Euphemisms Gone Purple, Putrid and More

With all this talk of mystery and suspense, sometimes the romance part of it is forgotten. I include explicit sex scenes in my books because I don't believe in teasing my readers, even though I find sex scenes to be the most difficult to write. The scene needs to be sexy without being vulgar. You need to find the balance between coldly technical and so ridiculously purple you expect Barney to make an appearance, which can be more difficult than you think. To start, it's best to avoid the following fifteen euphemisms that I found in real books edited by real editors and real copy editors.

It's a Religion!

Number 1
“Staff of heaven.” *eye roll*

 

It’s an Animal!

Number 2
“Raging beast of his desire.” I keep wanting to say, “You hairy like animal!” in a Moose-and-Squirrel accent.

 

 It’s a Plant!

Number 3
“Jade stem/stalk/staff.” This phrase stems from the Chinese because they call jade the “stone of heaven.” Thus, a jade stem/stalk/staff is supposed to take you to heaven and back. Egotistical much? Personally, when human cells go green, they’re putrid. Of course, the phrase could work if you have a fetish for the Jolly Green Giant.

Number 4
“Turgid shaft.” Turgid sounds like a plant disease.

Number 5
“Manroot.” Mandrake keeps popping in my head. Just as mandrake is poisonous to eat, so should manroot be to read. 

 

It’s a Weapon!

Number 6
“Sword of flesh.” I blame the medieval romances.

Number 7
“Man sword.” See above comment.

Number 8
“Love staff.” Ditto.

 

It’s Not Romance, It’s Not Erotica; It’s Porn!

Number 9
“Meat of his confession.” Ew. Just ew.

Number 10
“Love tool.” Unless batteries are required, it’s not acceptable.

 

Just Say It Already!

Number 11
“Tumescence.” Everytime I read that word, I expect the penis to be glowing like Dr. Manhattan’s.

Number 12
“Admission of desire.” I want to say only senior citizens would use this phrase…except I know a number of romance authors in their sixties who can make me blush.

Number 13
“That which made him man.” See above comment.

 

If It Needs a Hyphen, Don't Use It

Number 14
“Purple helmeted soldier of love.” The Trojan radio ads aren’t this corny.

Number 15
“Purple-headed womb ferret.” I’m sure there’s a surgical procedure to cure this one.

Why I Write Romantic Suspense

I read my first historical romance novel at the age of 11 (maybe 12). A feisty Scottish heroine, an alpha English lord, an Elizabethan setting, stirring action, sex scenes without the word “seed.” I was hooked. A few hundred novels and a few years later, I became disconcerted by the material I was reading. No, I didn't turn prudish. The monarchy system of government and the peerage system go against my belief in democracy and meritocracy. When it got to the point where I wanted to reach inside the book and slap the heroes for being lazy or sexist, the heroines for not standing up for themselves, and other characters for mindsets that were acceptable at the time, I knew I had to stop. (Yes, I know the sub-genre is more than European historicals, but westerns aren't suitable for someone with mysophobia. Actually, no historicals are suitable for someone with mysophobia.)

I turned to paranormal and urban fantasy romances because I liked the kick-ass heroines. Then I noticed a small detail that grated on my nerves and killed the sub-genre for me: humans were portrayed as clueless idiots who survive at the whim of the undead or creatures that go furry (or feathery or scaly or stony or whatever) on occasion. Hmm. For some reason, that doesn't sit well with me. Personally, I think humans are pretty intelligent (although, you wouldn't know it if you follow politics), resourceful, and innovative. And I think plenty of other people agree with me. If you read comic books, you'll know that two of the most beloved superheroes are Batman from DC Comics and Iron Man from Marvel Comics, both of whom have no supernatural powers.

Luckily for me, I was introduced to romantic suspense by Tami Hoag and Sandra Brown. Romantic suspense is great fit for someone who can't leave a crossword, Rubik's cube, jigsaw puzzle (2-D and 3-D), Soma cube, or any type of brain teaser alone. I NEED to solve them. I love to solve puzzles so much that my career has been about solving puzzles, from troubleshooting software programs to tracing money to solve accounting anomalies. With romantic suspense, I love figuring out who'd done it and sometimes how. I love that my brain can be engaged when reading romantic suspense and mystery novels. I love the process of solving the mystery, I love the "Aha!" moment when it comes together, and I love the climax when the baddies are taken down, especially if it involves a little hand-to-hand. (I read comic books, remember?)

