Monday, November 26, 2007
Check out Fierce Romance!
Fierce Romance has a great entry today. If you've ever been insulted or felt the need to defend your genre, you'll want to give them a shout out!
I Object!
Main Entry: ob·jec·ti·fy
Function: transitive verb
Pronunciation: ob-'jek-tuh-fī
Inflected Form(s): -fied ; -fy·ing
1 : to treat as an object or cause to have objective reality
Recently, I was told by another writer who saw some of the cover images on my Writer's Gone Wild group that my writing (and my genre) sexually objectify men.
Excuse me?
I have a problem with the presumption that romance writers--and the cover models employed by their publishers--manage to objectify anyone. Even within our genre, publishers have certain taboos, and work that condones sexual victimization of any kind is one of the universal ones.
"Objectify" is a verb. To objectify another person requires an action, performed by a perpetrator. Objectification also requires a victim. In order to be sexually objectified, a victim must have been denied their right to say "no".
A minor who is forced to perform in a peep show in exchange for food and shelter is a *victim* of objectification. The young men who were coerced into sexual acts under the mantle of presumed power within the Catholic Church were both victimized, and objectified. A young boy I know, autistic and at the time nonverbal, was molested at the age of ten by a documented, same sex, sexual predator.
Nobody cared much when it happened, save the people who loved him.
This child was victimized. He was also traumatized. He was, indeed, objectified, both by his perpetrator, and by the caregivers who chose to diminish his plight in order to remove themselves from the finger of accusation. They knew this child couldn't effectively testify. Their actions told him that it's ok to suffer molestation if you're not intellectually perfect. They turned him into an object.
None of these scenarios allowed their victims the luxury of choice.
Romance writers and the amazing cover models who depict romantic heroes are not victims. Nor have they been objectified. They have trained for, auditioned for, and prepared for their careers empowered by personal choice. In return, they have been well compensated for the delightful work that they do.
To presume that they are victims of objectification demeans the very real horrors faced by real victims of sexual objectification.
End of rant.
Fire away! :D
Function: transitive verb
Pronunciation: ob-'jek-tuh-fī
Inflected Form(s): -fied ; -fy·ing
1 : to treat as an object or cause to have objective reality
Recently, I was told by another writer who saw some of the cover images on my Writer's Gone Wild group that my writing (and my genre) sexually objectify men.
Excuse me?
I have a problem with the presumption that romance writers--and the cover models employed by their publishers--manage to objectify anyone. Even within our genre, publishers have certain taboos, and work that condones sexual victimization of any kind is one of the universal ones.
"Objectify" is a verb. To objectify another person requires an action, performed by a perpetrator. Objectification also requires a victim. In order to be sexually objectified, a victim must have been denied their right to say "no".
A minor who is forced to perform in a peep show in exchange for food and shelter is a *victim* of objectification. The young men who were coerced into sexual acts under the mantle of presumed power within the Catholic Church were both victimized, and objectified. A young boy I know, autistic and at the time nonverbal, was molested at the age of ten by a documented, same sex, sexual predator.
Nobody cared much when it happened, save the people who loved him.
This child was victimized. He was also traumatized. He was, indeed, objectified, both by his perpetrator, and by the caregivers who chose to diminish his plight in order to remove themselves from the finger of accusation. They knew this child couldn't effectively testify. Their actions told him that it's ok to suffer molestation if you're not intellectually perfect. They turned him into an object.
None of these scenarios allowed their victims the luxury of choice.
Romance writers and the amazing cover models who depict romantic heroes are not victims. Nor have they been objectified. They have trained for, auditioned for, and prepared for their careers empowered by personal choice. In return, they have been well compensated for the delightful work that they do.
To presume that they are victims of objectification demeans the very real horrors faced by real victims of sexual objectification.
End of rant.
Fire away! :D
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Red Sage Publishing, excerpts, etc.
Red Sage Publishing has a new blog, Red Sage Revealed. Hop on over and give it a looksee. If the blog is half as successful as Red Sage itself, then my guess is this will become a must read for both readers and writers of romantic fiction.
With that said, I do believe it's excerpt time.
Let's do one from Kiss of the Cerberus. But first, a disclaimer....
By reading further, you certify that you are over the age of eighteen, and that you are not offended by sexually suggestive scenarios.
