me why? Because of that face, that British accent, one movie and one chapter of a book, so WHOA. I know it used to take less than that when I was 20 or even 30, okay, even when I was 40...but I can’t quite do it now.

I’m too scared.

Crushes are always scary things, even for the well-adjusted and non-psycho person who recognizes from the get-go that no real relationship will ever occur. You can’t help fearing the inevitable moment when you either (a) discover something about the person that clashes with your dream of his perfections or (b) start feeling so much that it hurts that you can’t ever meet him. When I was younger I gaily and boldly plunged in, paying no heed to the imminent arrival of such moments. It was worth it for the heady thrill of being infatuated.

But at 51 I am not so energetic. I look back on my crush in 1989 on Kenneth Branagh and marvel at the sheer amount of time I spent researching him, not to mention the money for the library copy machine. Don’t get me started on my Sting phase, which ended up with my not only learning everything about the man, but also studying his hero, Carl Jung, for years. Oh, and then there’s my 300+ page tribute site to Guy Carbonneau. No, I’m just not up for that anymore. For one thing, I have my own career to take care of; these books don’t write themselves you know! LOL

But that said, I also am not of a mind to walk away from Neil Gaiman. Because I am still me, and me is a person who just gets a little excited and fluttery when a guy like this comes along. So I’m sure I’ll read American Gods, and watch the rest of that video, and see what comes of that.

And okay, yeah, I did put him up on my wallpaper. Dang it, he’s just really good looking.

Please Tell Me Why I Love Ben Linus

Even if you don't watch "Lost," I'm sure you've had the experience of being drawn to some character you can clearly see is not supposed to be sexy. Or even likeable. For some reason, when this happens it's more thrilling than when you lust after someone who is supposed to be hot.

Cue Michael Emerson as Benjamin Linus.

Ben is the uber-villain of the show, and believe me, he's not one of those Alan Rickman-Jason Isaacs-Cillian Murphy kinds of villains. He's puny, has bug eyes and weird hair. He gets captured and beat up by the good guys all the time. He has no hot girlfriend at his side at the poker table, no posse of hangers-on, no fast car or ritzy mansion. He does rule the Island, though...mostly by ruthless cunning, remorseless violence, and superior intelligence. And at one time or another he has hurt, deceived, betrayed, or made of fool of every guy (and many women) in this creepy little paradise.

And he lies all the freakin' time.

But something about this man has won me over. His backstory episode helped: He was emotionally abused by his rotten father as a child, in a most pathetic and tear-jerking way. And he does have his vulnerabilities: just this past week our suspicions of his devotion to Juliet were confirmed. It was classic Ben Linus all right: now you like him, now you don't. In the scene where he makes her dinner, all excited like a schoolboy with a crush, he was so endearing...and so doomed, for meanwhile Juliet was having an affair with Goodwin. But wait a half hour (in TV time) and he's just murdered Goodwin and informed Juliet "You're MINE."

Now please tell me why this declaration by the murderous, weasley little Ben Linus sent me off to bed, imagining that I were on the Island trying to comfort him and win his heart away from Juliet? Well, that's what I did! I would have decided I was really insane were it not for the fact that the next morning my daughter Katie, who composes and distributes a weekly "LostCap" newsletter, included in her report a declaration of her own Bensanity.

This encouraged me enough to admit my problem in this blog. I am fascinated by Ben Linus. I love (as he put it this past week) that he always has a plan. I love that he lies, and I always believe this time he might telling the truth; in other words, I love that he can fool me. I love how devious he is, how unfailingly clever, and most of all how he only loses his cool when he loves somebody.

And as much as I've come to like his crazy hair, his buggy eyes, his face trashed by whatever latest round of pissed-off beatings he's received, I can tell you there is one thing about him that is truly beautiful: his voice. Michael Emerson has one of those velvet voices that forces you to listen. There's some fascinating quirk to his accent and/or diction that I can't quite place but could listen to for hours.

I guess in the final analysis, this is just one of those rare characters so intriguing, so strong, and so marvelously brought to life by a brilliant actor, you just can't help reacting to him. My husband just loathes the guy, probably more than any TV character I can recall. Some of my daughters' friends thinks he's horrible and icky. But I bet there are other Bensane women out there wondering why the heck they are lying awake at night picturing themselves washing Benjamin Linus's wounds and eating up his lies like candy.

