Men with knives... will they always be necessary?
I'm not thinking about alien assassins, aliens with table manners, or futuristic barbaric warriors. I'm thinking surgery.
Assuming for a moment that wars are not fought by champions playing chess, or out-singing each other, or displaying their terrifyingly impressive tails (or other body parts). Someone is going to get hurt.
I do "buy" heroines who can "do" pyschic healing.
In fact, the 2006 Romantic Times Conference, Pyschic Sunday was a real mind-opener. Two psychic healers --one hands-on, the other hands-off-- helped an unfortunate person with a visibly swollen face and abcessed tooth, and also on a number of others.
The psychic healing was very responsible, the point was made that all methods are complementary and the sufferers were also told to see a conventional doctor. However, whatever they did seemed to work.
I like medicine based on plants and other natural substances, too.
I have trouble suspending disbelief when a mortally injured party is put into a futuristic light box (like a seed propagator? like a tanning bed?) and they recover "just like that" --to quote the memorable, Fez-wearing magician, Tommy Cooper.
Maybe I accept it for some ailments. Immersion in the sea is supposed to be restorative. It certainly does great things for my feet... unless I step on a weaver fish, of course, or get stung by a jellyfish. So, I can believe that being bathed in some sort of light might be as good for me as being bathed in some sort of liquid.
Should I infer that the light box is akin to teleportation as medicine. I should re-read The Physics of Star Trek (which is on my keeper shelf). Beam Me Up, Scotty, is fine. Beam Me Well?
Sometimes, just taking my rotating head electric fan apart and putting it back together again the way it was does work for a time, but it wouldn't if something was broken or rusted.
Lasers, I suppose, could replace knives. My problem is, when I think of lasers, I think of a couple of James Bond films... Goldfinger, Die Another Day... and I shudder at the thought of laser eye surgery. I know I shouldn't.
Do I think that a machine with a laser could replace a man --or a woman-- with a surgical knife? Yes, but I don't want to write about it, any more than I --personally-- want to write about an android with a libido.
Terminator with a tool? Great for action adventure, and I daresay he would have been very competent in the Operating Room. But for a fictional frisson, give me a masked man with a very sharp knife, every time.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Sex in strange places
“Rowena, do you like writing sex scenes?” I was asked recently.
It’s the sort of question that makes me want to straddle a fence.
Well, I do. And I don’t... and I'd rather talk about love scenes.
Whether you see it or not, Sex usually happens in a romance, even in a survival romance, although it is a little more of a challenge if the physical surroundings are not traditionally romantic.
On the other hand, one can write a first rate romance without a graphic description of what might happen once the tent flap is closed behind two relatively normal people.
I do like to write the sort of love scene (or sex scene) where something goes dramatically wrong -- I have a rotten sense of humor— or at least not according to the hero’s expectations.
I usually pick on the hero, for reasons that are probably perfectly obvious.
He’s more likely to be … less philosophical … not to mention sore, if he can’t get find something he can use as a condom that won't gross out the heroine, or if the alien plant juice he uses as a lubricant contains a dye that won’t come off... or what if it turns out to be an adhesive?
Ouch! No, that is too extreme.
What—apart from its effect on character, and its potential to annoy the protagonists and shift the plot into a higher gear—is the point of a love scene?
Comic relief?
Oh, yeah. But in my opinion, lovemaking that is good for both of them isn’t proof of a happy ever after, and it isn’t the high point on which I like to end my books. They still have to survive, or escape.
Rowena
It’s the sort of question that makes me want to straddle a fence.
Well, I do. And I don’t... and I'd rather talk about love scenes.
Whether you see it or not, Sex usually happens in a romance, even in a survival romance, although it is a little more of a challenge if the physical surroundings are not traditionally romantic.
On the other hand, one can write a first rate romance without a graphic description of what might happen once the tent flap is closed behind two relatively normal people.
I do like to write the sort of love scene (or sex scene) where something goes dramatically wrong -- I have a rotten sense of humor— or at least not according to the hero’s expectations.
I usually pick on the hero, for reasons that are probably perfectly obvious.
He’s more likely to be … less philosophical … not to mention sore, if he can’t get find something he can use as a condom that won't gross out the heroine, or if the alien plant juice he uses as a lubricant contains a dye that won’t come off... or what if it turns out to be an adhesive?
Ouch! No, that is too extreme.
What—apart from its effect on character, and its potential to annoy the protagonists and shift the plot into a higher gear—is the point of a love scene?
