The Real Dr. House

While we’re on the subject of my current pre-occupation, let us consider the question, is there a real Dr. House? Well, of course not, he’s a TV character, only crazy people think he’s real. Yet I daresay, as in the case of any vividly created, charming fictional character, there are plenty of people for whom he seems real.

For that reason I thought it would be interesting to consider the question of the relative reality/unreality of the figments of our imagination whom we hold most dear. TV’s most popular anti-hero seems a fine example to study, and if you’re not into House, just substitute another fictional person you’ve obsessed over at one time or another.

House is a great example for this study because there’s no one like him. Not in fiction, nor in real life either. It’s also very difficult to confuse him with the guy who plays him. Hugh Laurie, in fact, seems like a man who coincidentally looks like Dr. House. Being British, his accent is different. Not being lame, his walk is different. With a background as a comic, he’s not the same in disposition. Big difference. Easy to see.

However, many of us House fans fall into the very natural trap of thinking that there is a Gregory House deep down inside Hugh Laurie...that in certain circumstances or moods, surely he must be the same as House. If that weren’t true, how could he portray him so effectively? This gives us comfort that, in a certain way, Dr. House lives.

Now I’m not an actor, but I am a fiction writer, and therefore I can guarantee you, there is not a Gregory House inhabiting Hugh’s soul. Not the way we all wish, anyway. I have created a hundred-some characters, and while sometimes they do resemble me, when I’m creating someone as quirky and unique as a Dr. House, these characters are derived from stuff quite alien to my own personality. I don’t think, talk, or act like they do, nor would I in any circumstance I can think of. Meanwhile, quite often I fall completely in love with these fictional people, and I assure you I do not have such feelings towards myself or any part of myself, ever.

In my younger days, when crushing on celebrities, I often made the mistake of giving too much credit to their appearance. For example, I fell for Leonard Nimoy’s portrayal of Mr. Spock, and therefore felt that Nimoy in any context would be as thrilling to me as the emotionless alien. I learned a hard lesson when I saw him play Fagin in a live local production of “Oliver!” Fagin left me completely cold, having nothing in common with Spock, except a slightly similar voice.

Likewise, while there’s no denying Hugh Laurie is a handsome man, that will only take you so far. I’ll put it to you this way, House-lovers: If you were to meet Hugh for a date, would you rather he limp or not? Maybe it’s just me, but I feel he’s not House without the limp, and I would miss it, a lot. But really, a gimpy leg is not normally considered an attractive feature. My point is, it’s not really Hugh Laurie’s handsomeness that is winning you over.

Dr. House is a hybrid creation of an actor and the people who write his lines. He wouldn’t exist if not for both these elements, along with a third: your imagination. It’s your imagination that enables you to fill in the gaps in House’s life and history; it’s your imagination that make it possible for you to picture him in circumstances other than what you’ve seen on the show (like making out with you, perhaps, LOL). Whenever you “adopt” a fictional character in a personal, passionate way, the creator(s) of that character eventually become tools for you—providing with the performance more material for you to imagine the character is real. Certainly credit goes to those creators. I thank Jane Austen and Colin Firth for my conception of Mr. Darcy, and Charlotte Bronte and George C. Scott for Mr. Rochester. And my very heart swells with gratitude to Hugh Laurie and his scriptwriters.

Do I then have no love for Dr. House? Is he worthless, having no independent existence?

Well, I’ve said it before (particularly in my book Living Beyond Reality) and I’ll say it again: being “real” isn’t everything. That’s why fictional characters sometimes have as much impact on history, culture, and society than flesh-and-blood people. Would the world be the same without King Arthur, Don Corleone, Dorothy Gale, Romeo and Juliet, Frodo, Dracula, Cinderella, Luke Skywalker, Mr. Scrooge, Superman, Scarlett O’Hara, James Bond, Harry Potter, and Sherlock Holmes, the man who inspired Gregory House?

Sometimes unreal people get very close to coming to life. What exactly these beings are, I can’t tell you. All I know is, the “real” Dr. House always walks with a limp and speaks American.

House, MD: When Cranks Attract

It’s pretty easy to see the appeal in heroic men like I’ve posted about lately: your Mike Holmeses and Chicago Cubses. And most women get why bad boys can be charming—especially when, like Neil Gaiman, underneath the black clothes they are good at heart. But why is it that sometimes the most irresistible men are the cranks? Prickly, grumpy, unpleasant, off-putting...nevertheless these Mr. Rochester/Mr. Darcy types can be inexplicably sexy.

Case in point: everyone’s favorite misanthrope, Gregory House, M.D.

I’m only four years behind the rest of my fellow females in falling for this guy. I always knew I’d love the show, always knew Hugh Laurie was hot, always knew I am a sucker for grumps. But I didn’t have time for another TV show in my life. So occasionally I caught a few minutes here and there, barely preserving myself from catching that most infectious disease, House-ophilia. Unfortunately, a couple weeks ago Davie started watching the House marathons on USA and became addicted. In the spirit of family harmony (our daughters are already fans), I joined in watching the new season.

The inevitable happened: here I am blogging about House.

First of all, I don’t think House would be sexy if he weren’t a genius--specifically the sort of genius that he is. As the medical version of Holmes (Sherlock, not Mike), he seems to have a preternatural ability to know what is going on in your body. This talent is in sharp contrast to his emotional insensitivity, and sets up the recurring situation of your deciding House is deeply perceptive, only to be slapped back to reality by his latest heartless crack. (There’s nothing sexier that a guy who takes you on an emotional rollercoaster ride, right?)

So, he does seem superhuman in a way, and I never tire of watching him intellectually blow others out of the water and outwit his enemies armed with analytical thinking and that rapier (scapel?) wit. It’s easy to end up all starry-eyed like Allison Cameron when House saves otherwise doomed patients week after week.

To make matters worse, Dr. House is vulnerable and arouses female sympathy. He’s got that chronic leg pain that causes his limp, a brilliant plot device that achieves said vulnerability while enabling him to look cool brandishing his cane. His addiction to Vicodin is constant proof of his fallibility. And then there’s the semi-dysfunctional but charming relationship he has with his best/only friend Dr. Wilson. The guy might as well have “Please love me, I’m so alone” stamped on his forehead.

There are few things more tempting to a female than a man who has the ability to appear invincible while clearly needing love, especially when his slightly-cracked armor is wit. I don’t know if the writers who conceived “House” were simply trying to create an interesting lead character, or deliberately set out to invent television’s most irresistible leading man, but they did a bang-up job on both.

And certainly the lion’s share of credit has to go to Hugh Laurie (I can’t even resent that he gets $400,000 an episode). It’s not easy to walk the borderline between crabby and beguiling, misanthropic and heroic, vulnerable and genius, unkempt and handsome, aggravating and loveable. And in an American accent no less. It’s a consistent performance that requires vocal skills, facial expressions, and body language to all be utilized perfectly. The proof of this role’s complexity can be demonstrated if you ask a female House fan why she is attracted to him.

Sometimes it’s the expression he gets while staring at his white board struggling with a diagnosis. Sometimes it’s the particular tone he uses while delivering those zingers. It can be the way he copes with challenges, or the way he so miserably fails to cope. Just watching House limp down a corridor while the soundtrack plays the closing music of an episode, you can be overwhelmed with complex feelings that ultimately boil down to love.

I should have known that keeping away from House was only postponing the inevitable. It’s not going to end up saving me any time having avoided the show for four years...now I just have to watch all the episodes on DVR or DVD. Plus blog about the guy. Plus, I’m sure, write some short story inspired by him.

I should have known...cranks get me every time.

Mulder and Scully, Open a File

Even if my ravings about my Neil Gaiman obsession bore you to tears, I recommend you read this post if you enjoy "The X-Files" or "The Twilight Zone." My life is turning into an episode of some paranormal prime time drama.