So, that's why I write romantic suspense. Hopefully, other people like me enjoy reading them because it can be expensive to be a comic book collector. And I recently developed a taste for Hunter boots.

The Rake Hero

Or, as I prefer to call him, The Male Slut.

(Yes, I know this post may be more appropriate for a historical romance blog, but this phenomenon has creeped into contemporaries and even romantic suspense and I feel it needs to be stopped for all our sakes.)

This type of hero abounded in the early romances I read. Old-school historical romances usually opened up with a scene of the hero and one or more women who were definitely not pure enough to be the heroine. Or a duel between the hero and the husband he cuckolded. Some of these heroes also cheated on the heroines mid-way through the book, usually as a way to drive the heroines away because they felt they weren't good enough for them. (Susan Johnson, however, basically stuck with the tenet men cheat when their significant others are not around.)

These heroes were considered virile, manly, et cetera, et cetera because all women wanted them--and had them. They are commitment-phobic because why should they settle for only one woman when they can have them all? Of course, then they would meet the feisty, virginal heroines who would make them change, see the error of their ways, and they would no longer want any other woman but these paragons.

The fantasy of taking a male slut rake and reforming him appears to be shared by many, many women (how else to explain the trope's popularity?)...but I'm not one of them.

Frankly, they skeeved me out. It's not a morality thing for me. Every time I came across one of them, my stomach would shudder as I imagined the possible STDs they would have from sleeping around. And I would always wonder how many bastard children they might've sired and didn't know about. And the whole cheating-for-her-own-good pissed me right off. Made me want to reach into the books and shove the heroes over the nearest cliff, and maybe the heroines with them for forgiving the jackasses.

SNL did a skit back in the 90s about the world's ultimate rake that perfectly portrays my take. If you have a few minutes, Google "SNL James Bond STDs".

Just Shoot Me

Firearms and Other Mistakes in Books
or Why Watching Movies Is Not Research

Number 1
Revolvers don’t have safeties.

Number 2
And neither do the latest Glock semi-automatics.

Number 3
Revolvers cannot be silenced.

Number 4
A silenced gun still makes a sound.

Number 5
Revolvers don’t use clips.

Number 6
Clips and magazines are not interchangeable.

Number 7
Law enforcement officers do not actually rack the slide before going after a perp. If they have to rack the slide, that means the chamber is empty and they should be replaced with someone who knows how to be prepared.

Number 8
Shooting locks off of doors is a bad idea. One word: ricochet.

Number 9
Dead bodies don’t bleed.

Number 10
Chloroform does not knock people out, and especially not instantly and quietly. It’s more likely to cause brain damage or cardiac arrest before the victim loses consciousness.

Number 11
Chalk outlines are a thing of the past…and Hollywood.

Number 12
Police detectives do not investigate crimes where the victim is related to them. (You’d think this one would be obvious.)

Number 13
Law enforcement agencies do not allow private citizens to direct an investigation. (I really did come across a book where the CIA and FBI allowed a twenty-four-year-old artist to tell them how to run a criminal investigation. Naturally, it was a best-seller.)

How to Spot a Writer at a Party

In case it’s not obvious, I’m anti-social. I often use work or family as an excuse to decline invitations to social events because people think I’m lying when I tell them I’d prefer to relax at home on the weekends. (Not that I have time to relax on the weekends while I’m working on the MBA, but that’s temporary. I hope.) I have very few close friends, but I value those relationships and work hard to maintain them. For instance, although I live in Calgary, I’ve gotten to know the restaurant scene in Toronto very well because I order a lot of food to be delivered to my friend who had to move in with her parents while she’s dealing with cancer. The Peking duck I had delivered last week was a huge hit.

With my buddy, Adam (not his real name), turning forty this week, I prettied myself, bought a bottle of Baileys as big as my head and a bottle of Bacardi Mojito, and went over to his house last Saturday to help him celebrate (or is it commiserate?). Since Adam is the nicest guy in the world and a social butterfly, his house was packed. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know a few of his boot camp buddies, but I can’t bring myself to do more than greet those people. Instead, I, being the writer that I am, headed straight for his wife’s best friend, Hannah (not her real name), because she works for the police department. (Yes, the sad truth is other people are research material for writers.) She’s not an officer, but she works with them and I love getting insights from her about the workings of the police department and its people–and the occasional introduction. She knows almost everybody, including the police chief, the head of the homicide unit, the head of the drug unit, and the mayor, whom I got to meet when he stopped by to wish Adam happy fortieth and deliver a gift. (I’ve met the previous mayor at public functions and charity events, but last night was the first time I got to meet a mayor at a private function…which gave me a chance to note that the current one wears very colorful socks.)

