Stacia Kane

Sorry I’m updating so late. I could be all cool and say it’s because I didn’t want to stymie further comments on the violent hero post (which is partially true–keep commenting if you’re interested), but I admit it. I’ve spent huge chunks of time today trying to work, watching Beauty and the Beast with the Faerie, and obsessively checking for updates about the Led Zeppelin reuinion show, and trying like hell to get onto that damn registration website (still no luck, it’s crashed.) The hubs is a HUGE Zephead and I’m a pretty big fan myself, so we’re aching to go. Keep your fingers crossed for us.

Also, working a lot. It hit me with terrifying clarity earlier today that to reach my end-of month goal I need to write approximately 40k words between now and September 30. Which will very well turn into more, as I’ve had a flash of inspiration regarding Demon Inside, which I’m very excited about and may well add another 10-15k to the ms.

See, I’m not really a detailed plotter. As you know, I come up with a plot and then I have some stepieces and there we go. I have a new setpiece to add, which I think will be really cool and set an appropriately creepy tone going into the very creepy finale. Yay!

And what else? I have another taboo post planned, which should be fun. You guys are the best. And I’m terrible. I’ve been neglecting all of you lately, because if I’m not posting or replying I’m wrestling with either a toddler or a WIP. Give me another couple of weeks. I promise once all this stuff is off my desk I’m taking at least a couple of weeks off, and so will be around more.

Oh, and…

1. Yes, I changed my picture. I think this one actually looks like me, so I’m pleased with a picture of me for the first time in years. Not thrilled, as it isn’t perfect, but pleased.

2. In the process of building content for the Stacia Kane site. Anyone interested in having some fun, and coming up with some interview questions for my characters?

Any woman?

Is it ever justified?

I should confess something here. The EC novel Anna J. and I wrote, that comes out in January, will most likely garner an X rating in part for this reason–violence against women. Sexual violence against women, specifically (but not limited to, and not rape of a woman.) It’s not the only reason, but it is part of it.

When two people get off on violence, on hitting and being hit, is it wrong for them to hit each other?

How about if the woman is only of average physical strength but the man is particularly strong? (This isn’t the sitch in the EC book, I’m just thinking out loud here.) Is it worse if, say, your superstrong vampire hero punches a woman, as opposed to your average guy?

How bad does a woman have to be before it’s “acceptable” for a man to hit her? Just bitchy? Evil? Really evil? Mutilating puppies evil? I’m not talking about spanking or whipping or any type of ritualized BDSM play. I’m talking about hauling off and punching someone.

See, my immediate response–which I firmly believe is the response of every right-thinking person–is that it’s never right. Men should not hit women. Only the most low-down, no-good type of worthless man would hit a woman.

But then the writery part steps in. And, okay, the slightly kinky part too. Maybe there is a situation where he could. Maybe there is a way to make it work. Maybe there’s even a way it could be sexy.

Because what is violence but the triumph of emotion over reason? Emotion out of control? And high emotion is sexy. It makes the heart pound, the breath quicken.

The problem is, it’s a very, veri fine line to walk. Most people would immediately see the man as lesser. Not a man. Certainly not likeable anymore. Not appealing. And then there’s the old belief that when a man hits a woman once, he’ll do it again. (Personally, I don’t believe it’s true 100% of the time. A large proportion, sure. But not 100%.)

This is an awkward thing to even write about, because I certainly don’t want to sound like I condone or approve of domestic violence in any way, shape or form. I wouldn’t like to be hit, and I don’t know that I could ever forgive a man who hit me, or how long if ever it would be before I trusted him again (this is assuming it’s my husband, where just walking out and ending it isn’t an option.)

But I don’t live the kind of lives my characters lead, either. My life isn’t full of danger and intrigue and violence anyway. My husband isn’t a vampire or a demon or a witch, or anyone for whom violence is a regular part of life. He’s just a man. A very appealing one, but a man nonetheless.

Does it make a difference if violence is an accepted behavior in the society which the hero inhabits? Forty years ago, we thought almost nothing of seeing men hit women in movies. The “she slaps him, so he slaps her, then they kiss” scene wasn’t uncommon (it wasn’t in every movie you saw, but it wasn’t uncommon.) I believe James Bond hit a couple of women in his sixties incarnation. I’m pretty sure there are others, too. Cary Grant hit Leslie Caron in Father Goose, and I still adore that movie.