[NOTE TO THE READER: If you'd rather just cut to the intensely dramatic, amazing part, please feel free to skip the non-dramatic, milding amazing next five paragraphs.]

You guys know me, I'm eccentric but also very practical (like INTJ type people often are). I'm a fan of the scientific method and like to operate on facts, not feelings. That said, when I see wacko coincidences going on left and right, I still think they are worthy of note. So, Agents Mulder and Scully, get out your dictaphones and notebooks and get a load of this.

First, let's flash back to weird Neil synchronicity #1, from my March 19, 2008 entry, Notes on the Gaiman Crush, Part 2: While watching an interview with Neil on YouTube, I guessed what he was about to say concerning awesome Jungian author Joseph Campbell. No biggie there; could be explained by the simple fact that both Gaiman and I are authors, and rather Jungian in persuasion.

In our next episode, on May 20 I posted about Neil synchronicities #2 and #3, in I Need You to Help Me Figure Out My Brain. On these occasions I anticipated, with nearly inexplicable accuracy, what two of his stories were going to do. Spooky, yeah...but I figured these were just a couple instances of us thinking alike and having read the same books. Note, I said nearly inexplicable...but not unfathomable. But read the post...it was still damn weird and I have yet to meet anyone who guessed either one in advance.

Fast forward to August 17's episode aka Neil synchronicity #4: My Neil Gaiman Birthday and Other Musings. This particular evening my brain invited me to dig out an old unpublished novel of mine, and I found several coincidences between the first couple chapters and my evening's readings in Neil's The Sandman. Again, the skeptic in me will say, you can find some common ground between any two books, really, can't you? And that could well be all it was, indeed.

However...what I didn't post about in that entry was one more odd parallel I discovered that evening. (I just didn't want to go on and on like a crazy person, kind of like I am in this post.) I also read Neil's Coraline that night, and both Coraline and my Looking on Darkness feature a snow globe as a key object. Yeah, yeah, just a coincidence. People write about snow globes all the time.

NOW HERE COMES THE DRAMATIC, AMAZING PART!

I have lately been reading Neil's and Terry Pratchett's hilarious book Good Omens (subtitle: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch). I borrowed it from our dear friends Cherie and Andy. (Cherie...I bet you guys mentioned the cool thing about this copy of the book once, but I'd forgotten!) Well, while reading the first half of the book, I used the front dust jacket flap as a bookmark. I passed the halfway point the other night and switched to the back flap, thus liberating the front part of the book.

Well, I got tired and decided to go to bed, and I was checking out the dust jacket for something when the book fell open to the bookplate, to reveal...wait for it...this copy of Good Omens was autographed by Neil Gaiman! It said:

Andy, BURN THIS BOOK!

Neil Gaiman

Apply holy match here -->

Very cool, very hilarious, I was charmed. Nice, Neil! But now comes the spooky part, peeps...

I closed the book. I found myself overwhelmed with the urge to read one more chapter. An urge so intense I questioned it. And I thought to myself, what if I'm getting this urge because this next chapter includes something that ties in with the autograph? So I read on.

Please understand, in Good Omens there is an important book called, of course, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. And in the next chapter, only four pages further on, that book catches on fire. I absolutely had no way to see this coming. It was crazy to me.

I quit reading and went to bed.

Yeah, yeah, I know...just another crazy coincidence. But I just had to share. Excuse me now, I have to take this call from the FBI, or is it Rod Serling beyond the grave?

Sometimes It’s Just Physical

I was one of those little kids who loved frosting. I’d take the corner piece of cake anytime, to get that extra butter and sugar. In fact, I’d even try to get the piece covered with frosting roses. As I got older, however, I learned to prefer the cake. Nowadays there are some cakes I adore (like my rum cake) that have no frosting whatsoever.

That also applies quite a bit to my history with men. When I was younger, it was the fancy exterior that got me drooling. Nowadays, I am often drawn to frosting-less men who are wonderful inside. That definitely applies to my Edward J. Olmos thing of ‘06-’07. It was sort of a similar story with Les Stroud, whom I didn’t find overly handsome until I learned to love his personality. Neil Gaiman? Well, yeah, there’s some fine chocolate frosting on that man, but it’s his cake that really won my heart.

But occasionally still, it’s all about the frosting.

Last night Davie and I watched the premiere of ABC’s “Fringe.” I was very excited about this show, and not only because J.J. Abrams is brilliant and I love paranormal stories. No, mostly I was anticipating seeing Joshua Jackson every week. He was mighty nice back in his days as Pacey “on the Creek,” and age has only improved him. There are not a lot of actors these days that make my pulse run rampant whenever they are on screen, but he is one of them.

As Peter Bishop, genius ne’er-do-well son of a mad scientist (there’s a nice bio), Josh has a very entertaining, sexy role to play. But to me, the cool role is just icing on the...er...frosting. At one point mid-show, Davie asked me, “So...what exactly about this guy that you like so much?” All I could say was, “Everything.” Could I be any more specific? I’ll really try, because I care about you guys! Well, he does have that whiskery-thin-lipped Les Stroud/Kenneth Branagh thing going on that so sends me. Swoon. And gorgeous eyes and amazing brows. Nice physique, too. He looks really, really good when brooding. Or when cracking jokes in a cranky way.

Am I not ashamed of being shallow? Wait, it gets worse.

Let’s talk about pure-butter-and-sugar-and-not-a-cake-crumb-to-be-seen. Meet: the Kohl’s guy.

I don’t know his name although I think my daughter Amanda could find out; she works for Kohl’s ecommerce department. In fact, among her co-workers, this model is known as “the guy Amanda’s mom likes.” I gotta admit, I love that.

Anyway, I have been lusting for this guy for years every Sunday when he appears in the Kohl’s newspaper circular. You know me and blond beards. I just think he is startlingly dreamy and if I ever met him (which is a tiny potentiality because I guess the circulars are actually shot here in Milwaukee) I would be speechless.

Obviously I have no idea what this guy is like. He dresses nicely, of course. LOL And looking at him, I can imagine he’s intelligent, sincere, heterosexual, and has a dry and slightly dark sense of humor. Can’t you? Of course! And isn’t he just irresistible?

I guess not, actually! I found a discussion about my guy on the LafayetteMoms forum, and most of them beg to differ with me! Read on:

Kohl’s male model; Hot or Not?

Sorry to bring down the level of discourse but I was curious to know what other people think. Kohl’s uses this blond male model in their ads for their Chaps line of clothes. He is on the cover of today’s ad. Every time I see him I think he looks more likely to be arrested for petty theft than to sell designer clothes. Do you think he’s handsome?

--I like dark hair and eyes myself, but I think he’s pretty handsome -- could probably stand to shave, though!

--I think he looks kinda ker-blah, not really anything special. I also enjoy dark hair and eyes. The look on the model’s face isn’t really too pleasant, he looks very cocky and not friendly. Advertising with him for Father’s Day isn’t too smart on Kohl’s part. I want (and have) a nice kind "daddy" type guy.

--He’s got all the right features to be attractive, but he is not what WOWS me either. I think it is the scruff that makes him look more ‘wanted’....by the authorities, not women, that is! lol- totally just joking!! I am sure there are plenty of women who do find him attractive, or he wouldn’t have made it into modeling!

--Not a hottie to me........

--I agree - I don’t care for the scruffy look. Now, the guys on page 18-19 in the same ad are more my idea of hot.

Crazy women! I suppose next someone is going to tell me Joshua Jackson leaves them cold.

Fine, leave me to my plate of frosting, I don’t care! ;-)

A Home Improvement Hottie Named Holmes

I’ve blogged before about some of my heroes on HGTV and TLC, and everyone knows that there are few things sexier than a good-looking man in a tool belt. Well, it’s high time I posted here about a shining light in the world of hot contractors: Mike Holmes.