Anyway, I plied Hannah with Baileys and got great tidbits and stories. At one point, I even took out my 11″ MacBook Air (it’s small enough that it’s always with me) to make notes. Even the stuff I didn’t think I would use, I recorded because I might decide to write about a narcotics detective one day. All in all, despite not getting to bed until 5 AM and having a headache telling me I’m too old for late nights, I enjoyed myself.

Next time I see Hannah, I’m going to wrangle an invitation to meet the tact team–and not because she says they're the fittest guys on the force. Really.

So, how do you spot a writer at a party? She’s the one taking notes while everyone else is talking. Or the one drinking alone on the sofa.

When Spell Checker Fails

I just got my butt kicked in yoga this morning (and I did forget it was my blog day), so enjoy this light post.

I pride myself on turning in very clean copies to my editor because I'm a ruthless self-editor (I do love my red pen). Even then, I need and love my editors because I won't catch everything. And, you know, they do these other things like catch continuity errors and such. Sometimes, however, errors do slip by the writer, the editor, and the copy editor and make it into print. No, it's not only an e-book thing. The following list is compiled from books by big name authors from big name publishers.

Number 1
route canal (no, this story did not take place in Venice or Amsterdam)

Number 2
hare’s breath (wow, two for two!)

Number 3
the greatest sigh of life (no, this wasn’t during a sex scene)

Number 4
her curves pressed to the plains of his body

Number 5
horde of jewelery

Number 6
your welcome

Number 7
loosening thunder (I didn’t realize thunder could be tense)

Number 8
reigned in his anger

Number 9
imminent scientists (they’re right outside the door)

Number 10
eyes slid passed her

Number 11
unladylike epitaph (if I wasn’t planning on cremation, I guess I would be okay with “Bee-otch” on my tombstone)

Number 12
the patience of Jove (someone skipped Sunday school)

Number 13
fulfilled the duel roles of butler and secretary

Hug a Tree, Come Back Alive...the Things I Do in the Name of Research

First off, happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canucks. It's looking good here in Calgary and I expect the fireworks to be spectacular tonight.

---

In mid-July, I'm going to spend a week out in the wilderness, hugging trees, singing Kumbaya, smoking a peace pipe, and running away from black bears, grizzly bears, cougars, wolves, moose, elk, and other large mammals that can eat me or squash me like a bug.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have sweat this. Not because I would've come out on top in one-on-one combat with any of the wildlife (not even in my wildest dreams), but because I practiced a lot of running at the dojo four times a week (it hurts less if opponents can't make contact) and know I wouldn't have been the slowest person in the group. These days, an octogenarian with a walker could probably outrun me. Sad, but true.

So, why is a city girl who enjoys winter sports because most wildlife are hibernating or gone south risking life and limb by going into the great outdoors during the peak of summer? Well, (1) this week communing with nature while slathered with SPF 100 sunscreen and mosquito repellant is a leadership course for my MBA. No, seriously. I will actually get credit for hiking and camping for a week. It (2) also gives me an excuse to visit MEC and buy new layers I can use for snowboarding. And (3) I may use it in a book someday. The heroine of the next book may find herself lost in the woods with a killer on her trail...or tripping someone to distract a grizzly while she runs away. I can make either scenario work.

While I'm a coward at heart, this trip is not the most questionable thing I've done in the name of research. I have white water-rafted, skydived, taken the controls of an airplane, pushed 130 mph on the Autobahn, eaten food from a street vendor in Asia, crossed a street in Paris, and a few other things that are a little fuzzy (probably for the sake of my sanity). Bungee-jumping and base-jumping are still on my list...which reminds me I still need to plan a trip to New Zealand in the next couple of years. (No, I really don't have a death wish. If I did, I'd try planking.)

What have you done for research?

