The Making Of "Groomsmen"...and something SPICY!

Reblogged from Release Parties @ TRS:

One of the most common questions I get asked is, "What is your creative process?" To be honest, my process is about as eclectic and disjointed as my schedule often appears. Sometimes I trudge through entire weeks without a single good idea to my name. (In weeks like these, I usually find myself with fifteen "It works, but not for this..." ideas.) And then, sometimes, I get an inspiration like a bolt from the blue.

Read more… 1,882 more words

I should've done an original post today, but the blogging day job has more or less prohibited that. If you like this one, be sure to check out my other post from TRS on Tuesday...just look for the link! :D Have a great day, y'all...and try the tacos. No, seriously...you'll LOVE 'em!

Silence Does Not Equal Consent

I initially had no intention of doing this.

But events and persons have forced my hand.

Earlier today it was brought to my attention that Jean Marc Gombart, the CEO of Noble Romance Publishing, has been telling other authors that all has been forgiven and forgotten, I am fully back in the fold, and perfectly happy with Noble Romance Publishing. (Hereinafter he is referred to simply as “Gombart.” I do not attach titles to people whom I do not respect.)

I do not know what else to call this but a flat-out, bald-faced LIE.

I can only assume the purpose behind this falsehood is to attempt to lure other authors who have become disenchanted with or disenfranchised by Noble back into the fold. My reasons for my public silence of late will become clear in short order, but this cannot hold any longer.

Here are the facts:

On February 5th Gombart and I had a very curt phone conversation. I wanted to know why, in the face of all the evidence that Noble Romance Publishing was not doing the right thing, he persisted in keeping my work on Noble’s shelves. In the course of that conversation, I acknowledged there was a possibility (unlikely) that I had misjudged the situation. I told him I would give him ONE chance, and one chance ONLY, to prove he was capable of delivering what he had promised. We made a verbal agreement that consisted of exactly two conditions:

1) That I would afford Noble Romance Publishing the period of two months and one week, from February 6th to April 15th, 2013, to demonstrate a one hundred percent increase over my current royalties (total of 200% of my current earnings).

2) If Noble could do this, I would consider coming back. If they failed, Gombart would give me a blanket Right of First Refusal waiver for all sequelae for my works currently held under the aegis of Noble Romance Publishing.

This was agreed to and I instructed him to write out an email and forward it to all interested parties. I received a reply, forwarded on to myself and key staff at Noble Romance Publishing, about twenty minutes after the conversation ended.  In this email he stated that he was expecting a “collaboration” and that we would be working closely on social media and promotion, among other things. When I finished reading the email, I drafted a reply, which follows below.

J.S. Wayne <jswayne702@gmail.com>	Feb 5

This is not what I agreed to, Mr. Gombart.

What we discussed was that Noble would assume responsibility for demonstrating your capacity to increase my sales, absent any input or assistance from me. I have more than put in my time to promote my work with Noble, with minimal success because of the inertia of the company. The point of this exercise is for you to demonstrate to me that my work is viable and profitable to allow to remain with Noble, not to assist in promotion until after the deadline has passed with what I deem to be satisfactory results. To reiterate, those terms are:

1) Noble demonstrates an ability to effectively promote my work by demonstrating sales at or surpassing 200% of the current rate, without my aid or assistance at this time.

2) If Noble fails to do so (0-99% change, which is not 100%), you will remit me a blanket waiver of ROFR clause terms, effective immediately and on an ongoing basis, as of March 15th.
These were the terms we discussed, and they are not flexible. Particularly after the tone of our conversation, I am surprised and dismayed that you would consider the idea of me submitting anything to Noble prior to March 15th to be on the table. I thought I made my stance on that quite clear: you show me the money, then I entertain the idea of submitting further work.

Nice try, though. Revise this and make it clear to all parties that this was the agreement.

And, just a hint: trying to sneak things through under the wire is not the way to secure my ongoing cooperation.

Now things got interesting. The machine swung into full gear. I received communications from four different Noble Romance staffers in 24 hours. Fiona Jayde got to work on a new cover for Angels Cry. Casey Harris revved up the promo machine. This is where things got sticky, because I was asked about the possibility of doing an interview for Noble’s blog and some other promo. As per the terms of the letter, I refused. Now Mary Harris entered the picture.

I had always had a great deal of respect for Mary in the past and was curious to see how she operated. For the first little while, everything seemed great. But days became weeks, and I heard nothing from her regarding edits. In the meantime, I had been asked to remove certain blogs concerning the situation at Noble Romance Publishing. Although I felt this request to be far beyond the limits of our agreement, I nevertheless did so in the interest of fostering a reasonable semblance of cooperation. I then informed Gombart that I would not bend any further, nor would I assist Noble in any other way.