Whew. If you got past that, then dig in and have fun. Hope you enjoy.:D
~
Dana already knew that Half-Captain Ryder Alpha waited on the other side of this door. She knew because she could smell him—his earthy musk, the lingering tang of their sex.
The memory of his touch dragged a rebellious moan across her lips.
He is Fang, she cautioned herself. Hadn’t Steph warned her that sex with Fangs left the senses heightened for hours? Blinking back a rush of tears, she raised a trembling hand, knuckles tapping tentatively on Ryder’s office door.
"Come in." Ryder’s clipped command incited a shiver. It prickled at the small of her back, snaking up her spine to tingle at the nape of her neck. Last night, that baritone voice had run thick with passion, rasping her name.
Erotic images burst into her consciousness in stop-motion frames. Broad fingers dancing over her breasts. Velvety lips trailing kisses over her belly. Hot tongue laving her mons.
I am a fang banger. Her cheeks heated with shame even as her pussy creamed with desire.
"I said, come in." Today, that voice snapped, brittle with impatience.
Dana's nipples, still raw from his attentions, throbbed in time to her thudding heart. Crushing the file containing her orders to her breasts, she forced her wayward nipples to retreat.
Pushing the door open, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d chosen to wear a costume last night. Even pinned beneath Ryder, she’d concealed her identity behind that scarlet half mask.
Angling her cap lower, she stepped through the door, offering the chin-high, half salute reserved for officers of his kind. Fang kind.
Bracing his hands on the desk that loomed between them, Ryder stood.
God, he was huge. In more ways that one. Every nerve in her body crawled as her gaze followed him upward.
Circling to the front of his desk, a half-grin played about the corners of his lips. Closing the distance between them, his pupils coiled to points, sizing her up.
"Have we met, Lieutenant?" he asked, extending his hand.
She dared not touch him. Not if she expected to maintain control. "My orders, sir." Offering the folder in place of her hand, she knew the insult her actions implied.
Snapping the file from her hand, his lip curled. "At ease, Lieutenant."
Retreating to his desk, he settled one lean leg onto its edge to peruse her orders.
Dana’s gaze skidded away from his eyes, lingering on his mouth before resting on the safer terrain of his chest.
Well developed pecs strained against the Fang trident that blazed from his black t-shirt. The three-pronged staff of Triton came clasped in the jaws of Cerberus. Unlike the trident worn by the mortal SEAL’s, Dana knew this mark wasn’t any insignia of glory.
It was a brand. She’d seen it tattooed above the taut crevice of his ass as she’d undressed him last night.
"You're a...behaviorist?" Ryder’s iced gaze rose from the folder, peering through the chestnut shields of his eyebrows.
Beads of sweat pearled on her neckline.
"Yes, sir," she murmured, pinning her eyes to the ground.
"Look at me when you speak, Lieutenant."
Rolling her irises up, she glanced at him through the protective fringe of her lashes. The sweat beads gathered, travelling in hot rivulets between her breasts.
"What does a…behavior analyst…do?"
"Were you not briefed, sir?"
"I am Fang, Lieutenant."
"I assumed…"
"You assumed considerations seldom granted this unit." He slapped the folder closed, tossing it on the desk with such vengeance that the papers fanned out, fluttering toward the floor.
She stooped, collecting what bits of her file fell closest to her feet. "If you’ll only bother to finish reading..."
"I’ve read enough."
"Then you know my mission is to identify and manipulate certain field stimuli, eliciting a predictable response."
"You’re a fucking dog trainer."
"My techniques have human applications…"
"I’m no human, Lieutenant."
Snapping her head up, she skewered him with her glare. "I gathered as much."
He stepped closer. Before Dana could counter, his hand shot out, capturing her jaw, lifting up. She had little choice than to rise, gaze riveted to his.
"You were sent here to analyze me. To train me. Like an animal."
She nodded.
"Tell me," he grated. "Did you elicit a predictable response last night?"
She couldn’t restrain the gasp that tore from her throat. "You speak out of line."
"You want something to analyze?" Clamping his hand around the thick ridge straining against the seam of his shorts, Dana’s stare dropped to his enormous erection.
"Analyze this, Lieutenant."
With that said, I do believe it's excerpt time.
Let's do one from Kiss of the Cerberus. But first, a disclaimer....