It Started with Nancy Drew

I grew up reading Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys mystery series. Solving puzzles in exciting locales? That's catnip to a problem solver like myself. I traveled to Brussels solely because I wanted to know if the houses would be like what I read in a Nancy Drew book. I enjoyed the books so much as a child that I succumbed to nostalgia and watched the most recent film adaptation of the former. (This act still feels slightly shameful.)

When I hit my mid-teens, I became distracted by the romance genre and cut a wide swath through all the sub-genres: historicals, contemporaries, fantasies, and pseudo-science fiction. As I grew older, crankiness cynicism set in and I could no longer handle damsels in financial distress (usually of their fathers' making) who needed big, strapping men endowed with large bank accounts to bail them out. For a time, I read only single title thrillers where every villain is a sadistic serial killer and every hero is a moody and suicidal alcoholic. (Of course, I still like to revisit those books every now and then.) After a detour into science fiction, I found my way back to the oddly comfortable realm of the mystery series. It wasn't, however, easy and I had to try a lot of different series before I found the right ones for me.

Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels series by JA Konrath. A heroine who's smart, tough, and knows when to relieve the tension with a joke. She kicks ass without dressing up in movement-restricting black leather. A great cast of supporting characters who are as witty and capable as Jack. These mysteries aren't whodunits but howtocatchems, and they're by turns laugh-out-loud funny and cringe-inducingly violent. Konrath is only planning one more title in the series and I'm not sure how I'm going to cope.

Amelia Peabody series by Elizabeth Peters. A historical (1884-1923) mystery series set predominantly in Egypt with a heroine who is introduced as the spinster daughter of a reclusive scholar who bequeaths to her a small fortune. After his death, she travels to Egypt where she has a "meet cute" with Radcliffe Emerson, her future husband. The mysteries wouldn't stump a five-year-old, but I loved this series from the first title because of the colorful details that bring Egypt to life (Peters has a PhD in Egyptology) and the equally colorful characters. Amelia is bossy, nosy, witty, and deadly with a parasol--and she owns a utility belt Batman would envy. Emerson is short-tempered, irascible, willing to resort to violence to protect his family, and fully deserving of the sobriquet "Father of Curses." Peters also created complex and entertaining supporting characters and *gasp* allows them to grow, not only in depth but also in years.

What mystery series do you read? Any recommendations? But, please, no knitting, baking, crime-fighting cats, or "adorably" inept sleuths.

I'm Not Stupid. I'm Canadian.

I planned to do a post about my love for the Amelia Peabody mystery series and why I think everyone should read it, but I'm really, really sick and pharmaceuticals aren't cutting it. So, I'm copping out and re-posting something from my personal blog.

---

Since the global HQ for the Clark Kent job is in the United States, I deal with a lot of Americans. I like the guys I work with except when (1) they call my hometown “Little Houston” and (2) tell me I can’t spell.

Yes, I can spell. I just don’t always use American spelling. And, yes, there is a difference between spelling for Canadian English (which is very similar to British English) and American English. What are the differences? Well…

• the extra a: anaesthesia
• c instead of k: disc
• c instead of s: defence, licence
• e instead of a: grey
• the extra o: oesophagus
• ph instead of f: sulphur
• que instead of ck: cheque
• re instead of er: centre, theatre
• s instead of z: analyse, cosy, realise
• the extra u: colour, labour, neighbour

Please, next time you see centre instead of center, don’t assume the writer is stupid or can’t use the Spell Checker. She might be Canadian.

No, Hollywood Is Not a Credible Source

While I have the attention span of a gnat and am in the middle of ten different books at any time, I do pay attention to details. I can recall entire passages from books I read at the age of seven. It's the anal-retentive, OCD part of me that only gets worse with age. I also have an amazing amount of useless information in my head. Like knowledge of martial arts, blowing things up, and Michael Bay flicks. (Yeah, I'm a philistine.)

Now, imagine my horror when I came across a fight scene where the hero makes every mistake in the book. As the scene played in my head, I was thinking a nice, solid low kick to the side of the knee or a good head butt to the nose followed by a strike to the Adam's apple would do the job. But this hero does a bunch of fancy things that would make my hapkido instructor shake his head. Me, being me, flipped to the back of the book and noticed the author bio says she holds a black belt in Korean karate. Yeesh. Either she's lying or her instructor's a fraud because there's no such thing as Korean karate.

I should've stopped at that point and filed the book under DNF, but that OCD part of me doesn't like it when I don't finish what I start. So I kept reading--and had to put the book down unfinished. I was defeated when it became obvious the author depended on Hollywood for her research.