While we U.S.-type Americans are only beginning to catch on, our neighbors to the north have been idolizing Mike for some time now. His show “Holmes on Homes” is HGTV Canada’s number one hit, and one of my Canuck friends tells me he’s something of a household word up there.

So what’s the deal with this guy, eh? (Sorry, had to do that.) Well, on the surface he’s a big, burly, blond Canadian guy who typically sports a wife-beater under overalls. He’s got the rugged good looks going on, but he’s not exactly Carter Oosterhouse. Nevertheless, tune in to a couple episodes of the show and you too will love this guy.

Mike Holmes’ shtick is rescuing homeowners from construction disasters. These people trusted a contractor, paid him good money, and ended up literally living in a nightmare. Their foundations are failing, their heat isn’t working, their wiring and plumbing is screwed up and dangerous, that sort of thing.

Mike and his able crew to the rescue.

The first step is uncovering just what’s wrong. That invariably means a lot of drywall being ripped out and plenty of very bad news. It’s really fun. Why? Well, first of all, you get to see Mike punch holes in walls with his bare hands. Secondly, you get to watch him become infuriated and rave about the shoddy workmanship. And third, you know no matter how bad it gets, in the end everything will be made right.

That’s Mike’s trademarked motto: “Make it right.” He’s so good at undoing bad things, you wish he could go back to Eden, kick out the serpent with his steel-toed boot, and nail the apple back on the tree. In lieu of that, this anal-retentive perfectionist and his cohorts make snarled and deadly wiring look like it would make Martha Stewart smile. They seal foundations, they eradicate mold, they take kitchens with crooked cabinets and turn them House Beautiful.

Indeed, the results of their meticulous plastering, nailing, sealing, leveling, and always spray-foam-insulating (this is Canada after all) are more than perfect, they are picture-perfect. The final woodwork, painting, and decorating—typically all you get on a home improvement show—is the frosting on the cake.

Homeowners whose faces formerly were agonized and tearful, are now weeping with joy and relief. I think it’s not an exaggeration to say that Mike has kept a few people from going homeless or getting divorced, simply by extricating them from the dire situations inflicted by unscrupulous and/or shoddy contractors.

Maybe now you see why Mike Holmes has started looking so damn good to me. He’s a white knight for the 21st Century, slaying not dragons but crappy living situations, rescuing not damsels but families.

He’s also founded the Holmes Foundation, an organization that encourages and sponsors young people in the construction fields. His inspiration AND his money should go a long way to create more mini-Mikes that will make living in Canada safer and happier.

The only thing “Holmes on Homes” lacks is the satisfaction of bringing back the perpetrators to face wuppings from the intimidating big guy in the overalls. But as Mike said on a show we saw recently, better to let the past go and focus on improving the future. That’s pretty inspiring too.

So, my hard hat’s off to you, Mike Holmes! I am happy to move you to the head of the Erotica-with-Soul-endorsed home improvement hotties. You can make it right in my world anytime!

The World's First "Graphic Excerpt" is Done!

Well, I can't say that for certain...but anyway I'm not aware of any other promotional book excerpts out there that were done in graphic novel format! Anyhoo, it's done: the two-page mini-comic excerpt from my story "As Commonplace as Rain," illustrated by the amazingly talented CC Rogers. Just take a look at it (via my website) and I'm sure you'll be astonished to know that this is CC's first shot at a comic. Seems to me she's a natural for this medium!

This thing turned out even more fabulous that I hoped and dreamed it would. I'm on Cloud Nine. Just finished linking to it on my website, the publisher's site, my "READ FREE" page, and even my September column for eCataromance.com.

Thanks from the bottom of my heart, CC--you're amazing!

If you have comments or feedback on the graphic excerpt, please comment! Like I said, this is a brand new thing, and we are so curious what people will think of it.

One Hot Baseball Club

It’s high time I put up an entry like this one, for it’s been awhile since I began noticing something interesting: The Chicago Cubs are possibly the hottest team in baseball. And I’m not referring to the fact that (as of this writing) they have the best record in baseball.

However, I suppose it’s possible that I’m biased. They are my team, after all. So I thought I’d put the boys out here for you to judge. Give them a quick review, and if you think your team can match them in hotness, please comment and let me know! Especially if you have photos to back up your claim.

So, without further ado, let’s start with the position players for the Chicago Cubs:

At first base, the tall, lanky, classically handsome Derrek Lee.

At second, showing off his fab physique, ruggedly delicious Mark DeRosa (Manzi’s favorite).

Playing shortshop, and possibly the team’s dreamiest player (check out the eyes), Ryan Theriot.


At third base, Katie’s guy, the adorable Aramis Ramirez.


And catching, All Star rookie Geovany Soto…what killer eyelashes, hey? Sigh.

I have a strong opinion the Cubs infield beats all comers, hands down. But now let’s take a look at the outfielders.

We have in left field, home run hero (here looking like a model), Alfonso Soriano.


Playing at center, and competing admirably in the rugged category, Jim Edmonds.

Jim’s alternate in centerfield, and quirkily hot in his little beard, Reed Johnson.


And in right field, Manzi’s other fave, handsome rookie Kosuke Fukudome.


Let’s not forget our two most often-used utility guys. There’s Mike Fontenot, here showing off one of the forearms that make my daughters squeal.


And there’s Ronny Cedeno, just too cute for words.


Now, on to the pitchers. The Cubs have the rare claim of having a rotation of five good-looking starters. We have...

Former closer and this year’s new ace, the hilarious, charming, and swoonworthy Ryan Dempster.


Cubs co-ace, and the league’s best slugging pitcher, here’s the dashing Carlos Zambrano.


Our newest addition to the starters group, super cute and amazingly talented Rich Harden.


Not to be outdone, the fine-looking fellow who got us a win for our annual trip to Wrigley, Ted Lilly.


And showing off that irresistible smile, here’s #5 pitcher Jason Marquis.


I won’t put our entire bullpen on display here (although a girl could do worse), but representing the middle relievers, we have newest rookie and total heartthrob, Jeff Samardzija.


And last, but to my mind first, my own fave Cub—our awesome closer, Kerry Wood.


Okay I single-double-triple-homer-dog-dare you to top this lineup, peeps. They may or may not go far in the playoffs, they may or may not bring home the first World Series win in 100 years, but they will definitely look good doing it!

Comics Dreams Come True!!!

So, you read in my last post of my lifelong dream of doing comics. No, Alex Ross did not call me, but what happened was the next best thing: I heard from artist and avid Diana Laurence fan C.C. Rogers, and she offered to collaborate with me on a little comic!

Well color me thrilled!

Who better to illustrate my writing than C.C., who has read every single word of fiction I've ever published, even the obscure ten-old-novel The Resurrection of Captain Eternity? Turns out--O wondrous twist of kismet--C.C. has always wished for an opportunity to try her hand at such a project.

I came up with five possible passages from my stories for her to create in a two-page comic book spread, and she chose one from my fantasy tale "As Commonplace as Rain," from Soulful Sex Volume I. The story concerns Pasha, a young priestess whose order eschews men, and Tristan, a knight with psychic powers (and, of course, sex appeal), who may be the cure for her debilitating angst. The scene in question shows Tristan helping Pasha cope with the anxiety and excitement of being with the first male of her acquaintance.