Comic relief?
Oh, yeah. But in my opinion, lovemaking that is good for both of them isn’t proof of a happy ever after, and it isn’t the high point on which I like to end my books. They still have to survive, or escape.
Rowena
Sunday, August 13, 2006
New author on "Survivor Planet"
I remember when I first heard about the show "Survivor" many years ago and I thought it really was a show about marooned people living by their wits. The first episode hooked me even though it wasn't what I expected. Mind you, I still enjoy the show as a social experiment working as entertainment, but it isn't about "making do".
I needed to write another Gaian book. An editor who was passing on my first Gaian book suggested that if the story took place during the war that might be more interesting. I thought about the movie, Enemy Mine, where two space pilots are stranded on a hostile planet and have to "make do" to survive.
Suppose they weren't alien and human, but two humans of the opposite sex from opposite sides, and they couldn't just live together. Sounded like fun. So I wrote it and it was fun. A lot of fun. Even the magazine Romantic Times gave it a 4.5 star Top Pick! Which made me very happy.
Cheers,
Janet Miller
http://www.janetmillerromance.com
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Survival tip--when it's good to be in hot water
Maybe I'm peculiar, but when I read a book, I expect to come across the scene on the cover, and I feel vaguely cheated if it is not there.
I'm not so bothered if the cover is an artistic grouping of artifacts, although... if there's a bejewelled dagger and a peacock feather, I suppose that I do expect them to be used to good effect in the novel.
Please do not misunderstand me. I'm not criticizing anyone's cover or art department. I am simply sharing my inner thoughts about covers in general, and my gut reaction to the gorgeous cover of my next book... and the hazards of hasty research.
The colors are fabulous, and the artwork is sexy. I couldn't ask for a better looking cover (unless I was absolutely out of my mind). It's just a little more "romancy" than I had in mind.
An author friend who is a bit of an expert on cover psychology says that I should tell readers, especially male readers, to ignore the cover. But should I?
My gut instinct is that if the scene is on the cover but not in the book, then I have to --somehow-- write the scene and beg my editor to fit it in. Is that extreme? Do readers understand that cover art is done after the book is submitted, and that what is depicted is a marketing decision?
If only they'd given me a bare-chested hunk staring out to sea (face not visible, so his features could not be wrong) or up to his waist in the ocean... I should have suggested that! I'm not blaming the Art Department at all. I was warned that I could not have a hunk in underpants out of respect for buyers' fine sensibilities.
Anyway, how many cover models would want INSUFFICIENT MATING MATERIAL displayed boldly across their groins?
Verisimilitude is important, and there are times when you just cannot ask your more exhibitionist friends to commit an illegal act and tell you how it felt.
Illegal? Well I think you can be pinched for doing the deed on a public beach.
In case any members of the law enforcement community are reading this with professional interest, I must disclose at this point that the sea was too cold for my husband.
Suffice it to say that my scrupulous --and ingenious-- attempts at research took longer than expected. Either the tide was wrong (too far in or out), or the waves were too mighty, or too placid, or the sand was too gritty, or the light was wrong....
On the last day of my time by the sea, when my bags were packed and it really wasn't convenient to get my costume wet again, my dear husband and our child decided that despite the low tide, and a stiff onshore breeze, it might be fun to experience the surge of surf.
My mother went to get towels from the car, and we splashed into the North Sea (English Channel) to join dozens of screaming bathers and people surfing on one sort of board or another.
August. Low tide, but only a seven foot drop, not like the nine foot range one gets at the full moon or with the spring tides. For a month I'd watched the shallows at low tide for signs of sinister movement. That day... I forgot.
I did get to refresh my memory of whether there is any difference between the feel of sun-warmed masculine, muscled skin in cold seawater (as opposed to in a fresh water bath, shower, or chlorinated swimming pool) but it's not useable.
Not worth the risk. If anyone in my immediate family had to step on a weaver fish, I'm glad it was me. I have very high arches, and go barefoot a lot. Thanks to that, only one spine got me, and it broke off before it could deliver much of the excruciating neurotoxin.
Knowing what had stung me, I flicked off the spine, got out of the water, got home as quickly as possible (luckily it was not far), and immersed my throbbing foot in the washing up bowl filled with water as hot as I could bear. And epsom salts. And more water.
That's what you do to draw out the poison, if you are unfortunate enough to step on a weaver fish or lesser weaver fish. They are spined, venomous little predators (they eat prawns, I believe) who like to bury themselves all but the spines in sand when the water is warm.