This was apparently taken by him and Mary Harris as a refusal to review the edits she made. These were later sent to me in a single email, in which she stated the new files had already been sent on and that no substantial changes had been made. When I reviewed said edits, I noted that I and Bryl Tyne had previously missed a problem with “Angels Would Fall,” wherein Ariel’s eyes were blue on one page and green on another. Mary noted this, but failed to mention which way she had gone. Result: I don’t know what color my own character’s eyes are. Additionally, she changed the phrasing of a key part of the story. It was a single word, but I chose that word deliberately and fought tooth and nail for it in initial edits. These were two of the larger ones, but a number of other problems cropped up on a second, third, and fourth reading.

I sent back an email, still attempting to be diplomatic, and addressed the word change specifically. I told her that was the only problem I saw that warranted comment.

Her reply was, “Only one? J.S., I’m honored!”

Fifteen minutes later an email was sent to me and Gombart.

“Here is J.S.’s response. I doubt he will ever admit we did a great job for him.”

My response?

“This was completely uncalled for, but it is telling:

“I doubt he will ever admit we’ve done a great job for him.”

I am more than willing to and capable of giving credit where credit is due. In every respect.”

From this point, I stepped back from the entire debacle and waited. The books were re-released, and I will give Casey Harris a great deal of credit: She worked her tail off to promote my work. It didn’t pay off, though. Oddly, my royalties actually dropped. Banner headlines, dominance of the blog for almost three weeks, and my covers the first things anyone saw at the Noble website all failed to stimulate sales. This was not her fault, though. The word was out about Noble, and nothing was going to change that.

In the meantime, a number of my former colleagues at Noble asked me what was going on. I answered them with perfect honesty and explained in great detail what had been agreed upon, what Gombart had undertaken as a result, and my feelings on the subject.

On April 16th, a full month and a day after Gombart was supposed to have sent me a ROFR waiver for all my works, I drafted and sent one of my own. I stated explicitly that I required his signature upon it within 24 hours of receipt and that the waiver I had drafted was the only one I would accept. I also explained that an electronic signature would not suffice and that I required his physical signature on a scanned, printed copy of the document.

This went ignored.

On April 18th, I sent him another breach of contract notice. This time I actually attached the contract and parsed it point by point, highlighting the problem areas. I had previously seen that Gombart went to Piers Anthony at HiPiers.com to refute the charges Noble authors were making, and Mr. Anthony’s response struck me as quite reasonable: “If I have complaints from named persons I can forward to the company for redress, I will.” No problem. I forwarded the same missive to him as well.

My breach of contract notification went unanswered. Again.

However, Mr. Anthony posted the following on his website as part of his May update regarding Noble:

 JS Wayne sent the publisher a very specific list of contract violations—that is, selecting passages in the the contract. These include ignoring a previous breach of contract statement, pretending ignorance of it, continuing to sell a book after it was reverted, failing to get author approval for changes in the manuscript, failure to provide author copies, failure to provide raw financial data for an independent audit. In sum: this publisher knows no law. It appears to do what it wants without regard to author rights or preferences, ignores complaints, and retaliates against those who do complain. Until these named complaints are resolved, this publisher should be avoided.

I stand by the assertions I have made previously here on this very blog; on AbsoluteWrite’s Water Cooler; and elsewhere concerning Noble Romance Publishing. While the art and publicity departments remains and have become, respectively, of excellent caliber, the editorial and management end lamentably remains of the same quality that prompted the initial complaints.

And now I hear that Gombart is putting it about that all is forgiven and he has managed to win over one of his most “vitriolic” opponents. Jim Butcher called this “Vader Syndrome.”

My silence was predicated on two points: One, I have a code of honor. When I give my word, I don’t go against it without a very compelling reason, and putting all this out prior to the expiration of the agreement and giving Gombart a chance to prove he was a man of his word would have violated that. Two, I did not wish to chance alienating Changeling Press’s management, who have thus far proven to be everything I used to think Noble Romance Publishing was.

However, I take it personally when someone who holds contracts and his company’s obligations in such low regard turns around and claims to other authors that we’re now great friends, et cetera et cetera blah blah blah. While my reputation is very important to me, the fact is my reputation means nothing if it is used in such a deceitful and underhanded manner. Not, in retrospect, that I should have expected any better from Gombart. This whole Mephistopholean bargain was undertaken for what I felt to be good and honorable reasons. To then have the terms blatantly ignored and the ensuing actions I have taken dismissed as unworthy of concern is nothing more than par for this particular course, but to use my name as a seal of approval I never gave is completely beyond the pale.