The villain tossed a blob of C4 into the microwave, set the timer for fifteen minutes, and--miraculously--the bomb went off when the timer hit zero.

Yeah, I've seen that scene in many movies too, but I always take Hollywood with a block of salt. And had the author realized Google is her friend or spent a little time watching the awesomeness that is MythBusters on the Discovery Channel, she would've known her microwave bomb would be a fail.

So, moral of the story: Hollywood is not a credible source. And watch MythBusters. It's fun to blow things up in the name of science. You'll thank me.

Squeezing the Clock

Unlike other writers who do it full-time because their writing income is sufficient, their spouses are very supportive, they're retired, or they won the lottery, I juggle a day job, which averages 60 hours per week and can reach 100; night classes and an ungodly amount of group work as I pursue an MBA; and family obligations, which are many when you're the oldest of twenty-six grandchildren (yes, we're Catholic). Although I have four weeks of vacation every year, they have been sacrificed for block week MBA courses.

And somehow I find time in my schedule to write--in fifteen-minute intervals. My morning walk to work takes fifteen minutes and I sometimes use it to work out a problem scene in my head. If I don't have a meeting, I'll take fifteen minutes during lunch to edit one of the current works-in-progress. Before calling it a night, I'll take my notebook computer to bed and write for fifteen minutes--maybe more if I don't have a 6 AM meeting.

While they might not seem like much, especially to people who write 6 hours per day and crank out as many titles per year (if not per month), those fifteen-minute writing intervals do add up. Like I juggle my life, I also juggle my writing because working on only one WIP at a time would bore me. Currently, I'm editing an 80k+ romantic suspense, fleshing out an erotic romance short, 40 percent complete on another romantic suspense, and just starting on a contemporary romance. I'm sure my editors at Carina Press and Ellora's Cave would prefer that I focus on one writing project at a time to improve my pitiful completion rate, but I find this process works for me.

So, any tips for a busy writer? (And, no, quitting my day job is not an option because I enjoy it and am accustomed to the lifestyle it affords me.)

The Christmas Couch Potato

This post is rated PG-13 for strong language.

As I'm writing this post, outside is -22 degrees Celsius (-8 degrees Fahrenheit), which is kind of balmy for this time year in my neck of the woods, and everything is covered with a layer of the white stuff (the kind that melts, not the kind that goes up your nose). It's the perfect weather to start up the fireplace, cozy up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate made with milk, real chocolate shavings, and mint leaves, and pop in a few Christmas flicks. Oh, yeah. I'm getting all warm and fuzzy inside from the anticipation.

For most people, It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Story are their go-to feel good movies for this time of year. Me? Not so much. Being the twisted person (how else would you describe someone who thinks about how to kill people?) that I am, I'm more of a Die Hard kind of fan. For me, nothing embodies the spirit of the season quite like Alan Rickman saying detonators with a deliciously wicked German accent and Bruce Willis delivering John McClane's iconic "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker."

Between now and the 25th, I'll go through a slew of DVDs from my collection. If you want a quick trip inside a disturbed suspense writer's mind, check out some of my holiday favorites:

• Bad Santa. A Christmas movie produced by the Coen Brothers. 'Nuff said. Besides, how could I resist the title?
  
  
• Blackadder's Christmas Carol. The nicest man in Victorian England learns the true potential of greed and selfishness. Isn't British humor the greatest?
  
  
• Die Hard and Die Hard 2: Die Harder because...well, what I said above. But it's worth repeating: Nothing embodies the spirit of the season quite like Alan Rickman saying detonators with a deliciously wicked German accent and Bruce Willis delivering John McClane's iconic "Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker."
  
  
• Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang. A tongue-in-cheek crime/dark comedy with Val Kilmer as a gay PI and Robert Downey, Jr. as a bumbling small-time thief. They meet, they fight, they kiss and make up, and I laughed all the way through.
  
  
• The Nightmare Before Christmas. A skeleton going through a mid-life crisis wants to lead a town of ghouls, goblins, vampires, and other monsters in a takeover of Christmas. Plus, music AND singing by the über-talented Danny Elfman. No wonder this film's a cult classic. (Honestly, I watch this film several times throughout the year, not just in December.)
  

So, any of these titles on your list? Or is it just me?