Yep, here you have the handsome heroic Jack, the hot (former) bad boy Sawyer, the model-perfect Jin, the dreamy Desmond, the geekily gorgeous Daniel, and I'm writing a blog post on Ben. Just goes to show you, there are two words that best describe what turns women on: Go figure.


UPDATE - Dec. 14, 2008

I just had to share this photo, sent to me by Ben Linus fan Jennifer.

She was not wrong when she claimed it was one of the hottest photos of him ever, and I would faint. Brace yourselves...

The key, as Jennifer pointed out to me, is to view the photo in full size. To do so, please click here.

Thanks for giving me goosebumps, Jennifer!

UPDATE - March 14, 2009

Ben Linus fans may also enjoy this post: "Bad Boys, Good Guys, and Ben Linus."

Three Turn-On Moments

Don't you just love those random "Turn-On Moments" that sometimes grace your day? Over the past week or so, I've enjoyed three of these, and I just wanted to share them with you.

The Transformation

I highly recommend the 2007 fantasy movie "Stardust." I had seen the trailer for it and while I was not particularly impressed by the actor who seemed to be the male lead, there was some other really hot guy in the movie that I was on the lookout for. So we rented it from Netflix.

Charlie Cox plays Tristan, an ordinary young fellow whose life takes a turn for the adventurous when he finds a woman (Claire Danes) who is apparently the embodiment of a fallen star. He's a sweet, slightly bumbling guy, kinda cute. Eventually the two hook up with Robert DeNiro's character, Capt. Shakespeare, a fierce and swashbuckling airship pirate who is secretly a gay cross-dresser. Yes, I'm not making that up.

The good captain takes it upon himself to give the two young people makeovers. Not only does Tristan get a very sexy new suit of clothes and fencing lessons, Capt. Shakespeare does his hair. And, this being fantasy, Tristan's hair gets longer. The long and short of it--sorry--is that Charlie Cox IS the hot guy I saw in the trailer, post-makeover. So, all along I'd been watching the very fellow I lusted for in the trailer, without knowing it.

That made him all the more attractive. I guess it's the classic frog-into-prince phenomenon. Not that the pre-makeover Charlie was a frog, exactly...he wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. But the coat, the sword, the hair...well, he really turned into something special. It took my breath away seeing that surprise transformation. And that's a turn-on moment.

Expertise Under Pressure

Many a time I've talked about how nothing's so sexy as talent or expertise. That, of course, is the secret to the sex appeal of 80's TV hero MacGyver, famous for his ingenious ability to devise whatever he needs out of regular stuff he finds laying around.

In a recent episode of "Mythbusters," Jamie Hynemann, Adam Savage, and their Build Team set about to test some of MacGyver's stunts in real life. The concluding segment of the show featured Grant and Tory posing as ultravillains and putting Jamie and Adam into challenging circumstances, to see if they could be as clever as MacGyver.

Our heroes were locked in a small room illuminated by two hanging light bulbs, with nothing else at hand. Would they figure out, as MacGyver did, that you can use a light bulb filament to pick a lock? Well, it took the boys no time at all think of that, and soon they were using Adam's steel-toed boot as a hammer to flatten the filament into a lock pick.

That was amazing enough, but there was still the challenge of picking the lock. Lock-picking is nothing in movies, but who do you know in real life who knows how to pick a real lock in a real doorknob? But wouldn't you know, Adam has some locksmithing in his background. He and Jamie took turns with their makeshift pick as the clock ran down. Adam announced he could feel the tumblers, and after another moment's careful concentration and minute motions, he unlocked the door!



Maybe you had to be there. Okay, maybe you had to be ME and be there. But I was blown away by the fact that Adam pulled off a stunt you normally only see people do on TV and in the movies. You could tell he was a bit amazed himself. I mean wow. I turned to David and said, "If Adam Savage were here right now he could totally do me on the spot." And I meant it too.

That was a big turn-on moment. Seriously, Adam. Sigh.

Erotic Flashback

Over the weekend I was organizing a bunch of old photos and happened to look at the album from when Davie and I were first dating, circa 1992. Backstory: I was recently separated from my gay husband, and hadn't seen any romance in a good decade and more. Imagine my excitement at the prospect of dating. I did marketing/PR at a law firm where Davie was employed in the mailroom. He'd drop off the mail and I'd admire his boyish good looks and cool and quirky fashion sense (like a drink of water in the desert, seeing as this was a law firm).