In brief: If you do not hear from me directly that I have returned to the Noble fold, it has not happened. I can assure you that it cannot and will not happen from this point forward. I am and remain as staunchly opposed to Noble’s business practices and unethical activities as ever before, and will continue to strongly recommend authors steer well clear of this house.

I retain all the emails from all parties concerned, paper, electronic, and .pdf formats. Rest assured I would not make such allegations without the wherewithal to support them. From here, gentle readers, I leave it to you to draw your own conclusions and make your own decision regarding where my loyalties lie.

And, not at all incidentally: Public notice is forthwith given that, breaches of contract having been asserted in accordance with the terms of the various contracts I have with Noble Romance Publishing, not once, but twice, and ignored not once, but twice, effective as of today the rights to all my works are hereby reverted to my sole control as the creator and copyright owner. Any works published by Noble Romance Publishing in my name are so published in direct infringement of my copyright to such works. The rights to these works have reverted to my sole control effective as of this post, to do with and distribute as I see fit, in their original state or in an edited form that omits any and all contributions that may be considered property of Noble Romance Publishing.

“The question is not who’s going to let me. The question is who’s going to stop me.” –Ayn Rand

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Release Day Contest: “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues!”

With Finals Week literally three days away and the tragedies of the last week very much in the forefront of my mind, things have been interesting around the bar. Setting up plans to donate to victims of the Boston bombings, writing press releases, working with other writers and writing-related outlets, and so forth has pretty much dominated what little time I wasn’t spending trying to maintain my GPA. However, I got an unexpected gift in the form of a full day off from school today, so I’m putting the time to good use!

So, here’s the dealio:

Read an excerpt

Starting at 1pm MST today, running until 1pm MST tomorrow, I am doing a special release-day contest! This should be fun, because it will give readers who don’t know me a chance to hang out, chat, and chill with me. Here’s how it’ll work. On my Twitter feed (@Author_JSWayne ), I will be posting a question about every two hours. (I’ll lay in plenty of questions for the night, because I’m a BAMF, but I’m not superhuman! Sadly, this means I have to sleep sometime.) These questions will include a link to places you can find the answers easily. They will also be hashtagged with #CONTEST and #FREEBOOK! Email your answers to me (DO NOT COMMENT ON THIS POST TO ANSWER!!! If you do, I’ll have to disqualify you AND delete the comment, so let’s not do that, hmmm? ) at jswayne702@gmail.com with the subject line “Answers for Contest.” Remember that the contest runs for the next 25 hours, so be sure not to send your answers prematurely. In case I have multiple correct entries, I will roll an appropriate number of ten-sided gamers’ dice to determine the winner in a double elimination. The prize? A FREE copy of “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues,” courtesy of yours truly and Changeling Press! Once the answers have been sent, I will be having a LIVE email chat at ChangelingPress@groups.yahoo.com at 7 pm MST , where the primary topic will be getting to know you terrific readers! We’ll chat. We’ll hang. Sporks, chefs’ hats, and general madness will be VERY much in evidence, so don’t miss it! Also, the winner of the contest will be announced. Of course, if you don’t want to wait, that’s cool too! Simply visit http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=2028 to pick up your copy any time! Be sure to stop by for the chat tomorrow, and remember to use the BOSTON2013 coupon code at Changeling’s site to pick up a great read and help assist the victims of the Boston bombings as well. (Also, I’m donating 20% of my author proceeds in addition, so the more you buy, the more I can help! ) Blog it, Tweet it, ‘Book it, +1 it, and spread the word! Have a great day, y’all…and let’s get it started up in here! Book Information Even Groomsmen Get the Blues

by J.S. WayneCover art: Bryan Keller

BIN: 06311-02028

Genre(s): Guilty Pleasures (Contemporary), Erotic Romance

Length: Novella

Page Count: 35

Buy This Book for $3.49 Choose a Download Format Adobe Acrobat/PDF files Microsoft Reader/LIT files Mobipocket/Kindle PRC Files HTML (Zipped)/Stanza files HTML Self-extracting/ zip.exe files Epub/iPad & iTouch Files Mobipocket/Kindle MOBI Files

Becoming Raphael: A Poetic Reply To An American Tragedy

My regular readers know how seldom I publish my poetry here. Tonight, however, the events in Boston and some things I’ve been pondering in my own life led me to scrawl something down. Whether it’s any good, whether it makes sense…hell, whether it’s even worth reading…I leave to the individual reader’s tastes and offices to decide.

