Monster Erotica and the Dissolution of Boundaries

My research indicates that monster erotica readers have wide interests, and the sexually-oriented media they consume crosses genders and orientations without a second thought. We already know they read stories about sex between sentient species. Surely monster erotica readers do not agree with the sexually intolerant, repressive rhetoric that the extreme right is so fond of spewing. So, while I usually avoid politics here on my blog, I’m going out on a limb today.

The US presidential election really threw me for a few days. I wasn’t entirely happy with the choices, but as an erotica writer, I’m particularly appalled that we’re going to have that man as our President. And that other man as our Vice President.

Hateful, intolerant rhetoric is more than ugly words. It instills fear, and encourages people to close up, hole up, shut down. As the election illustrated brilliantly, vilifying groups of people goes hand in hand with building walls.

In contrast, my highest goal is the dissolution of boundaries. Let the imagination flower across all lines, and traverse every verge. Let there be mingling of every disparate desire and thought. Let love seep through every blockade. Let whatever divisions the mind seeks to hold be revealed to be illusion.

How can this happen in a time of blatant demagoguery? Of unabashed dehumanization of the other? Of unprecedented polarization?

It occurs to me that now, more than ever, the world needs monster erotica.

And so, for the greater good, all my Amazon titles will be free over the next few days. Check my author page to see which ones are free from day to day. Please help yourself to any story you haven’t read yet, and let the boundaries within your own consciousness be dissolved.

shaman-santas-giftAlso, look for my new title, Santa Shifter, on Black Friday. It’s still under review at Amazon, but will probably be available for pre-order tomorrow or Wednesday.

Thank you all for being with me in these challenging times.

Dragon of the Sheela Na Gig: excerpt

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Sheela Na Gig in Fethard, Ireland. Photo Mike Searle via Wikimedia Commons

What is the meaning of these carvings set into masonry from the European middle ages? They’re often placed on churches, though the blatant exhibition of genitals certainly isn’t typical of medieval attitudes about the body, particularly the female body. Often the stonework is much older than the walls they are set into, as if they came from another structure altogether.

No one really knows why they’re there. So much of history has been lost, and only snippets of rumors hint at what may have been. One source suggests there may have been a kind of village healer, an old woman, whose methods included the display of her vulva. (I’d link it but I can’t find it now!)

I was captivated by Sheela Na Gigs long before I was an erotica writer. But since there is so little we know, our best source is our imagination, and that’s what I specialize in. In this story, the Sheela is a healer, and there’s also a dragon, because it wouldn’t be monster erotica without a monster, now, would it?

He picked wildflowers as he made his way up the forested mountain path, adding them to the ones he’d gathered in the meadow. It was said that the Sheela liked flowers. It was also said that he should follow the signs, not written in words, but carvings, set atop stone arches that stood over the path at infrequent intervals. The vulgar symbol was unmistakable: A cackling hag, naked and splaying her privates for the world to see. Though he was supposed to look up at the display as he passed under each arch, he found it difficult. The priests in the new church said that modesty was the hallmark of pious femininity; but when some of the elders of the village refused to enter a church without a Sheela Na Gig, the Father had relented and said that one could be set into the masonry, to serve as a reminder of the result of living a life of carnal sin. One would age into sagging flesh; once-youthful breasts would dangle; one would forget to comb her hair and behave decorously.

***

She knelt and held out her open hand to offer the gift: the yellow stone. She saw a flicker of interest in the eye, more twitching of the nostrils. She bowed her head. For a long moment there was no reaction; she began to wonder whether the stone was adequate. Perhaps it wasn’t big enough, perhaps the dragon (whom she thought of as he, though she’d never had any indication of gender from this beast) wanted something other than brimstone. Perhaps she wasn’t worthy. But she waited, until a long tongue flicked out, faster than she could track with her eyes, and wrapped around the stone. Then back into the slit of a mouth, taking the stone in. She heard the crunching of giant teeth crushing stone. She saw a ripple run down the length of the neck, until it met the torso. She saw the red glow in the belly flare brighter, and smelled the beast’s sulfurous breath. The hot wind blew her hair from her face.

The dragon lifted his great head and roared. She felt the mountain shake around her. Most people would have been terrified; but the old woman reveled in the dragon’s great power. It was power which she served; and which served her. She felt the vibration of the roar move through her body, awakening her senses, sending electricity from the top of her head, down through the neck, along the spine to the tailbone; and further down, to that deepest part of her. She breathed deeply of the hot, smoky air, raised her arms above her head, and keened in response. The two voices rose and blended into a duet. Woman and dragon swayed in rhythm to each other’s music.

***

I hope to release the full story at amazon by the end of this week.

Update: Here’s the link to buy it now at Amazon!

 

Monster Erotica: Dead or Alive?

Monster erotica has peaked. Though people are still offering it on amazon, nobody is writing about the genre. The latest news article I can find declared it dead, and that was last March. My favorite monster erotica bloggers haven’t updated their blogs since 2014.

So it would appear that I was late to the party, and might do well to quit wasting my time. I don’t have much invested, financially, so I could cut my losses and not be much worse off.