Davie's a runner and at this time was in his prime, and to put it bluntly, had the best ass in southeastern Wisconsin. Very possibly he still does. I found an old picture I'd forgotten about, of Davie wearing his favorite pants, with the 29" waist and the skin-tight posterior, and a really nice cotton oxford shirt with the cuffs folded up. From behind. It suddenly came back to me how I used to watch him go by when he dropped off my mail. And the time I rode the elevator with him and was all entranced by his brown leather jacket and longish hair and earring.

When you live with someone day in and out, through cleaning up after your cats and having gall bladder surgery and watching countless episodes of "House Hunters," you just get used to him. It's nice now and then to recall so vividly why you were attracted to him when you were practically strangers.

That's a turn-on moment that pays off most of all. :-)

The Bloodchained Sequel is Underway!

An update for fans of my fiction: This week I started writing the sequel to my novel Bloodchained! The book has been selling so well these past couple of months and has gotten more fantastic reviews, and meanwhile several fans were asking if there would be another BC book. Therefore it was pretty clear to me it was time to start writing BC2.

Don’t want to put in too much here about what may happen in the new novel, lest I spoil the first one for those who haven’t read it yet. But rest assured, your favorite vampiric villain has arisen again to use his seductive ways to gain power and threaten the Roican and mortal races. Meanwhile, the “good guys” of Bloodchained have their work cut out for them as they struggle not only with their battle to keep evil in check, but also with some internal strife (there’s a nifty forbidden love plot in the works, for one thing).

And if you’re wondering about some of those bits of foreshadowing in Bloodchained, well, all will be revealed, including the ultimate fate of the Temple and of Gilder’s Inn. You’ll meet some characters mentioned before, as well as intriguing new ones. And of course, the book will emulate its predecessor and be chock-full of suspense, romance, vampire-style spiciness and shocking surprises.

Yikes, I’ve got my work cut out for me making good on all those promises! I also have to try to live up to the reviews the original Bloodchained has been getting:

The Romance Studio: 5 hearts - “I loved this story. It truly has it all...and has become one of my favorite stories.”

Fallen Angel Reviews: 5 angels - “Like no other book...a tale that comes together brilliantly...pure delight.”

Sime~Gen: 5 stars - “Not many books are able to capture me completely the way this wonderful book did...a superb love story that touched my heart...a phenomenal read!"

Romance Junkies: 4 1/2 blue ribbons - “A story that will thrill paranormal and historical romance lovers alike...Grab a copy of this superb book...”

As you may know, Bloodchained owes much of its success to the 63 reader/partners who worked with me on the creation and writing of the story. I have often been asked if I would write another book in that fashion. Well, to answer that: Because the storyline has been largely established by the first book, I won’t be using the general surveys and such this time, but I do hope to recruit some members of the Bloodchained Readers Club who will be willing to read and critique the manuscript like was done with the original. Help from readers always makes for a better book!

[And if I’ve wet your whistle for getting your own copy of Bloodchained, the paperback is available online from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell’s Books. You can get it in Kindle from Amazon or in mobi format from Mobipocket, or go to Powell’s for the pdf and lit versions.]

Enough of the infomercial, we now return you to your regularly scheduled blog…

My Favorite Dracula

Is Frank Langella.

I'm not sure why, but as I recovered my health recently and with it my libido, the first attraction to come back to me was Frank Langella from the 1979 version of "Dracula." His portrayal inspired my first lust for a vampire figure (I was barely past puberty at that time) and in the nearly 30 years since then, no one has taken his place. (Not even my own characters Anders, Mr. Wellsley, and the gang from Bloodchained, LOL.)

What are the keys to Frank's charms? I suppose at the heart of it is his slow, painfully graceful, exquisitely elegant manner. More accurately, the way he is able to convey danger, seductiveness, and pure dominance in such a slow, graceful, elegant manner. He is literally the perfect gentleman, and yet so compelling and captivating that one is terrified by one's immediate and intense desire for him.

It's the voice, the eyes, the mouth, that slow and secret gesture of the fingers...it's the way power is cloaked in refinement when he speaks...it's the way he stands in a window or the way he sheds his cape. In my opinion there was never an actor so born for this role, with the perfect manner of speaking, the perfect comportment, to convey a creature so wicked and yet so impossible to resist.