C.C. was quick to get busy, and in no time created a storyboard that was eerily close to what I had in mind for the spread. It was perfect. She then designed the two characters, coming up with a charming Pasha, innocent and lovely, and a Tristan who, frankly, proved all by himself that comics can be sexy. :-)

Over the weekend C.C. sent me drafts of costumes for the pair, a process I called "paper dolls on steroids." Pasha's gown is simple and modest but very pretty and subtly sensual. Tristan's outfit is, well, the sort of thing that draws me to Ren Faires: knightly, elegant, manly and very flattering. What fun it was reviewing C.C.'s drafts--in a way it was like she was a contestant on "Project Runway" and I was Tim Gunn. No, I did not at any point tell her "make it work." She managed that on her own! LOL

So, today C.C. started work on the actual panels of the comic. I'm really not sure if I can handle all the excitement of this. At one point I showed the drafts to my daughters and they read the narration and speech balloons that C.C. had set up. One of the girls praised the bit of narration in one panel and I, like a giddy schoolgirl, said, "I wrote that." "Yeah, Mom, we know." Well, the thing is, text that I wrote is in a comic! I feel almost like...almost like...

Neil Gaiman.

Okay, cue Twilight Zone theme music. Could this be what my whole weird escapade with Neil was leading up to? Well, there have been many benefits to it along the way concerning my actual writing, but never during this Gaiman phase did I think I would ever find myself being a comics writer like Neil. I mean, how could that possibly happen?

Then I found in C.C.'s latest draft she had added this:

It's true, I could see my actual name in the credits box of a comic. I can die a happy woman now.

Or, at least once we finish this two page spread. Obviously, once it's done I will share it with you. Heck, I will be forcing it in the face of everyone I meet. I'm just glad C.C. is having as much fun with this as I am.

Will keep you posted!

Comics are Sexy

All you need to know to prove comics can be sexy is ask me how the majority of my new visitors find this blog. Believe it or not, they are searching for "Erin Esurance," the animated chick with the pink hair in the TV commercials. You would not believe how much fan art there is out there featuring Erin naked and/or in compromising positions.

A recent radio spot for Toyota features their spokescartoon Mr. Opportunity dealing with a love-struck human woman. Obviously Toyota has picked up on the fuss. I personally think Mr. O is kinda hot...but the consensus online tells me an awful lot of people find him really irritating.

Yep, people are actually debating about the sex appeal of cartoons. Cool, isn't it?

My personal favorite comic book series is Terry Moore's Strangers in Paradise. While PG-13 rated, it features a lot about sex, and I love that Terry chose to tell his stories of sex and romance with graphic novels. I'm attracted to all three of the main characters, frankly--Katchoo, Francine, and David. Check out Katchoo embracing David from one of Terry's fabulous covers and tell me that isn't a beautiful thing.

As I posted recently, I may be moving a new graphic novel series into my top spot soon: Neil Gaiman's The Sandman. I've just met the fellow, but how can you not be attracted to a gaunt guy with great cheekbones and David Bowie hair, who dresses all in black and is the lord of dreams? Countless artists have portrayed the Sandman, aka Morpheus, including Michael L. Peters, who did this marvelous version. Who knows, I may try my own eventually.

I am also reading Hy Bender's The Sandman Companion, and I found in this book some interesting observations which suggest a possible explanation for the erotic effect comics can achieve. This particular medium mixes verbal narration, which is processed by the left brain, with imagery that is processed by the right. Thus the entire brain is engaged, nearly simultaneously, with the story. When there is erotic content of any kind, it will be just that much more potent.

If I envy anyone in the world, it's comic artists, people like Michael L. Peters, Terry Moore, and the astonishingly wonderful Alex Ross. I guess that's why I felt compelled to do portraits of all my characters, and published my deck of cards, Diana's Deck.

And now you understand why one of the coolest things that ever happened to me as an author was seeing my first piece of fan art, this gorgeous scene from "Abigail's Archer" from my Soulful Sex Volume I collection, done by C.C. Rogers.

Just imagine if not just this one scene, but an entire Diana Laurence erotic tale could be illustrated! That's a world I can only dream of...and knowing how comics can work, I'm sure it would be quite the erotic triumph. Hey, Alex Ross--I need you desperately, sir!

My Neil Gaiman Birthday and Other Musings

I don't like to talk about just plain old personal news much on this blog, for fear of boring you all to tears. But I guess since tomorrow is my birthday, I can indulge just this once.

Last night I celebrated with the family at a fabulous new restaurant, Sheridan's in Cudahy. It certainly was a thrill giving the girls their first ride in Racer Y...he seems like a birthday present too as he is still so new, and ditto his XM radio. We had a fantastic time and capped off the evening watching the Cubs on WGN--a blast in spite of their winning streak coming to an end.

Anyway...I don't know how it is for you, but due to the nature of my ebbing and flowing obsessions, I have found over the years that birthdays and Christmases often end up with a theme. There was an X Files Christmas once, and a Lord of the Rings Christmas. I had a bead jewelry birthday I think too. And heaven knows, there have been years for the Chicago Blackhawks, the Dallas Stars, the Montreal Canadiens, etc.

This was my Neil Gaiman birthday. Figures, eh? I got Neil's spoken word CD (over my nice Pioneer speakers in the car, it may kill me--I'll let you know). I got the graphic novel edition of Coraline. And I'm finally initiating myself into fanship of Neil's most famous works: The Sandman comics. Along with The Sandman Companion, I received the first volume (of four) of the Absolute Sandman collection. These books are huge and spectacularly bound. Last night I read The Sandman #1, and even though many people say the comics improve greatly, I thought it was fabulous. And that's not just the crush talking.

After I read that, up in our beautiful Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired studio with the fountain running and Selke the cat next to me on the futon, I did something really weird. I went over to the shelf where I keep my unpublished works, and pulled out the binder of my fourth novel, Looking on Darkness. So happens I wrote this book during the early years of Neil's writing The Sandman, circa 1990-91. I have absolutely no idea what possessed me to pick up this book, but I opened it and read the first two (long) chapters.

If you're not a writer, it may surprise you that it's possible for authors to actually forget what they write over time. I'm sure I haven't cracked this book in fifteen years. I do remember the gist of the story but of course the specific contents have faded in my mind. Please forgive how this sounds, but I was shocked at how well written the first chapters were. My recollection is that I worked very hard on the editing of this book but didn't complete that effort when I set it aside. I'm not sure how many of the later chapters need work or how much, but I think they should be close to final.

In 1991 one did not have the options for publishing that one does now. Just sending out query letters and sample chapters was very daunting, and during this time I was divorcing my first husband and supporting my two girls on my own. I just ran out of steam. Today is a different story. The most daunting thing about having Living Beyond Reality Press publish Looking on Darkness is having to scan 200 pages of manuscript before I can finish the editing. I think I'll finish reading it, and if the rest is as good as the beginning, I'd sort of like it to end up in print and find some readers.

I have to stretch a little but not too far to find a few parallels between what I was doing with this book in 1990 and what Neil Gaiman was writing in The Sandman. Looking on Darkness was written at the height of my (still continuing) Carl Jung phase, and I'm sure Neil would be happy to confirm his comics have a Jungian influence, if anything by way of Joseph Campbell. The first chapter of LOD introduces Jeremy Lamb, a British schoolboy who eventually becomes the story's antagonist, and I recall researching the Brit terminology carefully. That section reads a lot like some passages in Neil's stories that are in British settings. And some of the writing even smacked of Neil's brand of description--at one point I said Jeremy's eyes were "shiny black, like the backs of beetles," a macrabre sort of analogy I seldom do in my writing nowadays.

Looking on Darkness is about a kind of psychic vampirism, and there is a lot of "action" that occurs inside the psyches of the characters. Dreams and fantasies and the inner life play a big part, as I expect will be the case in The Sandman. If you really want to stretch it, there's one more interesting connection: Issue #1 features four minor characters (two male, two female), and tracks them all over a long expanse of years. LOD is built around the lives of a pair of males and a pair of females.

I don't know what made me get up, almost in a trance (well, it was two hours past my usual bedtime, LOL) and pick up this book from the shelf. But spookier things have happened to me since I started reading Gaiman. So after I finish writing my current collection I'll have to give serious thought to publishing Looking on Darkness. Well, perhaps if I start now scanning those pages a bit at a time, it won't be such a nightmarish chore!