Does it make a difference if she hits him first? If he then justified?

See, I guess part of me thinks it wouldn’t bother me that much to read it, if it was done right. Because novels are novels; they’re not reality. Much as there are still “forced seduction” novels out there to provide women with (let’s be honest) a safe way to experience a rape fantasy (and I’m not saying this is the only reason, but then, I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with rape fantasies either. I fantasize about all sorts of things I’d never want to do in real life), is it possible that the use of something like that–and we’re talking one hit here, not a crazed beating–might be worth exploring, if only to demonstrate high emotional intensity? To give a bad boy a reason to reform? To give a heroine the upper hand?

What do you guys think?

(Wow, it feels odd to not be blogging about publishing on a Friday, it’s been so long! The summer series is over; no more interviews, no more posts. I’m sure I’ll keep blogging about it on occsion, we’re just not doing it regularly anymore.)

So someone on one of the message boards I’m a member of posted a question the other day, about emotional intensity and sex scenes. The gist of it was, if a man is in a very low, unhappy place emotionally, is it taking advantage of him for the heroine to, ah, take a tip from Marvin Gaye?

I was frankly stunned that this was even an issue. perhaps if the situation had been reversed and the heroine was the one feeling terrible (you see how sexist I am) I *might* have felt a little differently. Maybe. But my response on reading it, and still is, “Huh? But getting laid makes people feel better.”

This is a MAN we’re talking about here. And it’s not like the woman is some total stranger who got him drunk and molested him, she’s his romantic interest in the story.

But everyone else seemed to think it would be better to have one or both of them stop things, and wait until they were in a more centered place, which bugged me a little because hey, emotionally traumatized sex = hot sex. I wrote a scene in the PD sequel the other day that, hopefully, will scorch your eyeballs, but without the emotional content–specifically raging, screaming fury–would be rather humdrum. It’s not even a particularly long scene (although it’s not short). But it allowed my heroine to explore some new depths in herself. It allowed my hero a chance to show how well he knows her and how he feels without actually having to utter any of those potentially embarrassing words he’s too scared to say.

Does he take advantage of her in that scene? Well, yeah, I guess he does. He could easily have helped her by talking, or offering her a pillow to hit, or inviting her to go for a job, or even a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t have to sneak up and start putting his hands all over her in ways he knows she particularly likes. Maybe a less selfish and oversexed type of man would have done any or all of those things.

But I think it would have omitted so many of the clues buried in the scene. I think it would have made him far too wholesome. He’s a guy. He wants to have sex. He thinks, “Hey, she really needs to feel better right now, and I bet some sort of physical activity would help…say! I have an idea!”

Who wants to waste all that good emotional uproar on ice cream, for fuck’s sake, and then have sweet, rational sex the next day? When you could have your characters brutally use each other instead? No contest, at least for me. Why have them smile when they could be devouring, why have them be tender when they could be desperate?

No, it’s not right for every scene, obviously. But it seemed to me that in worrying about “taking advantage”, the writer was losing an opportunity to really strip her characters to the bone. Which in large part is what sex scenes should be about. Yes, it should be hot, and not every scene needs to heal traumas or create new ones–sex for sex’s sake doesn’t bother me if I like the characters and they’re hot together–but a chance like that doesn’t come along very often.

Not to mention the fantastic opportunities for conflict represented by sex like that. Imagine that scene, where she’s worrying she took advantage (silly, but whatever) and he’s afraid he revealed too much…it’s the stuff dreams are made of, IMO.

But I admit it makes me wonder if I’m some sort of sociopath, in that taking advantage wasn’t even on my radar here.

Monday I want to go more into this, especially relating to that ultimate taboo of taboos–hitting girls.

This is the cover for my Ellora’s Cave “Torrid tarot” series novel, The Eighth Wand, which will be released October 17. Pretty nice, I think. Especially considering the vague description of the tattoo I gave them, the artist did a splendid job.

So. Tanks to all who enjoyed the hubs’ guest blog. He was too shy to come back and reply to everyone’s comments, but he did read them. And yes, we have talked about writing something together, and I’, pushing for it. As soon as I finish even half of the other stuff on my plate.