Becoming Raphael

 

All humans dream of being the angel

Who bears the flaming sword

Striking down the evildoer

Punishing the guilty with divine vengeance

Teaching those who bring terror to the innocent

How much more dreadful is the terror of the guilty

When Judgment hangs fiery over their heads.

A splash of blood

A scream, a thump

All is silence

The righteous blade sheathed again

Having drunk its fill of guilty blood.

But after, what remains?

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord”

And the blood of a thousand

A million guilty souls

Cannot restore one pure soul

To life, to innocence

To a world without fear.

The sword can destroy

But never create

Can kill, but never heal.

The Angel of Divine Wrath fires

The furious, frenzied imagination

He is flashy, mighty, and awesome

But he has his purpose

And thinks nothing of the innocent.

After he takes to wing

Seeking the next villain

In whose blood to quench his steel

Who will hear the innocent cries

Of a child left motherless

Of a father bereft

Whose wings will enfold these

And allow them to weep

The healing, poisoned tears

Of innocence lost

Of the ultimate knowledge

That came from the bitter fruit

Of Eve’s tree?

None of us can be the angel

In being, clad in heavy, clumsy flesh

As we are

But we can be the angel in action

In word, thought, and deed

We can open our arms

To console and comfort

To commiserate and cradle

We can give freely of our hearts

Even when it brings tears

Even when the suffering

Our charges feel becomes as our own, and

Forces us to question our strength

Our fitness for this divine charge.

Not every angel calls forth lightning

Wields the sword that banished our parents

Or spits the sacred Name with angelic contempt

To wrack a guilty planet

No matter how well this race has earned it.

There are angels of compassion

Of mercy, of healing

And the chief of these is Raphael

Whose very name proclaims his function

“God has healed.”

Blessed is he (or she) who holds out a hand

Who stretches out their arms

Who offers a sympathetic ear

Or a shoulder upon which a wounded soul

Can freely shed aching tears

For these are they who, in

Becoming Raphael

Leaving justice and vengeance to Michael’s agents

Grant the innocent and the tormented

Surcease, hope, comfort

And love.

 

 Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

 

An American Tragedy

I don’t make a point of watching the news. In fact, quite the opposite. It’s one of my many quirks, and certainly one of the most publicly known. So when I got home and started looking at my email, the first thing I saw was a message with the title “Explosions in Boston?”

I blinked. WHAT?!?! I did not just see that… It’s a joke. An Internet hoax. A prank.

Please, God…

So I Googled it.

My stomach plummeted as I found listing after listing, all within the previous hour, talking about the explosions. The first thing I did was turn on the TV to the first news station I could find, which happened to be ABC.

I haven’t turned it off yet.

In the last few hours, I’ve tried to go on with my work while listening to the news. I’ve gone back and forth on a nightmare seesaw between disbelief and horror and sadness and rage. Tears have pricked at my eyes, and I’ve had to fight back the urge to scream my complex and furious emotions out. Right now, I’m just trying to keep a grip as more information comes out.

One thing I’m certain of at this moment is that this was not an act of war.

This was an act of terrorism.

This was a vile, vicious, cowardly act targeted at innocent bystanders who attended an American tradition to cheer on the marathoners, those marvelously dedicated and insane people who run distances that make us mere mortals shake our heads in disbelief and thank God we have cars, unlike that first Greek messenger who hoofed it from the Marathon plain to Athens to let the city fathers know of a major victory. This was directed at civilians who had done nothing but gone out on a public street to observe athletes in action. This was the act of people who have no regard for human life and thought that blood would make fine ink for writing whatever message they were trying to send.

As of this post, 83 people have been injured. Two are dead.

One of those two was an eight-year-old girl.

God damn whoever did this to the darkest Hell any demon has to offer.

What the responsible person or persons forgot in this situation was who they were fucking with. You don’t do shit like that to Americans and expect there won’t be consequences. You don’t kill innocent people in this country and figure to walk. We fight, squabble, bicker, and scrap amongst ourselves, but something like this brings out the best…and the darkest…in us.

“Don’t start none, won’t be none” is our motto.

Test it at your own peril.

I’ll be back soon, y’all. For tonight, I’m watching the news.

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

ETA 16 Apr 13, 8:15 am: The death toll now stands at 3, with over 150 injured. In the wake of this, I am pledging 20% of all author proceeds from my entire bibliography until June 1st to assist victims of the tragedy with medical and, God help us all, funeral expenses. Also, Changeling Press has arranged a special coupon for a 7.5% discount on available work, with 15% of profits to assist these people as well. The code is BOSTON2013, and it’s only valid at the Changeling website.