My Sexy New Car

To paraphrase that recent Sprint commercial, "I'm in love...with a car."

It's my "new" 2007 Chevy Cobalt LT, aka Racer Y. Racer Y as in yellow. As you can see, he is VERY yellow.

Several people in my acquaintance have accused me of having a mid-life crisis (they forget 52 is somewhat beyond mid-life), because I am so excited about having a sporty car. In point of fact, I have wanted a sporty car since grade school when I was obsessed with the Opel GT, a car that looked like a mini-Corvette.

I think Y looks a bit like a mini-Corvette, at least from behind, with his Corvette-style taillights. My family finds it hysterical that I can compare my Cobalt with his racy cousin, and I guess 4-cylinders don't qualify as as a muscle car even if the engine is 10% larger than my Neon's was. But seriously, people, Racer Y has some pep. He may not be ready for drag racing but he merges on the freeway like a dream.


You see, I am such a frugal person that not only could I never seriously spring for a true sports car, I waited over 40 years to spend the extra bucks to own a car with a spoiler. A spoiler, my dream, at last! Well, I figured I could splurge, seeing as (a) I got the incredible deal of $10,000 plus my 2001 Neon, and (b) I had saved up all the money plus leftovers. And now I have a spoiler! Ah the joys of ridiculously delayed gratification!


But more about the other sexy features of Racer Y. Where do I begin? This is a car that knows when to turn on his own headlights. He does neat stuff like calculate his mileage (see photo--those were mostly city miles with A/C so not bad) and tell you how much further your tank of gas will take you. He has a most excellent radio/CD player and four truly fine Pioneer speakers. Don't even get me started on the electric windows and mirrors and such (which many take for granted but I lacked in my last car)...perks, perks, perks.


And I just had to trick out Racer with one more feature, a top of the line XM radio. With this addition, he is now the ultimate party car.


The only downside of having a car this sexy is that you want to drive all the time, which is not politically correct these days and also interferes with my saving for Y's replacement. But I might as well face it, I'm addicted to my car.

And he's easy to spot in parking lots, too.

Colorblind and Unthreatened

It’s about time I posted about this year’s season of one of my favorite shows, “So You Think You Can Dance.” I was loving this season until the unfortunate and premature loss of Will, my personal favorite and the guy a lot of people picked to win it all. But that’s not what I’m interested in discussing today. On to that…

The other day Davie found a blog post about SYTYCD in which the blogger observed how it was looking like the final three male contestants might well end up to be all black guys. (Not so now that Will got the boot, but the guy who hung on in his place is actually Hawaiian and of mixed Asian race.) She speculated about what a surprise this was, taking into consideration a certain amount of racism you’d expect from the show’s voters (typically white teenaged girls). Some of the comments echoed this sentiment.

Well, in my admittedly limited experience, I have a different opinion and am not at all surprised by success of the African-American guys on the show. First of all, they happen to be the most talented dancers among the males this year. And secondly, I’m convinced the majority of girls in this country under the age of 30 can find men of color just as hot as white guys. I’m sure there are regional, religious, education and economical factors that come into play and don’t make this principle universal, but I honestly believe it’s typically true.

My own daughters, 28 and 23, sure make no distinction based on race. And from what I hear from their peers and friends, they don’t either. I asked my 23-year-old about this and she agreed with me. She pointed out that one of the most popular genres of music currently is hip hop, and the pre-eminent artists are usually black. That means your typical young lady nowadays gets plenty of exposure to sexy guys of color.

The hindrance to sex appeal between people of different races is simply a matter of familiarity. Once you are comfortable with the difference in appearances—and once you have sexual associations with those “alien” qualities (by alien meaning simply different from your own) such as those that happen in the entertainment world—you can recognize attractiveness easily enough.

Young people have been exposed all their lives to attractive and positive examples of people of every race. I’m not claiming discrimination is dead in America, but there’s virtually none of it in the media or in sports, so that means you see beautiful people of every race every day. In fact, if you live/work in an area that is not particularly integrated, like I do, the vast majority of “minority” people you see will be celebrities and therefore more attractive than the average white person you encounter in daily life.

So I think white teenage girls are not going to be influenced much by race when it comes to sexual attraction. Obviously a good thing for the planet!

Meanwhile, a second observation was made and discussed on this blog post that Davie found. That is, when it comes to picking females to vote for, our typical SYTYCD viewer will look for “unthreatening” girls. That is, they’ll prefer contestants who are not too pretty, not too sexy, and don’t seem like they’d steal your boyfriend from you.

Again, I disagree. If you’ve ever been a teenage girl, I think you’ve experienced what I’ll call “the Barbie Factor.” Young females don’t always regard each other as competition. Sometimes they see an attractive girl as someone to identify with, to pretend they are, as girls do when playing with Barbies (or, I’m sure, Bratz dolls, etc.). I’m sure it’s similar when young men, who are competitive with their buddies and classmates, identify with a sports figure.

So don’t expect the least pretty SYTYCD girl to win, unless coincidentally she happens to be the best dancer.

All that said, there’s no denying that sex is a factor for anyone past puberty as they pick their favorites on this show. Even if you can divorce yourself from simple looks—not easy when those pretty faces and toned abs are distracting you—even selecting on the basis of dancing alone is a sexually-motivated choice. Grace, style, coordination, strength…all these are traits that matter in mating as much as in art. As I’ve said before about SYTYCD, watching the show is a spiritual, innocent erotic experience…just as dancing is.

And happily, I think that evils like jealousy and racism don’t play as much a part as some people fear.

Feeling Superior (For Once)

...well, more accurately, I'm feeling not-inferior. Details to follow.

I am currently corresponding fairly actively with a couple of women who share my propensity to obsess over the right archetypal hero. They, and probably you as well, know what it is like to find a character or a celebrity who seems to embody certain qualities that you value very highly. In certain special cases, that person will capture your imagination so powerfully that your imaginary version of him takes on a life of his own.

This guy is embued, by your own imagination, with powers that sometimes seem staggering. That's the nature of the beast, this animus-thing. It can be hard to separate that from the real faults and foibles of the fellow upon whom you are projecting all this power. If you thoroughly confuse your animus figure with the real person, you can end up like that guy who tried to kill Reagan to impress Jodie Foster.

But even those of us who are sane about our obsessions sometimes struggle with a feeling of inferiority to our hero. After all, the real guy is probably pretty impressive or he wouldn't have attracted this kind of admiration, true? Now if our respect for this hero was not tinged with worship, it would be easy to simply say, "He's gifted, that's great." But the problem with animus-bearers is that they make us want to feel somehow worthy of their admiration in return, even their hypothetical admiration.

When an animus figure inspires you, motivates you, energizes you, it's obviously a good thing. When he makes you down on yourself, it's not...that's just you feeding your own insecurities.

I am an author, occasionally even a fantasy author, and the danger of my taking the imaginary Neil Gaiman for a muse is the temptation to compare myself to him. I get fan mail, but not by the truckloads full so that I must hire an assistant to deal with it. I get good reviews, but not from the New York Times. I have received one piece of fan art so far (one of the highlights of my year), while artists and musicians etc. galore dedicate their best work to this guy. Good lord, he has to be one of the top ten most successful writers in the world today, certainly in terms of how fame is measured. For me, small potatoes me, to compare myself to such a writer? Not to mention he's pretty much a genius? Bad, bad idea.

Well, it so happens today was a nice reality check for me. Today I read an (admittedly very early) story of Gaiman's that I actually recognized as weak. Well, weak to my mind. The introduction to it told of how difficult it was to sell (until after he was famous), and I could see why. For the first time I had a glimmer of the reality of this author's history: Like any other writer, he was once not this good. Like any other writer, he has his moments of glory and his (admittedly extremely rare) moments of mediocrity. How about that! He seemed, thank heavens, a bit more human.