By reading further, you certify that you are over the age of eighteen, and that you are not offended by sexually suggestive scenarios.
Whew. If you got past that, then dig in and have fun. Hope you enjoy.:D
~
Dana already knew that Half-Captain Ryder Alpha waited on the other side of this door. She knew because she could smell him—his earthy musk, the lingering tang of their sex.
The memory of his touch dragged a rebellious moan across her lips.
He is Fang, she cautioned herself. Hadn’t Steph warned her that sex with Fangs left the senses heightened for hours? Blinking back a rush of tears, she raised a trembling hand, knuckles tapping tentatively on Ryder’s office door.
"Come in." Ryder’s clipped command incited a shiver. It prickled at the small of her back, snaking up her spine to tingle at the nape of her neck. Last night, that baritone voice had run thick with passion, rasping her name.
Erotic images burst into her consciousness in stop-motion frames. Broad fingers dancing over her breasts. Velvety lips trailing kisses over her belly. Hot tongue laving her mons.
I am a fang banger. Her cheeks heated with shame even as her pussy creamed with desire.
"I said, come in." Today, that voice snapped, brittle with impatience.
Dana's nipples, still raw from his attentions, throbbed in time to her thudding heart. Crushing the file containing her orders to her breasts, she forced her wayward nipples to retreat.
Pushing the door open, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d chosen to wear a costume last night. Even pinned beneath Ryder, she’d concealed her identity behind that scarlet half mask.
Angling her cap lower, she stepped through the door, offering the chin-high, half salute reserved for officers of his kind. Fang kind.
Bracing his hands on the desk that loomed between them, Ryder stood.
God, he was huge. In more ways that one. Every nerve in her body crawled as her gaze followed him upward.
Circling to the front of his desk, a half-grin played about the corners of his lips. Closing the distance between them, his pupils coiled to points, sizing her up.
"Have we met, Lieutenant?" he asked, extending his hand.
She dared not touch him. Not if she expected to maintain control. "My orders, sir." Offering the folder in place of her hand, she knew the insult her actions implied.
Snapping the file from her hand, his lip curled. "At ease, Lieutenant."
Retreating to his desk, he settled one lean leg onto its edge to peruse her orders.
Dana’s gaze skidded away from his eyes, lingering on his mouth before resting on the safer terrain of his chest.
Well developed pecs strained against the Fang trident that blazed from his black t-shirt. The three-pronged staff of Triton came clasped in the jaws of Cerberus. Unlike the trident worn by the mortal SEAL’s, Dana knew this mark wasn’t any insignia of glory.
It was a brand. She’d seen it tattooed above the taut crevice of his ass as she’d undressed him last night.
"You're a...behaviorist?" Ryder’s iced gaze rose from the folder, peering through the chestnut shields of his eyebrows.
Beads of sweat pearled on her neckline.
"Yes, sir," she murmured, pinning her eyes to the ground.
"Look at me when you speak, Lieutenant."
Rolling her irises up, she glanced at him through the protective fringe of her lashes. The sweat beads gathered, travelling in hot rivulets between her breasts.
"What does a…behavior analyst…do?"
"Were you not briefed, sir?"
"I am Fang, Lieutenant."
"I assumed…"
"You assumed considerations seldom granted this unit." He slapped the folder closed, tossing it on the desk with such vengeance that the papers fanned out, fluttering toward the floor.
She stooped, collecting what bits of her file fell closest to her feet. "If you’ll only bother to finish reading..."
"I’ve read enough."
"Then you know my mission is to identify and manipulate certain field stimuli, eliciting a predictable response."
"You’re a fucking dog trainer."
"My techniques have human applications…"
"I’m no human, Lieutenant."
Snapping her head up, she skewered him with her glare. "I gathered as much."
He stepped closer. Before Dana could counter, his hand shot out, capturing her jaw, lifting up. She had little choice than to rise, gaze riveted to his.
"You were sent here to analyze me. To train me. Like an animal."
She nodded.
"Tell me," he grated. "Did you elicit a predictable response last night?"
She couldn’t restrain the gasp that tore from her throat. "You speak out of line."
"You want something to analyze?" Clamping his hand around the thick ridge straining against the seam of his shorts, Dana’s stare dropped to his enormous erection.
"Analyze this, Lieutenant."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
HAVE YOU HIT YOUR PAGE GOAL FOR TODAY YET?