This is how Americans respond to things like this. Let the world take note.

Cover Reveal: Even Groomsmen Get The Blues!

Here’s the new cover for “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues,” available May 19th from Changeling Press!

Just in case you missed the sexy introduction to this new story, here you go…and be sure to read down below for info on my release day contest!

Even Groomsmen Get The Blues

An awkward wedding. A beautiful woman. A gun-shy groomsman. Does love stand a chance?

Ben Grimm hates weddings just on general principles, and the fact he would have been one of the intendeds if his fiancée hadn’t been sleeping with half of Grove Park isn’t improving his outlook. Ben does his duty as Mike’s groomsman, but once the ceremony’s over Ben’s had enough. Just as he’s trying to decide how soon he can politely leave, Melanie Carson, one of the bridesmaids, comes over and makes Ben an offer he can’t resist.

One-night stands aren’t really Ben’s style, and the sultry redhead who took him to new heights of erotic pleasure quickly assures him she’s not interested in being an angel of the morning. Somewhere along the line, without ever having met him, Melanie decided to offer Ben her heart. Now it’s up to Ben to decide whether the exquisite sex is worth giving another woman a chance to break his heart… or if he’s ready to try to let Melanie heal it.

Chapter One

 

Being single and lonely sucked even worse when he had to dress up in a monkey suit and dance around acting all happy for his best friend, Ben Grimm reflected. He loved Mike like a brother, but right now he wanted nothing more than to “adjust” Mike’s teal bow tie until he choked the idiotic, I’m-so-in-love grin off the groom’s face.

“Jack and Coke,” he yelled to the bartender over the thudding beat of the music. The bartender nodded and bustled off to take the order of a rowdy crew at the other end. Ben sighed, running a hand through his ash blond hair, and peeked at the clock surreptitiously, wondering how much longer good manners demanded he stay. Being a single guy at a wedding sucked syphilitic goat peckers, Ben ruminated. The few decent-looking women on display were either taken, too young, or eyeballing another potential conquest, which left him out in the cold.

He didn’t begrudge Mike and Lacey their happiness, and he certainly didn’t want to be a cloud on their day. If Veronica hadn’t done what she had, this would have been a double wedding.

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, he thought sardonically, checking the clock again. His feet ached from standing for most of the day, his lower back was starting to spasm from an overly enthusiastic turn on the dance floor with a cute nine-year-old girl who had a charming lisp and who’d developed the kind of prepubescent crush he just didn’t have the heart to turn down, and he felt the beginnings of a low-grade migraine settling in at the back of his head. He’d have one drink, make his excuses, and get the hell away from all this lovey-dovey bullshit.

“Got a date?” a husky feminine voice murmured in his ear, downy soft lips brushing his sensitive lobe.

He whipped his head to the right ruthlessly enough to wrench his neck and provoke a strangled curse. When he saw the speaker, whiplash tumbled to the bottom of his priorities list. She can’t be… His jaw dropped, and a gibbering voice in his head screamed, Say something, stupid!

“Were you talking to me?” Ben’s mouth felt even drier.

The redhead laughed, exposing the creamy sweep of her throat and rolling her shoulders so the tips of her breasts pressed against the teal satin of her gown. “I thought if I didn’t come talk to you, you were either going to slip out the door or jump out the window.” Her large eyes, the exact shade of her dress, played over him appraisingly. “I’m Melanie.”

He stuck his hand out awkwardly. “Ben.”

She took the offered hand. His cock pressed uncomfortably against his zipper, responding to her heat. Six months of enforced monkitude had done nothing to make his errant manhood behave itself, and Melanie was sexy enough to push every hot button he had just by engaging in basic social contact. For a moment he entertained a fantasy of her spread-eagled on a bed while he took her, and he locked the erotic thought down fast. If he’d been a little quicker, he might have avoided the painful erection the woman before him had triggered.

Melanie pulled away, sliding her gaze south of his cummerbund as if mentally subtracting his tuxedo from the equation.

“You planning to drill through the wall? Or can I suggest a better use for that?”

http://changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=179

April’s when new things bloom, and my Twitter account is no exception! Between now and April 19th, I’m putting on a very special contest. Simply follow @Author_JSWayne on Twitter to enter to win a FREE e-copy of “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues,” my new contemporary, hotter-than-lava romance! If I hit 500+, one lucky follower will win the copy. For 750+, I’ll throw in a signed swag pack…all for three mouse clicks! Kinda hard to go wrong with that, right?

