Erotica: Licking the Language Gap (And Other Things)
Gia Sola -- April 25, 2006
Teasing your readers with naughty words can be a real turn-on, but can one type with hairy palms? A discourse on the writing of dirty stories.
"Balls," said the queen. "If I had 'em, I'd be king."
This quip would not have such an impact if another word were used. But finding the words to produce a desired effect is no laughing matter. It's one of the reasons why we write. And although the challenge besets writers in every genre, when language attempts to convey matters of a sexual nature, the difficulty becomes even more stimulating.
Don't you just love it when you come up with the perfect word? You know what I mean: you've got a fair vocabulary, and you've got Rodale's Synonym Finder, plus a cache of other reference books; but still, you need to search your way through all these databases until finally you find the one word that tells your story best. Mark Twain put it better: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug." Flash!
Love scenes--and their uninhibited cousins, sex scenes--should be compelling, but they're not easy to write, or rather, not easy to write well. Whether our descriptions are crafted with a poetic voice like Anais Nin or with the bawdiness of a Henry Miller, or if they cross boundaries like some of the dirty stories compiled today by Susie Bright in her Best American Erotica Series, the point, as in all other genres, is to engage the reader. How do we craft something sexy that will also advance the story or reveal character?
To me, the differences among the works of the aforementioned writers are largely semantic. They may use different words and employ different styles, but there are important parallels in their writings. They each show us a unique sensuality, they present it with a particular voice and viewpoint, and always, their stories and their characters are honest.
Whatever kinds of stories we write, we've learned that honesty is the rule. It works. But it becomes a delicate issue with erotica. Although everything our characters say is the truth (even if it's all a lie,) we need to find a way to incorporate their steamy personas into the storyline and to find a creative way to craft it. Often, writers in this genre will fill up their pages with gratuitous or unbelievable sex acts or dialogue that's best described as clumsy. How, then, do we choose the words that will set us apart?
It's hard. Take the penis, for instance. The Lover's Tongue (published by Insomniac Press) includes a listing of thirteen hundred English words that have been used to describe the male member. That's one thousand three hundred phallic epithets.
But we need more. In addition to finding aptly expressive words, we need to locate the kinds of emotions that will flood the page and carry the reader away. We want the reader to make an investment in the spirit of the character, because the animating principle is not going to come from descriptions of body parts or positions. Sex is cerebral. If we bring the reader to the story's climax without causing him or her to take some interest in the soul of the protagonist, it won't be very satisfying.
As for the process of writing about sex, well, it can be almost as much fun as the act itself. Just as sometimes the act will plant the seeds of process, so too, process can sometimes lead to the act. After all, if it doesn't turn the writer on, chances are it won't tantalize the reader. That's one opinion, anyway. And from none other than John Updike, quoted in Elizabeth Benedict's guide for fiction writers, this: "Writing my sex scenes physically excites me, as it should."
Ditto. And where's that scepter anyway?