If you don't believe me, here are four minutes from the film that may convince you.



[It doesn't hurt, may I add, that Frank has the support of a John Williams score. Now that man was born to write music that expresses deadly danger and romantic lust rolled into one overpowering force.]

Frank Langella's interpretation of Dracula, for me, personified the sexy vampire, and I'm sure I'm completely unable to write a vampire character without harking back to him. He taught 13-year-old me to understand what it means to be irresistibly drawn to something hurtful, and how overpowering the interplay between dominance and submission can be. In that way this character did more than illustrate the vampire archetype. He demonstrated principles about sexual desire that totally transcend that theme.

By that token, I have to give credit to Frank Langella and that film for doing more than giving me my favorite vampire character ever. I owe them also for playing a key part in my sexual awakening and my understanding of the essential roles of the male and female in the most commonplace of erotic relationships: dominance and submission. So in a way, "Dracula" is among the most basic underpinnings of much of the erotic and romantic fiction I write today.

I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised after all that it was Frank's Dracula that visited me in my recovery. Needless to say, I was very glad to see him again.

Sexy Killers

Please understand that in real life, murderers are very difficult to find attractive. But in fantasy, when tragedy is extricated from the equation, it's amazing how sexy killers can be. This past week I watched two very different films that made this point quite clearly.

"Mr. Brooks," with Kevin Costner in the title role, is the story of a schizophrenic serial killer addicted to murder and making an effort to beat his addiction. He doesn't fare too well at that, but in spite of myself I found the guy really attractive. It's not that his gruesome habit turned me on, but the fact that he exercised it with such cool cunning. Earl Brooks has ice water in his veins and is painstakingly clever about his little hobby. You can't help but admire his precision, as well as his complete objectivity, as he plots and executes the crimes.

In order to better showcase Earl's "good qualities," the story involves his acquring a novice accomplice equally turned on by the idea of killing, but otherwise a completely different sort of guy. Mr. Smith (Dane Cook) is careless, hotheaded, cowardly, vicious, and without remorse. Earl wouldn't have anything to do with this lout except for the fact that Mr. Smith observed one of Earl's killings and is blackmailing him so he can get in on the murderous fun.

Juxtaposed with the repugnant Mr. Smith, Earl comes across as truly admirable. I asked myself why I reacted this way to a man who gets off on killing strangers. My best answer was that Earl executes his fetish in a manner that, were it any other hobby, would demonstrate that he possesses many exemplary masculine traits.

Above all, Earl is successful at what he does--he is an expert, an artist. He is intelligent, clever, resourceful, determined, and even brave. Up until the actual moment of the crime, when the rush hits, he acts with that kind of manly coolness that never fails to impress. Meanwhile, for all his desire to emulate his mentor, Mr. Smith is half the man Earl Brooks is. He is cowardly, mean, and petty. His lust for murder is unchecked by any kind of intelligence, patience, or caution.

It also helps that Earl does care as passionately about his wife and daughter as he does about killing, and that his more disturbing personality traits have been relegated to his imaginary alter ego (William Hurt). And he really does want to stop murdering people. Funny thing is, he does it so well, half the time you find yourself not rooting as much for his recovery as for his success at crime. And certainly were he to express his talents in some more productive way, he would be a model of masculine appeal.

Even sexier than Mr. Brooks, there is the outlaw Ben Wade, played by Russell Crowe in "3:10 to Yuma." Ben is a dastardly outlaw of the Old West, who has unrepentantly dedicated his entire life to robbery and the requisite killing that enables it. Nevertheless, he is more or less the hero of the film and certainly a completely sympathetic figure. One could attribute this to the charm of the character or the sex appeal of Russell Crowe, but I think there's more to it than that.

In an early scene, Ben hooks up with a barmaid. At this point in the film I really didn't know him well enough to be tickled by this. I mean, it was all well and good that he had a way with words and a gentlemanly allure, but the guy had already been responsible for a whole lot of killing by this point. I had to defer on my judgment for a bit.

Ben began to win me over when he dealt surprisingly fairly with Dan Evans (Christian Bale), the down-and-out rancher whose cattle accidentally got involved in a stagecoach robbery. Ben was certainly under no obligation to reimburse Dan for his dead cattle or his time dealing with them, and yet he handed over the money like the most respectable of businessmen. And as the story progressed, more and more of Ben's good qualities came to the fore, traits almost unreconciliable with his total lack of respect for life and property.