And, in the interest of fairness, here’s a sexy sneak peek of what you’re playing for. Pass the word, Tweet it, Facebook it, blog it, and keep an eye on my Twitter for more great surprises!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Fear of the “E” Word

I read something today so completely insipid and ridiculous it just begged for me to make comment on it. And I did. At some length, and with more than my usual amount of irony. The reason was because apparently a Pennsylvania mayor is upset at a West Ward magazine that profiled a longtime female resident, Kathy Kulig and her husband. She’s restoring an historic home in the area. She’s a scientist, a breed seldom if ever associated with a lack of intelligence.

And she’s an erotic romance author.

Apparently, this one little snippet, coupled with a biting criticism of the inaugural Art Festival in the area, hurled everyone from the city council to the mayor himself into a censorgasm. (Ooooh…bet that’s going to raise a few eyebrows.) After reading the author’s blog post, the story about the aftermath in the local newspaper’s online edition, and then another story in another (presumably larger than neighborhood) paper, and going over the chain of comments, I felt like I needed a bath. Politics is and always has been a slimy business, but things in Easton’s West Ward seem to have gone completely over the top.

(For the record, it appears that the West Word does not maintain an archive on its website, making it impossible to peruse the original article; I was only able to navigate to an issue from April of 2012. If anyone reading this should happen to have a link to the issue featuring Kulig, please post it in the comments and I will revise this article as appropriate, complete with link. My commentary from here forward is based on points of congruence among commentators on the Easton Patch website who did read the original.)

By all accounts from the residents’ comments, the West Ward is smack in the middle of “We don’t go there.” The mental image I got from reading the commentary was kind of like Las Vegas’ East Fremont Street between the “good” *kaff hack kaff* part of Boulder Highway and the Fremont Street Experience, without the single redeeming benefit of having the option of either getting rich or getting mugged when you pull over at the 7-11. (Don’t laugh…I’ve seen both happen within five minutes.) However, this is not to say that decent or intelligent people don’t live there, as evidenced by Kulig and others.  So the Community Action Committee of the Lehigh Valley (CACLV–hmmm…) and Mayor Sal Panto, Jr. decided the West Ward’s image needed a facelift. Enter the West Word, a community magazine. The stated goal  was to report news of benefit and interest to the residents of the West Ward, focusing on the positive aspects of the community in order to attract families and investors. (To me this is a huge, blindingly red flag. We want investors, so we want to show our best face. Okay, but: Isn’t there something called truth in advertising?)

So the magazine’s staff did exactly what journalists do. They wrote about things going on in town. And this was all fine and good, so long as they toed the “party line,” which was apparently (so the powers that be thought) bought and paid for with a grant from the CACLV. Which is not entirely unreasonable, considering that the CACLV is listed on the West Word as the publisher, but at the same time, one cannot expect journalists not to do what they do, an oversight that anyone with two and a half seconds’ publishing experience would immediately pick up on.

How much of this is a true representation of what happened in this particular case? I confess, not living there or being involved in local politics, I honestly don’t know. I do know that Panto took to the Lehigh Valley Express-Times website to speak out against his critics, political and otherwise. The vitriol on both sides is astounding, with allegations of corruption, bribery, et al (you know, politics) being bantered back and forth, while a third group of people aghast at the high-handed antics of the mayor and the CACLV chimes in from the sidelines, including truly yours. Panto’s objection to the story about Kulig was not her being an erotic romance author, by the way; it was the fact that the word “erotic” was used in a publication that is intended for families.

*record scratch*

This warranted further consideration, to my way of thinking, so I did some digging. Now, here’s where things really get interesting. I took a random sampling of stories from the same papers, sans the West Word, as indicated above, and looked for certain keywords. “Sex” only showed up twice. “Erotic” showed up once, in connection with Mrs. Kulig. However, words such as brothel, rape, violence, assault, murder, death, slaying, drugs, and so on were fairly regular occurrences. All in publications and on television shows that are readily available to children.

Have we really descended so far into the cultural morass that consensual sex, the most beautiful thing human beings can share with each other, is considered more dangerous to expose our children to than murder? What is it about this Puritanical insistence that the human body is dirty and evil, something to be ashamed of and hidden, that it keeps drawing such rabid and committed followers? Do they seriously think that one instance of the word “erotica” in a newspaper equals five, ten, fifty mentions of the words I listed above? (And let us not forget my previous rant about “mommy porn” and all the reasons that ticks me off.)

Okay. Let’s switch focus and turn on the TV for a second.