Wait, it gets better.

Then I read the story "Tastings." And before I did, I read the intro, in which Neil explains how it took him four years to write this eight page tale. Why? You aren't going to believe it: The story is about sex, and quite graphic, and he was...wait for it...really embarrassed to write it.

This from a man who has penned horror and blasphemy and all manner of things so repulsive I can't understand how he can think about them? Embarrassed to write sex? HUH???

Wow, I wanted to say to his picture on the inside back cover, "Hey, I've written going on a hundred sex scenes now, baby! What's the big deal?"

Wow. Neil Gaiman, embarrassed for four years.

You can't imagine how liberating this knowledge was to me. For these past months I have been like a mouse with a lion when it comes to this guy. Now I still feel like a mouse...but he's become an elephant who is still imposing and scary, but just happens to be terrified of mice. Hooray!

Yeah, yeah, I know he's only human. And it's not like being shy about sex is any kind of flaw...actually, I like that in a guy. And it was certainly big of Neil to admit such a thing right in his book; just goes to show he's a pretty humble fellow who doesn't need to feed his own ego.

Whereas, as you can see from this post, sometimes I am all about feeding mine. Pretty dang audacious for a mere mouse, hey?

Well, don't worry, this high won't last. I'm sure the next story I read will blow my mind and Neil will morph back into a lion. In the meantime, I'm going to bask in this moment of glory while it lasts.

On Nice Guys and Nasty Muses

What a week it’s been! The top story in the state of Wisconsin has been Brett Favre’s battle with the Packers. The top story in Diana Laurenceville has been that I completed two stories in the same day for the first time ever. These events are an interesting juxtaposition, I must say.

I have been struggling all week with the urge to blog about Favre, while keeping in mind that in the blogosphere, as at parties, it’s best to remember “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” The last thing I want to do is pick on any folks out there who adore this guy and are currently struggling with the possibility of having to rethink their opinions. It hasn’t been that long since I went through something similar. I dedicated my book Living Beyond Reality to a certain hockey goaltender who subsequently indulged in a lot of irresponsible living and got booted from my personal pantheon.

But the talk around Wisconsin has largely boiled down to one issue, that famous quote from Vince Lombardi: “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.” I’ve realized that if you truly hold to that, then Favre is definitely your man. (Well, not definitely, he’s not young anymore, nor infallible.) If you don’t hold to that, not even in sports, then you may be like me. Favre has never been my man, as my annoyed but forgiving Packer fan friends will tell you. I love Kerry Wood for his 20K rookie game, and for his being possibly the NL’s best closer, but I also loved him during the time he was hurt and when he loses a game in the ninth. He’s a team-first guy, the kind who takes a pay cut when another team would pay him more, the kind who is grateful just to play in whatever capacity the team needs him.

In real life I like my men like that. And it always irks the pants off me when men who fail to be heroic are counted as heroes. But people have different standards for what constitutes a hero—you have yours and I have mine—and no person can dictate those standards to another.

While I have been spending the week being grateful for my real life heroes, people like Kerry, and Peyton Manning, and Les Stroud, and the awesome dancers and choreographers on “So You Think You Can Dance,” the opposite has been going on regarding my writing inspiration….

I’ve discovered I do best with a muse who has an evil streak.

I won’t reiterate the same points I’ve been making about my imaginary Neil Gaiman (it’s got to be getting a little nauseating by now). But I just wanted to relate how amazingly effective it seems to be when my animus-bearer of choice has that sinister side. For one thing, the ending he provided me once I turned over my Romeo and Juliet story to him…well, it was perfect. I couldn’t abide a happy ending to it, nor did I want it to be tragic in the way the original play was. I struggled with that for weeks, but apparently it was easy for him. You’ll have to wait for the book to find out how it ends, but suffice it to say the ending is unhappy but somehow very cool.

And the other story, “Don’t,” flowed more or less piecemeal from the imagination of my imaginary friend. I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything so fast. I hope someone other than me likes it, because I really like it!

Lest you think that the sinister muse is only useful for the writers among us, I have found myself enjoying life more in general since he lit upon my shoulder. It kind of feels like being in love, without the annoying problem of another person being involved. LOL

I’ve had a lot of animus-bearers over the years, some of them knights in shining armor, some of them mysterious shaman types, and some of them the sorts of characters who on a certain level scared me. Just like crushing on a “bad boy” can be energizing and thrilling, having a muse who you don’t completely trust seems to really stir up your soul. Oh, and while I’m lauding my animus/muse: He also handed me the plot of my next story as I was finishing the other two, so next up from my keyboard will be the contemporary tale “‘Kiss Me’ and Other Commands.”

So here’s the principle under which I’m operating this summer: For best results, surround yourself with good guys on the outside, and one morally ambiguous guy on the inside.

And would you believe the radio is playing “The Devil Inside” as I type this? (See http://eroticawithsoul.blogspot.com/2008/04/me-and-my-shadow.html). And that’s the second time this has happened while I was blogging on this topic…shiver.

Embrace the Anguish

I guess it’s time for another update for those of you fretting daily about the status of my Neil Gaiman crush. I survived the delight that was Anansi Boys (our dark hero truly can write a happy ending, much to my surprise). Even though it was technically C.S. Lewis in the ondeck circle, I cheated and moved on to another Gaiman title: Smoke and Mirrors. My excuse was that I wanted to be reading short stories on the beach when we had our camping weekend.

Right before our departure date, I read the wonderful story “Chivalry,” about an old British woman who finds the Holy Grail under a fur coat in a secondhand shop. Neil mentioned in the intro that this was one of his favorite stories to read aloud at convention appearances and the like. I decided to use it as a bedtime story in the tent, and read it aloud to my girls two consecutive nights, complete with Brit accents for the speaking parts.

Neil has a very warm and sweet understanding of chivalry. I also learned from this collection that, as I suspected from his writing, he loves cats. These things were definite points in his favor. Nevertheless, I find I am still terrified of the man. He is such a rock star and I am too old to be crushing on rock stars. He was just in Brazil at the big, famous literature festival, where people waited five hours to get his autograph. He contributed to a recent issue of Entertainment Weekly alongside several musicians and TV and film stars. (I discovered both these facts without googling for them, just so you know—I can’t help it if the guy is everywhere these days.)

I would rather be infatuated with someone shy and obscure, thank you very much. But no, I had to glom on to the only author in the world who is cool (J.K Rowling, Dan Brown, Stephen King, et al. are famous, but not cool). I had to be swallowed up into the mob of several billion people who adore this guy. Oh for the days when I could blog about Les Stroud and actually get a nice email from his assistant and gifts from him in the mail. (Aw heck, these days I’ll bet even dear Les is too big for that kind of stuff anymore!) Hell would freeze—no, worse, the price of gas would drop to a buck-fifty, before Neil Gaiman would ever find this blog of mine.

And his writing! Blorg! Neil Gaiman has that way of coming up with the most tortured and torturing concepts and putting them on paper so eloquently that you can’t help but think about them even as you are repelled. I’m convinced he alternates between posing as a polite, old-fashioned, harmless English gentleman and being the devil incarnate and armed with a PC. To be fair, he can’t help making the most of his genius, and in real life I’m sure he’s truly a nice guy. But as “animus material”—fodder for the imagination—he is just so dangerous.

Never fear though, dear readers. I found a nice form of therapy this week. I wrote a short story, all within 24 hours (a miracle for me), called “Don’t.” I embraced fully, in a fictional format, the anguish that intermittently is my Neil Thing. The guy in this story is just as charming, just as guileless, and just as wicked as my imaginary Gaiman is. The girl is, well, some poor feckless fool like me. Think about that title and you may guess what she says and what he does anyway and what she lets him do after all. It’s not a happy story but it kind of knocked my socks off. I hope I’m not the only one who will feel that way.

