Erotica. Sex. Pretend I’m your history teacher attempting to get your attention. I know–it’s been done before. But it works, right? And first of all, you gotta get their attention. Now that I’ve got yours, let’s talk… (And I’m reminded of that stale literary cutism – what’s a four-letter word ending in k that means intercourse? …Talk.) …about writing erotic literature. First of all, there’s gold in them there hills—and valleys. Lots of it. But like every other form of literature, if you don’t do it right, that gold will remain buried regardless of how many orgasms your character has.
So, you ask, what is Erotica: Essentially, it’s sex that appeals to women. It is from an emotional perspective. Passionate stories with real and detailed sexual content that ends in a cuddle and a proposal. Wait a sec, that sounds, well, almost clean, you say. Okay, if you want it dirty, think Pornography, essentially what guys like – for the most part – I hate to stereotype. It doesn’t have a whit to do with love and long-lasting relationships. It’s got everything to do with the four F’s—find em’, feel em’ –uc- em’ and forget em’. Now obscene is another matter entirely. If it offends instead of arouses; if it spends a lot of time on Jerry Springer and his ilk and if it is just plain pathetic, then it’s obscene. Think freaky and kinky. In a word, it’s garbage.
Here’s a term – Pornrotic lit. Well, that’s trash with a huge audience and if you want to get into that stuff, you better know the mechanics of writing – theme, characterization, POV, setting, the list goes on and on. You have to draw a picture. And when you draw that picture, fall back on that literary staple – Show don’t tell.
Betsy Bigboobs sat alone in the massive study of her sprawling mansion, looking around at ancient paintings, dusty books, antique furnishings and breathing stale air. She was bored. She reached to her side table and rang a brass bell.
Moments later, Gallantlad, the British butler, arrived. Gallantlad never hurried. He walked in measured steps so as not to slip on the highly polished marble floors and thereby appear undignified. His class and culture he cultivated himself; therefore he guarded it carefully. Betsy’s came with her birth certificate and she took class for granted as she did everything else she owned.
Not good. Bad in fact.
With dialogue:
Betsy Bigboobs surveyed the ornate room for the last time, reached for the brass pull and tinkled hard, shouting, “Gallantlad, come in here.”
The butler carefully negotiated the polished marble floor and stood at the proper distance before saying, “You tinkled, madam?”
“Yes, I tinkled. Do all British men move so slowly?” Dropping the bell on a sixteenth century inlaid table, she said, “Fetch the Rolls. We’re going for a ride.”
“Madam, if there’s something you require, perhaps.”
“I require the damn car! I’m bored out of my skull. If I don’t get out of this antebellum mausoleum in the next two minutes, I’ll scream.”
Dialogue – showing, not telling – is a personal preference, but you should always be true to what’s good for you. If you want to use dialogue in foreplay, that’s great – and actually preferred, but it’s probably also preferred to use less dialogue during lovemaking – at least in the writing. Crude language is acceptable, but use good taste – that is, use it sparingly, and as a turn-on.
With that said, what do you think about these characters now? Which example raised the most questions, and would you rather be told something or figure things out for yourself?
POV: I’ve touched on that in other articles, but it’s always important. Here are some examples.
First person: “I couldn’t believe she wanted to sleep with me!” Second person: “You reach out to touch his face.” Third person limited: “Betsy Bigboobs knew she was as sexy as Brittany, if only she had the chance to show it.” Omniscient: While Gary was considering his chances with Leslie, Nick was already naked with Tiffany; however, he’d run into a problem.” (Notice here that the narrator knows what’s going on in all these characters’ heads at the same time).
First person lacks immediacy. It is always distant because it has already happened, even in journals and memoirs. It is afterwards. It must always answer the implied question, why are you telling me this? (Usually because it “Was the best sex I ever had.”)
Second person is coercive and difficult. Forget about it.
Third person is more flexible and powerful than the other POVS. In erotica, however, it isn’t used as often. (Alas, first person).
You may have caught on to something by now. Or maybe not. Okay, here’s what you should have noticed – writing erotica, egads, is just like writing anything else. You don’t write down to the reader, you don’t lump everyone who reads erotica into one empty-headed, heavy-breathing vat. You give it your best shot. Pretend you’re writing for The New Yorker, or the Paris Review. Put all that sniggering aside, get into the character (No sniggering, please) and then revise until you get it right. Don’t be afraid of it – believe me, sex is fairly popular with the common and even uncommon man. Erotica has been around since Pompeii and it’s not going anywhere soon.
Last of all, and this, too, is just like every other genre. Get involved in the scene. If you get aroused, then hey, maybe your reader will, too. If you get disgusted then rethink it. So, lock that study door and get on with it.
Originally published in Writer Online in 2003
T. Lucien Wright has published five novels, short stories and nonfiction and he has taught the craft of writing to people of all ages for the last thirteen years. Until recently, he was the Director of Adult Education at Writers & Books, a not for profit literary organization in Rochester and he has lectured at all levels, grade school, high school and college. He’s working on a novel about Vietnam, simply entitled, ‘Nam. He lives in Rochester with his wife of 35 years, two aged dogs, and four cantankerous cats.
His erotic-horror short story, “Satisfaction” can be found in the anthology, “Dark Seductions.”