Again, the script used the device of surrounding Ben with weaker men who made him look good by contrast. Greedy businessmen, cowardly lawmen, unfair institutions, liars and cheats of all kinds are at every hand. And then there is Dan, who although sympathetic by virtue of his love for his family and determination to do the right thing, has led a life of failure. His ineffectiveness at providing for his family and earning their faith and admiration is constantly contrasted with Ben's success and ability to command others' devotion. Moral issues aside, Ben is strong and Dan is weak, and your random barmaid will see this a mile off and be attracted to Ben as the better mate.

And it's interesting how hard it was for me, as a female hard-wired to lust after men who are accomplished and successful, to begrudge the fact that Ben's field of expertise was thievery and murder. Likewise, any guy watching this movie is going to admire and envy Ben more than Dan. (The moral side of things is addressed in the film, by the way, but I won't spoil it for you by telling any more of the story concerning the two men's character development.)

The point is, when you're talking fantasy, the fact that a man's forte is killing is not necessarily a strike against him. Murder--especially getting away with it as Mr. Brooks and Ben Wade do--is a tough gig, akin to any great challenge like mountain climbing or building a billion dollar company. Guys who pull it off with aplomb and grace are going to inspire a woman's admiration in spite of ethics.

We just can't help it, any more than guys will be attracted to hot women even if they are emptyheaded and useless. Come to think of it, I guess having the hots for Ben Wade is no more shameful than lusting after, say, Pamela Anderson....

Home Improvement Hotties

I posted awhile back about my favorite guys on the Discovery Channel, and now it’s time to turn to another genre of cable TV: home improvement shows. You’ll note too that I’m not going for any of the obvious choices of sexy carpenters (Ty Pennington, Carter Oosterhouse, Andrew Dan Jumbo, Eric Strommer, etc.)...that’s too easy. My picks:

David Bromstad – Colorsplash (HGTV)

David earned his show by winning “HGTV’s Next Design Star” a couple years ago. On that show, he was known for appearing shirtless whenever possible, but in retrospect I think that was the producer’s idea more than his own. The guy is really sweet as well as really serious about his work, so he’s not the kind who would need to sell himself through sex. On the other hand, the “if you got it, flaunt it” rule does kind of apply.

At any rate, it’s not David’s cute face or buff body that makes me like him. He’s just a decorating genius, and one who executes his craft with humility and good-natured humor. He’s never done a bad design, and the original paintings he creates for each room are gorgeous too. Few people this talented are this sweet, either. If I were gay I’d probably be hot for him, but as it is, I’d just love to go shopping with the guy!

Clive Pearse – Designed to Sell (HGTV)

The show’s pretty good, Lisa LaPorta’s a cutie and a talented designer, but I watch DTS for Clive. He’s the quintessential charming, funny Brit, with a low key, quirky, elegant sense of humor. And he’s got one of those voices that make him automatically handsome regardless of his physical appearance.

I just love when Clive hosts the open houses of participants on the show. He turns on his unique charm and just about every visitor seems ready to make an offer just to please him. Sure, the makeovers help—but Clive could sell castles to cave dwellers. It’s funny how Clive is one of the few home improvement show cast members who doesn’t really do anything but occasionally open a paint can, but it doesn’t matter a whit...he makes the show.

Had he been born earlier, Clive would have made a great member of Monty Python. I’d date any of those guys too.

George Gray – What’s With That House? (HGTV)

Speaking of zany guys, no one tops George Gray. Is it his white hair, goatee, trendy glasses and wacky bowling shirts? Is it his crazy questioning of weird homeowners and their neighbors, or the way he cuts up as he explores these bizarre homes? Is it the faces, the impressions, the jokes?

I’m always a sucker for a guy who’s funny, but beyond the antics, you get the sense that George is just a warm, nice guy who enjoys people, no matter how eccentric. And that takes him to a whole new level. Heck, on his web site (www.georgegray.com) he calls his fan club “People Who Don’t Think I Suck.” Also to his credit, he’s devoted to his cat Stinky.

I would watch George Gray host anything and am even sorry I missed his stint on “The Weakest Link.” Not only do I not think he sucks, I think he’s damn hot. What a great companion for a tour of homes.