Flipping through six channels in a four-minute span, I get Two and a Half Men (before Ashton Kutcher gooned it up by taking Charlie Sheen’s place…as if!), two Viagra commercials, one Levitra commercial, one Stayfree ad, and one ad for Mirena. So sleazy sex, having better sex, having safer sex, and that delightful time of the month when most women want no part of sex (understandably), are very much in the public eye. When Mommy and Daddy get home from work and turn on the nightly news or prime-time TV, sitting nestled in the den with their man-cubs close by, these kids are getting an eyeful.

And the objection is that the word “erotic” shouldn’t appear in a family publication, when erectile dysfunction drugs are plastered all over the TV set? Something is seriously squirrelly here.

Now, I’m not saying that parents should bow to the inevitable and start having “The Talk” with little Timmy or Susie at age three. Far from it. Like any responsible erotic romance author, I believe only legal adults above the age of majority in their jurisdiction should be able to access my work, and I certainly don’t want children getting a hold of it. Do I believe for one minute that some thoughtless parent will never, ever, ever leave one of my paperbacks lying around or let their child have their Kindle, never considering what they last read until the kid asks “Mommy (or Daddy), what’s an orgasm?” triggering a blush hot enough to ignite the atmosphere and a frantic scrabble for the reading material in question? Nope. I’m not that naive and I’m not that stupid, but I also give my readers credit for being smart enough to think about consequences and mature enough to own the results of their actions. Bottom line: it’s up to parents to be parents and decide what they think is appropriate for their kids to see, hear, and read, not government at any level or under any guise whatsoever.

However: It seems to me that if you’re even going to hint at censorship, regardless of how well-intentioned it may be, let’s get rid of the news stories about tragedies and violent acts. Let’s stop making rape a spectator sport. Let’s stop discussing drug use on the front page or at the top of the hour. Let’s leave it up to the parents when and how to tell their kids that the real world isn’t always a nice, friendly, fluffy place.

I definitely don’t think kids should be exposed to overtly or graphically sexual visual or textual content. But if I have to choose between my kid seeing two people making love or reading about Jeffrey Dahmer, I’d a whole lot rather this hypothetical child have a sex-positive, inclusive worldview than the dark fascination with mass murderers and serial killers that makes up such a high percentage of current TV programming. Get the scary, bloody, gratuitously violent content off the air and out of the headlines, and then we can talk about chopping the “E” word that so many people seem to be so scared of.

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Mommy Porn: What’s Wrong With It?

I wasn’t going to do this post today. I was going to be a good and diligent student who finishes his homework before he goes shooting his mouth off about the publishing world. But one of my new commentators asked me so nicely I couldn’t think of a graceful way to refuse. (And, let’s be honest, I needed the kick in the keister anyway .) So, as promised in my previous post, here’s what’s wrong with the idea of “mommy porn,” as given in the Gospel According To J.S. Wayne.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a great deal of excitement in many of the online chat loops I participate in. The reason was because CBS was doing a story on the popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey and chose to interview the owner of Ellora’s Cave, one of the best-regarded erotic romance publishers in the business, as well as the very talented Desiree Holt, an extremely prolific author. There was nothing wrong with Desiree’s portion or the Ellora’s Cave interview, but the overall narration and the way in which CBS chose to slant and edit the story set my hackles on edge. After viewing the story on CBS’s website, I felt compelled to write the following comment:

As an erotic romance author myself, I found this story deeply offensive…but not for the reasons expressed by many other viewers and commentators. First, I take great exception to my chosen genre being referred to as “porn,” mommy or otherwise. (emphasis added) Second, I take immense umbrage to having my work lumped in with Fifty Shades of Grey in any way, shape, or form, as many of my colleagues and fellow do. Third, neither women nor men can claim exclusivity with regards to the authoring or reading of erotic romance. This story painted an extremely biased, one-sided, and sexist portrait of erotic romance, although I will admit to being bemused by Bill Geist posing for a romance cover.
I’m not sure who is to blame for this tripe, but I suspect the way the raw footage was edited had a great deal to do with the “yellow journalism” feel of this piece. Kudos to Desiree Holt, and shame on CBS for pawning this story off on the viewing public as a legitimate or balanced discussion of the erotic romance genre.

So why am I so down on the idea of “mommy porn?”

Well, for starters, I don’t write porn. Desiree Holt doesn’t write porn. Neither, God help me, does E.L. James.

Okay, a few blank looks from the audience. Let me explain:

Pornography, or porn, is intended to do precisely one thing: stimulate an emotional and/or physical response in the reader or viewer. In this regard, all you Food Network junkies are watching porn…food porn. Saw devotees? You guessed it: splatter porn. Bronies? Yup, yup, yup. (I don’t even pretend to understand that phenomenon, but I guess whatever trips your trigger.) Pornography in itself has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the reaction of the viewer. However, let’s go back to the usage in the common lexicon, rather than this rather erudite version: naked, writhing, grinding flesh. In the vast majority of “porn” as current usage has it, there is no or very limited emotional context between the participants. It is “sex for sex’s sake,” and when you subtract it from the plot…there isn’t one.