This week I met via email a new fan of this blog named Elizabeth, who found me by googling Criss Angel. This lovely woman is on a very similar wavelength to myself and certainly gets what it’s like to be drawn to someone who scares you. I have a feeling it’s a chronic thing with many women, this attraction to guys though you feel it may well hurt you to care for them. Happily, Elizabeth and I are doing this stuff on an imaginary plane, so (for the most part) our anguish is also on an imaginary plane. And I found it remarkably therapeutic to dive through the wall that separates reality from unreality, and there on the other side giving in to my sweetest dream/worst nightmare...and then writing it all down.

It’s great to be a writer at times like these. And if reading a lot of Gaiman is going to have this sort of effect on my writing, I’ll put up with the anguish.

Happy Endings

I've written a lot of stories about sex...a lot...and up until recently I stuck to the HEA (happily ever after) formula that many romance publishing houses require. This was no great hardship--I'm pretty much a "half full" person. And I also feel that for the most part a positive attitude about sex is a healthy one. I'm not oblivious to the dark side of sexuality, far from it: I've had plenty of "secondhand experience" with that (meaning firsthand experience with people whose sexuality is pretty damn dark). It's crucial to be mindful and well-informed on that subject. But to dwell on it, well, that's not so helpful or healthy.

Nevertheless, for my next collection of erotic romance stories, I decided to liberate myself from the HEA requirement and see what happens. For one thing, I thought it would widen my creative options. For another, as a Jungian I feel it really is important to be cognizant of one's shadow self. For a third, I'll admit to being under the influence of the often extremely dark fantasy author Neil Gaiman...I'm sure I can blame him for bringing out my negative side. LOL

But I'm finding this new approach is not so simple. You can't, as a responsible author, simply say to yourself, "Screw the happy ending, let's just let everything get as f'ed up as possible and let the chips fall where they may!" I learned this lesson this past weekend while watching a movie--let me share.

The movie was "The Mist," and I'll not spoil the ending for you except to say it wasn't happy. It was really UNhappy. It was unhappy on the level of the totally nihilistic and super-depressing endings that were prevalent in 70's movies and fell out of vogue with the release of "Star Wars," thank heavens. To call it a downer is a major understatement.

I realize a person shouldn't expect a cheerful ending from a horror movie. I'm also not the kind of person who dislikes horror movies or downer endings. I'm a huge fan of the "Hostel" movies. I loved "The Descent" and thought it had a perfectly acceptable downer ending. Stephen King is one of my favorite authors and few of his stories have HEA endings.

I would have been cool with the original ending to "The Mist," the one Stephen wrote. It's one of those classic ambiguous horror movie endings, like the end of "The Birds," where the family escapes the house and drives off among the crowds of resting birds, and you never find out for sure what happens to them or the world. The movie script of "The Mist" did not have an ambiguous ending...it was just one of those really, really horrific and depressing endings.

David and I were so distressed by this movie that we talked about it for an hour afterwards and looked up all the reviews and then then next day talked about it some more. These conversations were not the productive kind where you end up discovering something interesting about life or yourself. They were the critical kind where you just come up with more reasons why the film failed.

My point: If you choose to have an unhappy ending, you have to be willing to be responsible for it. Because people go to the movies and read fiction books primarily to be entertained. Unhappy endings can be informative, or enlightening, or eye-opening, but they are by nature not entertaining. So if you're going to not entertain with your ending, it had better have some sort of meaningful point, or your audience is going to be dissatisfied.

Applying this lesson to my particular case: People read about sex primarily to be entertained, too. If your erotic romance story is going to have an unhappy ending, you better have a good reason for it.

Meanwhile, I'm having a really rough time writing my latest story for this "dark erotic" anthology of mine. It's about Piero and Gilia, original characters in the Romeo-and-Juliet-verse, to use modern parlance. They are cousins, respectively, of R and J, who are having their own romantic problems as the events of Shakespeare's play unfold. "Romeo and Juliet" is one of the saddest tragedies of English literature, so it's difficult for any retelling of those events to be anything but tragic, at least in part. And to have a HEA ending befall a couple of side characters also seems rather pat and offensive to me.

However, I also shy away from taking the route of Piero and Gilia simply experiencing their own parallel tragedy. Why? Because the R&J story is enough of a bummer without dumping more unhappiness on the reader of this tale. I don't want (if you will) to "pull a Mist."

How I will resolve this quandary remains to be seen. (And you thought writers knew what they were doing when they start writing a story...ha!) But I'm determined to be careful and to be mindful that happy endings are not simply a literary device. The human psyche always functions better in a positive environment. Sure, negativity can seem "cooler," more realistic, and even more intellectual, but bringing people down requires them to pay a price they may not have signed on to pay.

We certainly didn't sign on for the ending of "The Mist."

Speaking of "good vibes"--please shoot some my way as I figure out what to do with poor Piero and Gilia. Right now they're dealing with the double suicide of their cousins, which is actually worse than dealing with having just seen "The Mist."

Male Décor

Okay, check out this list and tell me, what do these 15 gentlemen have in common?

Jake Gylenhaal
Paul Newman
Mark DeRosa
Matthew Fox
Daniel Radcliffe
Daniel Craig
Adrien Brody
Bobby Flay
Terrence Howard
Casey Affleck
James McAvoy
Josh Brolin
Kosuke Fukudome
Heath Ledger
Frank Sinatra

Stumped? Okay, their pictures all appear on the walls of my 25-year-old daughter’s cubicle at Kohl’s, where she works in the ecommerce department. Clearly age is not a factor in her mind, nor is race, creed or color. Young and old, chefs and second basemen, noses big or small, these guys all serve together as Manzi’s décor of choice.

She is quite new at Kohl’s and enjoys when other employees are brought to her cube to be introduced to her, especially the females. They try to keep their eyes on hers politely, but invariably the “art” is too distracting and they are forced to check out who they might spot on her walls. “You have the Daniels!” exclaimed one visitor. Nice.

Not all workplaces are suitable for this sort of hobby, but it hasn’t been that long since I kept an array of male faces under the plastic mat on my desktop. I had a job once where I had a lot of cabinets, and I stuck dozens of photos of Sting on the inside of the cabinet doors. Nowadays, being a mature 51-year-old Marketing Communications Specialist, I tastefully limit my face displays to computer wallpaper (I’ve made some dandy ones of Kerry Wood, Neil Gaiman, and Les Stroud recently).

Years ago at our last house, I kept a “Mini Sports Hall of Fame” on the inside of the pantry door. I recall it included Wayne Gretzky, hockey goalie Ed Belfour, Eric Kramer of the Chicago Bears, the Brewers’ Paul Molitor, triathlete Mark Allen, and even sports announcer Bob Costas. Of course the ultimate expression of this sort of thing in the sports genre is card collecting, and I used to pour for hours over my collection of hockey cards, trying not to drool on the more valuable ones.

In my opinion, the best male décor is, like Manzi’s, eclectic in nature. Variety is the spice of life and all that. One room can really make a statement if you combine, say, a bit of Josh Holloway here, some Anthony Hopkins there, and over there, a nice Chow Yun-Fat. Of course, keeping to a single theme can be fun too: I can see designing a space that includes all “Love Actually” men: Rodrigo Santoro, Liam Neeson, Colin Firth, Alan Rickman, etc.

Well, if I have any point today it’s that I don’t think a woman of any age should feel embarrassed or shy about male décor. Beauty is to be celebrated, savored, and treasured in all its forms, and that goes for Elijah Wood’s eyes, Hugh Jackman’s smile, and yes, Manzi, Adrian Brody’s nose.