Richard Davis – The Real Estate Pros (TLC)

Richard Davis, self-made real estate magnate and founder of Trademark Properties, is not on this list because I want to date him. I simply really, really admire the man. He embodies my ideal entrepreneur: he’s a man unswervingly devoted to the principle that he who is smart and works hard should make money, but is also dedicated to sharing his hard-earned success with others.

Richard has put his own profit in jeopardy many a time in order to give a chance to someone I myself would consider a bad risk. Whether it be a drug addict or a lazy employee, Richard sees potential where others either look away or throw money at a problem. By the example of himself and his protégés, he teaches the down and out to apply themselves, make smart choices, and turn their lives around. And all while making money himself!

Is that the American Dream or what?

While not so much a romantic hero as say, your Les Stroud or your Mike Rowe, Richard is nevertheless very much a hero. Watching him get things done, make lives better, turn trash into treasure, and accomplish what others wouldn’t even attempt, never ceases to brighten my life and inspire me.

Ah, cable reality TV...what an endless source of interesting males. And I haven’t even touched upon the hotties of Bravo and the History Channel yet. As the saying goes, stay tuned!

Sex Education

Hey, I'm back...the convalenscence continues, and I'm beginning to think one day I'll be myself again. But seeing as I haven't really been myself lately, I don't have a lot of current erotic adventures (real or fantastical) to relate.

Therefore I thought I'd post about erotic adventures of the past! Well, not exactly adventures. Still, I think you may find it interesting to hear about the sex education of Diana Laurence, right?

I came of age in the middle of the sexual revolution. My childhood was marked by exposure to rather exotic things that didn't necessarily make sense to someone reared on "Leave It to Beaver." I remember feeling shock, discomfort and fear hearing hippies talk about "free love" and seeing things like a photo of Charlie Manson being serviced by one of his followers. On the one hand, I had the romantic values you'd expect of a little girl who listened to a lot of Rodgers and Hammerstein soundtracks. But on the other, I watched "Laugh-In" and heard about "Barbarella" and "Last Tango in Paris." It was a confusing time to go through puberty.

One of the things about me that I guarantee influenced who I am today as a writer was the fact that I was blessed with a quality sex education. Not in school...there all you got was information on your anatomy and how to use tampons. No, it was--what a concept!--my parents. When I was a young teen they provided me with excellent books that discussed everything from masturbation to blue balls to wet dreams. And it was a good thing too; I was such an innocent at that time that I didn't know erections happened much less that boys in my classes were enduring them in my presence!

Both my mom and dad talked to me about what I read and created an environment where if I had questions at any time, I was comfortable asking. And believe me, my parents were not avant garde types by any stretch. They were private, and a little awkward about the subject, just like any parent would be. It was just that they believed it was crucial for their daughter to know about sex. They didn't want me to get VD, or pregnant, or even to get in a situation where I was confused or scared by what was happening to me.

The fact that my parents would talk about sex with me also conveyed to me that it was a natural, wholesome thing that needn't bring embarrassment or shame. Consequently, alongside my incurably romantic streak born of "The Music Man" and "Oklahoma!", I developed an appreciation for the erotic as something that could be good and beautiful and operate in perfect harmony with romance.

I have always been an outspoken proponent of sex education, both in schools and better yet, at home. Not only does it help kids be safer and wiser, it passes on a positive attitude and good mental health concerning sex.

So parents reading this, if you love your kids, don't neglect this area of parenting. Explain things so your children know their feelings are normal. Teach them about the sexuality of the opposite sex. Tell them the pitfalls and dangers, but also let them know you understand what it's like to be a sexual being. Share the advantages of abstinence in a non-critical way that respects their intelligence. Provide an environment that encourages their questions and responds to their natural curiosity. If this sounds intimidating, remember--keeping a sense of humor is key. There is a lot to smile and laugh about concerning sex, and there's nothing wrong with all parties acknowledging their shyness and embarrassment.

The point is to make sure your kids are informed. Sure, you can leave it to the less than adequate information they get in school. Sure, you can hope they find the right websites with sex information rather than the wrong ones. But the benefits of them learning these key life lessons from someone who loves them--you--cannot be overestimated.

One of the things I've always been most grateful for concerning my parents is that they cared enough to teach me about sex. I did the same for my own daughters, and it's something I will never forget.