Keeping the water as hot as possible until the pain was gone meant regular top ups. My dear husband was especially enthusiastic about this, and had no compunction about tipping very hot water onto my toes (the arch area was what needed it). I noticed an odd thing. Near boiling water feels almost cold for the first second or two as it is added to hot water. Then the brain resets, and registers that the water is very hot.
I didn't even limp the next day, as I lugged (schlepped) my little family's three heavy suitcases from Guernsey, to Gatwick, to Detroit. I was lucky.
I'm glad to have my feet under my desk again.
Rowena
I'm not so bothered if the cover is an artistic grouping of artifacts, although... if there's a bejewelled dagger and a peacock feather, I suppose that I do expect them to be used to good effect in the novel.
Please do not misunderstand me. I'm not criticizing anyone's cover or art department. I am simply sharing my inner thoughts about covers in general, and my gut reaction to the gorgeous cover of my next book... and the hazards of hasty research.
The colors are fabulous, and the artwork is sexy. I couldn't ask for a better looking cover (unless I was absolutely out of my mind). It's just a little more "romancy" than I had in mind.
An author friend who is a bit of an expert on cover psychology says that I should tell readers, especially male readers, to ignore the cover. But should I?
My gut instinct is that if the scene is on the cover but not in the book, then I have to --somehow-- write the scene and beg my editor to fit it in. Is that extreme? Do readers understand that cover art is done after the book is submitted, and that what is depicted is a marketing decision?
If only they'd given me a bare-chested hunk staring out to sea (face not visible, so his features could not be wrong) or up to his waist in the ocean... I should have suggested that! I'm not blaming the Art Department at all. I was warned that I could not have a hunk in underpants out of respect for buyers' fine sensibilities.
Anyway, how many cover models would want INSUFFICIENT MATING MATERIAL displayed boldly across their groins?
Verisimilitude is important, and there are times when you just cannot ask your more exhibitionist friends to commit an illegal act and tell you how it felt.
Illegal? Well I think you can be pinched for doing the deed on a public beach.
In case any members of the law enforcement community are reading this with professional interest, I must disclose at this point that the sea was too cold for my husband.
Suffice it to say that my scrupulous --and ingenious-- attempts at research took longer than expected. Either the tide was wrong (too far in or out), or the waves were too mighty, or too placid, or the sand was too gritty, or the light was wrong....
On the last day of my time by the sea, when my bags were packed and it really wasn't convenient to get my costume wet again, my dear husband and our child decided that despite the low tide, and a stiff onshore breeze, it might be fun to experience the surge of surf.
My mother went to get towels from the car, and we splashed into the North Sea (English Channel) to join dozens of screaming bathers and people surfing on one sort of board or another.
August. Low tide, but only a seven foot drop, not like the nine foot range one gets at the full moon or with the spring tides. For a month I'd watched the shallows at low tide for signs of sinister movement. That day... I forgot.
I did get to refresh my memory of whether there is any difference between the feel of sun-warmed masculine, muscled skin in cold seawater (as opposed to in a fresh water bath, shower, or chlorinated swimming pool) but it's not useable.
Not worth the risk. If anyone in my immediate family had to step on a weaver fish, I'm glad it was me. I have very high arches, and go barefoot a lot. Thanks to that, only one spine got me, and it broke off before it could deliver much of the excruciating neurotoxin.
Knowing what had stung me, I flicked off the spine, got out of the water, got home as quickly as possible (luckily it was not far), and immersed my throbbing foot in the washing up bowl filled with water as hot as I could bear. And epsom salts. And more water.
That's what you do to draw out the poison, if you are unfortunate enough to step on a weaver fish or lesser weaver fish. They are spined, venomous little predators (they eat prawns, I believe) who like to bury themselves all but the spines in sand when the water is warm.
Keeping the water as hot as possible until the pain was gone meant regular top ups. My dear husband was especially enthusiastic about this, and had no compunction about tipping very hot water onto my toes (the arch area was what needed it). I noticed an odd thing. Near boiling water feels almost cold for the first second or two as it is added to hot water. Then the brain resets, and registers that the water is very hot.
I didn't even limp the next day, as I lugged (schlepped) my little family's three heavy suitcases from Guernsey, to Gatwick, to Detroit. I was lucky.
I'm glad to have my feet under my desk again.
Rowena
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