Seduced by Humor

Well, it’s been awhile since I updated you on the status of my crush on author Neil Gaiman. About a month ago our “relationship” hit the skids when I read his short story collection Fragile Things. Was the book that bad? Actually, it was excellent, and helped me realize I wanted to get back to writing short fiction. However, several of the stories truly freaked me out and I found myself more perplexed by and scared of Mr. Gaiman than attracted to him. What can you expect, really, from a horror fantasy collection? But I was emotionally unprepared to deal with the man’s monstrous side, even having read his admittedly dark American Gods.

I put the whole thing out of my mind and carried on. 2008 is the year in which I am alternating between reading Gaiman and C.S. Lewis, so I turned to A Grief Observed (marvelous!) and otherwise did a lot of writing and playing Peggle. I had brief “love affairs” with Benjamin Linus, cucumber margaritas, and Cubs pitcher Ryan Dempster (don’t worry, Kerry Wood, you’re still my main man baseball-wise). I also had a longer and more intimate dalliance with Nate Jonas, the bestselling sci-fi author who wrote The Vicious Views of Eyes, and who is completely fictitious and the male lead in my new short story “Nate and Erica Write a Sex Scene.”

You may suspect from that last sentence that all this while I was in denial, seeing as I chose to pen a tale about a romance author and a sci-fi author collaborating. My protestation that Neil writes fantasy and that the four-letter-names-beginning-with-N is pure coincidence will probably sound like I doth protest too much. But seriously, Nate is more a much nicer version of Harlan Ellison, and younger of course. When you read the story sometime in 2009, you’ll see he’s nothing like Gaiman.

So I was totally on a break, until I had to take a book to the oil change place last Saturday and picked up Anansi Boys. Ah, Neil, what a multi-dimensional creature you are! This spin-off of American Gods is, as the author frequently points out in interviews, totally different in spirit from its predecessor. And worlds apart from the often horrific Fragile Things.

For one thing—and perhaps the most important thing—it’s hilarious.

I’ve watched interviews with Neil and the man really can be, and frequently is, funny. It’s that polite, smart, quirky, articulate kind of British humor, perfectly employing absurdity and hyperbole. “Shaun of the Dead” type humor. It’s disarming, it’s charming—it makes you smile while you’re laughing if you know what I mean.

Another author would say, “Mrs. Dunwiddy was amazingly old.” Neil Gaiman says, “There were geological ages that were probably younger than Mrs. Dunwiddy. As a boy, Fat Charlie imagined Mrs. Dunwiddy in Equatorial Africa, peering disapprovingly through her thick spectacles at the newly erect hominids.”

And Anansi Boys is not simply seasoned with this humor like Neil’s other books I’ve read. It’s jelly-rolled with it. I’m telling you, reading this book is like enjoying one of those 12-layer tortes, and the frosting is humorous-Neil-Gaiman flavored.

Okay, I’ve said before how sexy humor can be. Let me tell you, I should have listened to myself. I read a chapter of this book, I sit there letting Neil spin his yarns to me, with that voice so British you can hear it from the printed page. His words make me grin, fill my belly with that warm, happy, delighted feeling. Every page brings new pleasure, and it’s actually physical, not just cerebral. Then I reluctantly put down the book and there’s that great picture of Gaiman on the back cover.

All right, I surrender!

I’m still in love with this guy and I suppose the fact that he can also scare the crap out of me only makes it all more interesting. As Alan Tudyk (Wash from “Firefly”) can tell you, when I fall for funny men it’s hard to get over it, and as Eddie Izzard can tell you, when they’re Brits it’s even worse. (Oh yeah, and Nate Jonas is American, so there.) If Neil could sing and survive in the wild, I’d simply have to let my reason go and become a stalker…but fortunately, he and Les Stroud are separate people.

[Sidebar: Ryan Dempster, if you google your name and find this, I’m aware that you are one of the funniest men in pro baseball. I am trying not to read your interviews lest you attempt to lure me away from my devotion to Kerry with your hilarious Harry Caray impressions and what-not.]

Okay, so Neil and I are back on. I bought Smoke and Mirrors and Neverwhere last weekend. I figure I’ll need to go back to some more serious Gaiman to prevent myself from driving to Minneapolis and staking out the comics shops where he reportedly hangs out. But first I have to get through Anansi Boys with my heart and sanity intact.

Pray for me.

Guys, Go Ahead and Fake It

When it comes to sexy, what guys don’t realize is how effective faking it can be. I mean faking being sexy. When guys lampoon sexy moves, eight times out of ten it works as well as if they were seriously trying. Well, at least it does for me, and every woman I’ve had the occasion to ask said the same thing.

Let me illustrate from one of my favorite TV shows, “How I Met Your Mother.” (But please don’t comment with any spoilers…I’m a jenny-come-lately here and am only on Season 1, Episode 4). Womanizing Barney occasionally gives nice guys Ted and Marshall tips on pick up lines. For example, he teaches Ted the proper way to intone “I’m Ted Mosby, Architect” when introducing himself to a girl. It’s supposed to be comedy, but Ted’s fake sultriness totally works. Marshall (played by the always irresistible Jason Segel) is a big goof from Minnesota, but when he fake-entices women, feigning self-confidence and swagger, it’s likewise completely effective.

Yes, Barney, I know you use every un-original, worn out trick in the book, but sadly, I’m still a sucker for winks, the hand-as-pistol gesture, and the come-hither look.

Another terrific example of faking-it-works principle is my favorite guilty-pleasure movie, “Zoolander.” In this film Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson play rival male supermodels, and have multiple occasions to strut on the runway and pout for photoshoots. I’m not saying they aren’t just as funny as intended…it’s just that they’re also really hot, in a bizarre sort of way. Ben and Owen were not trying to be seductive, they were going for laughs. But the stuff is sexy anyway.

Ironic how the sexiest scenes in the media so often occur in comedies, hey? And you’ll be hard pressed to find stuff like this in your daily life.

You know, guys can be their own worst enemies. For one thing, most of them have an aversion to dancing. The ironic truth is, any guy who isn’t grossly overweight, has a decent sense of rhythm, and is willing to fake that he’s sexy on the dance floor is going to have the chicks eating out of his hand. It doesn’t take Brad Pitt good looks, lots of practice, or some inborn mystique. Honestly, guys, we women are remarkably easy to fool.

For examples, see the afore-mentioned Jason Segel as “freak” Nick on “Freaks and Geeks,” disco dancing. Hot. Or, for that matter, Jon Heder as Napoleon Dynamite in his dancing scene. The crotch thrusting works, even when you look like a total dork when you stand still. Have you seen the school spirit dance Vince Vaughn leads in “Old School”? That move where he beckons with his finger has been replayed countless times by my daughters and I. It’s the little things, gentlemen.

If you absolutely can’t dance, there are other options. Try out this little exercise. Go to a mirror and (1) lower your chin, (2) look out the tops of your eyes at yourself, and (3) affect a serious look. Now tweak that until it becomes as seductive-looking as possible, and practice a few times. Try this look out on women at parties, shopping malls, or church festivals and see if you don’t make a few ladies squirm and giggle. If more men did this, we’d be riled up all the time. (It would also help if eyeliner came into general fashion for men.) A friend of mine managed a look like this for a shot at a wedding he was in, and while he totally did it as a joke, I would have paid cash money for a copy of that photo.

I suppose I should put in here some sort of disclaimer: indeed, I can’t guarantee you 100% that any guy who fakes being sexy will pull it off. I’m just saying that most of the time the difference between hot guys and guys you don’t notice is that the former are good at pretending to be hot. I’ve told you countless times, face and physique matter less to women than self-confidence. Don’t have any particular self-confidence in this regard? You can even be joking, you can even feel ridiculous, but pretend to be serious and we’ll buy it. After you’ve made the gesture and shrugged it off as funny, we’ll laugh along with you…but inside we’ll be filing the scene away as fantasy fodder, and making a mental note that you’re more attractive than we thought you were.

Do a girl a favor today, and pretend you think you’re sexy.