Actually, I wouldn’t be worse off at all. I’m better off for having done what I’ve done. I’ve learned a few tricks about writing that I didn’t get from writing a novel. I’d probably know more about writing, if I’d taken more writing classes in college, or gone to some expensive writing workshop in a distant location; but instead I’ve studied writing by writing erotica. Not a bad trade-off, in my mind. And, in my painfully slow way, I’ve learned more about production and self-publishing. If I keep up, by the time I finish my current (non-erotic) novel, I just might be able to publish it in a reasonable period of time, without pulling my hair out or smashing my computer. That’s a pretty big step, for me.

And I still get new ideas. There are more monster stories to be written. I haven’t written the one about the sheela na gig and the dragon. That’ll be one for the more mature ladies, who, I believe, deserve more quality erotica aimed to them.

Another new idea just came to me this week: it would be a combination of a bigfoot story and a satire on those goofballs hanging out at the nature preserve in Oregon. Snacks, anyone? Oh boy, that’ll be a fun one to write.

They’re all fun. Writing monster erotica is hilariously delicious. Cut my losses? Ha! I’m not quitting till I’m done, and I’m not done. I may be the last hold-out, but as far as I’m concerned, the party’s just starting.

Happy 2016, folks.

Anais Nin, 1903-1977


“I gathered poets around me and we all wrote beautiful erotica. As we were condemned to focus only on sensuality, we had violent explosions of poetry. Writing erotica became a road to sainthood rather than to debauchery.” -Anais Nin, Delta of Venus

Somebody on facebook posted a quote from Anais Nin. It was in a context completely unrelated to anything having to do with her or her life. It was posted by a person whom I do not know, though I do know the church he attends, and I’m going to guess that if he or his friends had any idea who she was or how she lived, they would run and hide at the sight of her name on their screens.

So today we’re having a little Anais Nin lesson on Crea DelRand. For those who don’t know, Nin is the Aphra Behn of modern erotica by women. She is most famous for her diaries, in which she wrote of her affairs with prominent literary and cultural figures such as Henry Miller and psychoanalyst Otto Rank. She plumbed the depths of her subconscious through psychoanalysis and writing, and may have seduced her father in her twenties, on the advice of a psychoanalyst. Anais Nin wrote what she wanted, the way she wanted to. She flaunted the mores and expectations of society. (Which is more socially unacceptable: incest, erotica, or surrealism?)

Nin was much more than an erotica writer; though it is the erotica which draws me to feel a special kinship with her. Let all of us honor her, we women who write about sensuality and sexuality, with beauty and passion.

“I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: ‘Excuse me, it was all a dream,’ and by that time I may have found one who will say: ‘Not at all, it was true, absolutely true.’”

That Moment

“The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.” —Neil Gaiman

Think this moment never occurs for monster erotica writers? You would be wrong.

Who Reads Monster Erotica?

I read a tip about book marketing, which was to imagine the ideal reader for a particular book (in this case, people who read about people uniting with imaginary non-human creatures). Imagine what kind of bag that person carries. What are all the things in it? Or, imagine a room in the reader’s house. What does it look like? What objects are there?

In a similar vein, I went to Pinterest and searched “monster erotica books.” Then I went to the pages of people who pinned monster erotica-themed pins. Here are some recurring themes I saw:

Lots of books, naturally, including:
Body humor. Jokes about elimination. Jokes about sex.
Recreational drugs (Didn’t see any references to using drugs, just books about them.)
Pulp fiction
Horror, emphasis on the grotesque
BDSM
Anything by Anne Rice
Children’s books:
Satirical, inappropriate versions of real books or characters
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
Hunger Games
J.R.R. Tolkien
Fantasy and Romance genres

Silent Hill
Walking Dead
Royalty, as a theme in books as well as boards about real royal people
Pets/animals
Travel
Jewelry

It’s tempting to draw conclusions from this list about monster erotica readers. But I think it’s early yet. I’m not ready to commit to anything more than monster erotica readers like to explore the limits of propriety. But we might have already assumed that, mightn’t we? I’ll continue to research this question.

Writers, who are your readers? Readers, what would you like writers to know about you?

The Ubiquitous Sacred Yoni

Yoni of the Rug

The other day I was sitting in the living room and noticed for the first time that the rug, which has been in that room for ten years, is bordered by yonis. I’d looked at the rug plenty of times, often doing yoga with my face right on it, but this shape had never before spoken to me as a yoni.

Living in a phallocentric world, we are accustomed to the idea that the phallus is everywhere, and does anybody really believe that Freud’s cigar was really just a cigar? The very word phallus, which is Latin, is commonly known to American English-speakers, while, to find a word for the feminine counterpart, we have to reach much further, to Sanskrit. (Sanskrit has a word for the symbolic penis, lingam, though we don’t use it so much here, because we already have phallus.)

The yoni is equally ubiquitous, if we look for it. There really isn’t a preference in the natural world for one or the other; the world requires the union of the masculine and the feminine in order to procreate. Of course we needn’t procreate every time these forces unite, nor are we obligated to express sexuality as a play of masculine and feminine, if we are called to do otherwise; but let us celebrate both, the yoni and the phallus, in whatever way we choose. We might begin by noticing the yoni, wherever it’s been in front of our eyes, unseen, every day.