STRUGGLING TO MEET A DEADLINE?
FRUSTRATED TRYING TO BALANCE EDITS WHILE PUSHING FORWARD ON YOUR NEXT PROJECT?
We have a VERY special treat for all of you out there in cyber-space. Tonight TKA's Tommy Newberry will be stopping by the Knight Agency chat room for an hour long chat.
TONIGHT - 7PM-8PM
TKA CHAT ROOM
For those of you unfamiliar with Tommy, also known as America's Life Coach, he is a successful author of several titles, most notably, his recent NYT Bestseller, The 4:8 principle. Tommy is a dynamic speaker who teaches a program that highlights the essentials to realistic and no-nonsense Goal Setting. An avid goal-setter himself Tommy has brought his message of working less, earning more, and enjoying greater satisfaction with the right accomplishments to thousands of individuals, families and corporate groups across the globe.
This event is a MUST attend as Tommy will not only we talking about his books, The 4:8 Principle and Success is Not an Accident, but also on how you too can start setting goals to push your career to the next level.
Be sure to stop by tonight as its sure to be an hour filled with a lot of very powerful and useful info that we all can apply to many aspects of our lives!
STRUGGLING TO MEET A DEADLINE?
FRUSTRATED TRYING TO BALANCE EDITS WHILE PUSHING FORWARD ON YOUR NEXT PROJECT?
We have a VERY special treat for all of you out there in cyber-space. Tonight TKA's Tommy Newberry will be stopping by the Knight Agency chat room for an hour long chat.
TONIGHT - 7PM-8PM
TKA CHAT ROOM
For those of you unfamiliar with Tommy, also known as America's Life Coach, he is a successful author of several titles, most notably, his recent NYT Bestseller, The 4:8 principle. Tommy is a dynamic speaker who teaches a program that highlights the essentials to realistic and no-nonsense Goal Setting. An avid goal-setter himself Tommy has brought his message of working less, earning more, and enjoying greater satisfaction with the right accomplishments to thousands of individuals, families and corporate groups across the globe.
This event is a MUST attend as Tommy will not only we talking about his books, The 4:8 Principle and Success is Not an Accident, but also on how you too can start setting goals to push your career to the next level.
Be sure to stop by tonight as its sure to be an hour filled with a lot of very powerful and useful info that we all can apply to many aspects of our lives!
So...now I have NANONECK!
Yes folks, leave it to my body to find a new excuse to avoid writing. I've invented a new disorder. I'm lovingly calling it Nano-neck.
As you know, I'm trying to do the nanowrimo 50,000 words in thirty days challenge. Which, normally, for me would be a breeze. And I was rolling along fine, I really was. But layering nanowrimo on top of my Writer's Gone Wild group, my final edits for Heart's Storm, and my Seventy Days of Sweat Challenge turned out to be a bit more than my poor body can handle.
Yes, last week, I woke up with so much neck pain that I thought my head might well fall off my shoulders. And it persisted. No amount of stretching, hot showers, back rubs or motrin was going to help. So, in the end, I had no other choice. It was either spend the rest of my month in a cervical collar....or.......take two days off from writing.
Which I did. So now my nano word count is hanging on by a thread, but you know what? I'm not really concerned. I'm more concerned with having my Brava Contest entry polished to a glossy sheen should it final in the contest. So, I'm turning my attentions to that.
BTW, if you entered the Brava contest, and are waiting for the results, there's news of how the winning entries news will trickle out on the Brava novella contest board. The boards are lighting up, and its a fun time over there right now. Lots of antsy writers waiting for news...or no news...whichever the case may be.
So, if I manage my nano count, well, that's great. But if I don't? I'm writing every single day, and my average (usable) word count has grown tremendously.
If I look at it that way? I've already won.
So I'm going to relax. And continue to write every day for the sheer love of it. The things we love aren't supposed to make us sick.
No, really. It's true!
Friday, November 09, 2007
TGIF with author/agent Deidre Knight!
Come and join author Deidre Knight for a pre-release “cocktail hour” celebration of PARALLEL DESIRE’s publication!
Hosted by her e-loop, we’ll be chatting, doing giveaways and trivia from 4:30 to 6:00 pm EST on 11/9/07 at the TKA chat room!
Come one, come all and have a blast with us for a special TGIF!!
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