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Article 2: You Called it a What?
One of the most common questions asked by beginning erotica writers is:
How can I write varied, multiple sex-scenes without repeating myself?
After all, there are only so many words for human body parts and sexual
activities...
And this is, indeed, a challenge that authors working in the mainstream,
or in other genres, don't face. Erotic stories - if they're to be successful
-- need to contain plenty of sex; many readers (and therefore publishers)
want a scene every few pages. And each of these scenes has to seem fresh,
or the reader will quickly become bored.
Your first instinct might be to turn to an erotic thesaurus. There may
be some help here, but for the erotica writer using a contemporary style,
I'm afraid it's limited. The unfortunate fact is that there's simply a
limited number of words in the English language for body parts and sex
acts, and many of them sound dated or quaint or even ridiculous to modern
ears (the writer of rough-and-ready pornography may have an easier time
of this, since linguistic nuance will be less important).
Here's a partial list of synonyms for the word Abdomen (taken
from The
Bald-Headed Hermit And The Artichoke: An Erotic Thesaurus):
abs
alvus
Aunt Nelly
bay window
bazoo
belly
bingy/binjy
corporation
front porch
gizzard
gut(s)
Machonochie
That's about half the terms listed for this entry, but it's more than
enough to show the problem: the list looks generous enough, but how many
of those words would you use if you wanted to kindle desire, rather than
confusion, wonderment, or laughter? If you're like me, the answer is not
many. My list of usable words for the lower front part of the abdomen
would include: abdomen (of course), abs (possibly, if the context was
right), belly, midriff, stomach, tummy (again, in context) - and that's
about it.
Looking up a thesaurus entry for, say, breasts or genitalia leads to
the same problem: a host of slang and archaic words, many of which will
only work if you're writing to a period style, or are aiming for humour
or pastiche.
So, what should you do?
The first thing to understand is that there is always at least a handful
of words you can use for any given part of the anatomy and any particular
activity. I bet you can come up with several words for “penis”
or “breasts” without too much thought.
There are also“generic” terms that can stand in for many
different parts of the anatomy, while still being evocative and descriptive.
If the reason for our search for abdomen-synonyms above was to describe
the stomach of a slim young woman, we might write something like:
His hand brushed her belly and he trailed his fingers down along the
taut, elegant curve of flesh, working his way towards...
You get the idea. Curves, planes, muscles, skin, flesh, tendons, hollows,
clefts, mounds... these are flexible words that can apply to a wide range
of anatomy, and they provide a useful extension to the stock of nouns
that are available to describe your characters' bodies. Taking it a step
further - and this needs to be done sparingly and with care - you can
also press modified adjectives into service. His hardness. Her wetness.
I hope you get the idea - and why this can quickly become risible
if it's overdone.
These usable words and generic terms are more than enough to carry a
scene or three, if you apply them carefully - and it's perfectly okay
to re-use the same words in later scenes (they only linger in the reader's
short-term memory for a page or so).
Which brings me to the psychological reason for varying the vocabulary
you use in the first place: readers get bored by seeing the same terms
repeated in quick succession. Reading a fresh and original phrase or word
triggers a pleasurable response (though the casual reader is most likely
unaware of it, at least consciously) the first time it is used. If re-used
too soon, that response is reduced - as if the reader's brain has been
de-sensitised to it. After a few pages, a word can be used again without
provoking a subconscious “bored now” reaction.
So, the first thing to understand is that you don't need to worry too
much about finding virgin vocabulary to describe each scene. The important
things is to have fresh scenes to describe - after all, if the
sex in your story is a succession of they went to bed and fucked in
the missionary position scenarios, your reader is going to lose interest
no matter how much invention you bring to your descriptions of the event!
Now, I'm going to jump ahead of myself for a moment, because I'm going
to talk about point-of-view, which isn't actually scheduled until the
next article in this series, but it's relevant here because it can also
help save you from the limited erotic vocabulary that our language provides.
Point-of-view is all about going inside your character's head, and showing
your reader what the person sees, thinks, and feels. In my opinion, careful
point-of-view control is one of the keys to powerful written erotica -
and powerful fiction in general - but I'll leave that until the next article.
For now, consider what goes on in your own mind when you make love. If
you're a straight woman, do you take the time to think:
his dick is inside my pussy
Or does the more primal and urgent:
he's inside me
come closer to expressing what you feel?
Assuming you chose the second, isn't it credible that your characters
would experience those sensations in the more direct way, too? And that
your readers, if you've managed to draw them into your characters' lives
and heads, will respond all the more strongly for it?
I'm not advocating that you never write a line like:
his engorged cock slid wetly into the warm, welcoming entrance of
her sex
but it certainly pays to remember that you can add a whole new layer
of power and variety to your erotic writing if you describe - at least
sometimes - the internal emotions and sensations your characters feel,
as opposed to the clinical details of precisely what they do.
Comments
on this article are welcome (please don't change the email subject line!)
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