Rather than being flat-out blocked, I’m currently at that point, on the crest of the hill, where my WIP seems like total mush. The characters don’t feel right. The story seems dull. I’m frantically checking and re-checking to make sure I haven’t left any plot threads unchecked as we get ready to roll into the climax. It feels like I’ve been writing this book for years.

And of course, the world is conspiring against me, too. Today is the Princess’s first day back at school, which means the Faerie is beside herself with boredom. She’s gotten very used to having Big Sis around to play with. And so have I.

Plus the blogosphere decided to go crazy. Publishers are folding, fights are breaking out, plagiarism accusations (which I believe are well-founded) are flying around, along with wild, delusional rants about optioned television shows and furious posts in ALL CAPS.

(BTW, a TMI aside–in the middle of writing this I had to stop and change Faerie’s diaper, because she smelled. Her poo was bright green. I’m not exaggerating. It was a bright spring green–actually rather a pretty color. Of course I panicked and googled “green poop”. You’d be surprised how much comes up when you Google “green poop”. Anyway, turns out it’s probably the grape Kool-Aid she’s been drinking–my Mom sent us a bunch of packets and the girls have both been guzzling it the last couple of days. So purple Kool-Aid=green poop, as confirmed by several online stories.)

Anyway. All this excitement is good for amusement but not so good when trying to actually write. Add to that a BBQ last weekend here and a day spent trying to recover from said BBQ and you can see why my wordcount has slowed to a crawl.

But I shall push on…

In other news, RWA has added my publisher, Juno Books, to their list of non-vanity, non-subsidy publishers, which means Personal Demons is now eligible to enter the RITA for 2008. I may do that.

I’m also trying to get together a list of independent bookstores–BookSense’s list is apparently somewhat out of date. Anybody know of any stores, or where such a list might be available?

So…you’re sitting watching TV and you glance over to your loving wife who has this look of serious concern on her face. She’s been a little quiet and withdrawn since you got home from work tonight. You’ve tried to give her some space wondering if she just had a bad day. But now it’s later in the evening, and things appear to have worsened.

You wonder if it’s the TV show you’re watching. You wonder if it’s the dream you told her about starring the nubile young co-worker (Note: Yes, he actually did tell me about it.) You wonder if it’s the credit card bill that just arrived that gives tell-tale details about just HOW much money you’ve spent on comic books this month. You wonder if it’s the effect all those cream cakes re having on your mid-section.

You wonder…you wonder…

You cautiously move in closer, wondering if maybe she’s found that stack of magazines featuring the Japanese women who like the black PVC and red lollipops that are hidden behind the shoebox in the closet. Maybe she’s spent this week’s entire food budget on Grey Goose and cranberry juice and she’s trying to think of a good way to tell you. Maybe she’s had bad news earlier in the day that she has yet to share with you. Maybe she’s pregnant. Maybe she’s on lithium. Maybe she been carrying on with half of what’s left of Lynyrd Skynyrd and she’s trying again to remember which kid is theirs.

You nervously clear your throat in an effort to catch her attention as her expression has now moved from serious concern to pissed off angst.

But she’s not catching your movements. She didn’t notice the *ahem* and she didn’t notice the *sigh* and now you REALLY start to worry…

Is she trying to find the way to tell you that it really isn’t as big as she said? Is she trying to figure out if that body buried in that field will decompose before the cops find it? Is she remembering that first kiss and how she should have stuck to her guns and commented on the garlic? Is it terminal? Is it divorce? Is it homicidal? Is it clowns?

It’s all or nothing now….her expression has moved to fervent grief. She looks like she could pick up a bat and start swinging in a kill them all, let God sort them out kind of way.

She’s chewing on her lower lip. She’s clenching her teeth. She’s fidgeting in her seat.

Her toes are wriggling. Her ice blue eyes are narrowing.

You look over at the kids, and silently ask them to wish you luck as you break the lock off Pandora’s box and brace yourself for the onslaught.

“Honey,” you say, trying to find the courage and the breath for words, “what’s wrong? You’ve looked off all night. Like something is bothering you?”

She turns her head to look at you. Dead in the eye. She’s showing teeth. She takes a deep breath.

And then,

only then,

smiles.

“Ohhh….I’m stuck on a f***ing sex scene and I can’t figure it out. I mean, I know where this is going and I know what I want them to do but I…just…can’t….get…it….right.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, not believing what you are hearing.

“Of course,” she says, still smiling. “What did you think it was?”