And let us not forget that the human body does not typically bend many of the ways those actors have to. Real sex tends to look either silly or about as exciting as watching a beached whale, unless you happen to be one of the participants. (You’ll have to trust me on this one, and no, I’m NOT telling how I know, exactly. A magician gets to keep SOME secrets… )

Okay, so what about erotica?

Erotica involves an emotional context, but there is no guarantee of a happily ever after. In this genre, Maxim Jakubowski’s “Hotel Room Fuck” is a good example. Two people meet on the Internet, then in real life, and do what two sexually attracted people do, but when they part that’s it. The end, finis, finale, it was fun but… While erotica focuses on the sexual act more than most mainstream fiction, the plot can generally stand on its own minus the graphic sexual content.

This is getting to be a pretty fine distraction there, Slick. What about erotic romance?

Ah. Now we get to the “heart” of the matter. Erotic romance is, first and foremost, about feelings. About attraction, disgust, two people experiencing the whole gamut of human emotion and acting on those emotions. Angry “I can’t stand that you inhabit the same planet as me, but I want you so bad right now!” “hate sex,” tender “You are my one and only” lovemaking, and everything in between is covered here. However, as with erotica, subtract the sex and you’ve still got a plot. The only difference between your (grand)mother’s romance* and erotic romance is that the bedroom door doesn’t close. Ever.

*And before you start, yes, I’m well aware there are women in their sixties and up writing this stuff. To them I say “Good on ya!” I remember a lifetime ago, when thirty-five seemed impossibly old. Now that I’m there, I hope I’m doing as much in my sixties and up as these ladies are!

So, now we’ve got that straight, here’s why I have issues with “mommy porn.” “Porn” doesn’t describe my or most other ER authors’ work, as much as some Puritanical types would like it to. Calling it “mommy porn” conjures images of things you might see on free Internet porn sites or incest porn, and that rarely if ever applies to what ER authors write. The closest the vast majority of us come to that line is two brothers sharing one woman or intimacy between steps. (Not my particular brand of Scotch, but again, whatever trips your trigger.)

More to the point, “mommy porn” is an insulting, demeaning, denigrating label to both readers and authors of erotic romance in equal measures. Is the idea of erotic romance to create sexual arousal? Of course, at least in part. If I don’t leave a given reader with damp panties and a desperate urge to find release, or a guy with a raging hard-on, then to that reader I have failed in my task. However, there’s a lot more to it. The reader should laugh, cry, scream, or cuss me when I dangle their preferred character over a metaphorical volcano with seemingly no way out of their predicament. In porn, that involvement and investment on the reader’s part doesn’t exist. It’s all about how fast they can get off.

And this completely ignores RWA statistics that clearly show that from 2002-2005, male readership of romance novels jumped more than threefold, from 7% to 22%. (I attempted to contact RWA several months ago for updated statistics for a research paper. To date, I’ve received no response.) And why do you suppose those guys are reading romance novels? Sure, okay, they’re looking for the “hot parts.” Hey, I am one, and I’m not going to front about it. But I’ll lay you long odds most of those guys aren’t only reading these books for the sex scenes, but for what they can learn about human love, desire, and emotion. Kinda blows the idea of “mommy porn” out of the water, dunnit?

Besides, “mommy porn,” all other negative connotations aside, implies that a given woman requires that release because she cannot find it in her own relationship or life. Which is pure, unadulterated bullshit. Just about every woman I’ve ever met has two hands, ten fingers, and a perfectly serviceable imagination. The fact is, absent procreational necessity, women could get along quite well without any involvement from us hairy, testosterone-crazed types, and probably a damn sight better in a lot of places.

So, to cut a long story short, erotic romance isn’t mommy porn. Those who write it aren’t pornographers. Those who read it aren’t pervs. And to use this misleading verbal shorthand does no service to any of us. If it does anything, it points up the ignorance of those who haven’t bothered to try it for themselves before slapping a label on it and putting it in a social pigeonhole.

Some may say I shouldn’t be so hung up on the label, because after all, it IS only a label.

But, as any first-week marketing major can tell you, product labeling is everything when it comes to shaping public perception. Shouldn’t the label reflect what we’re really offering readers?

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Why Comparing Erotic Romance To “Fifty Shades” Is Wrong

Something is rotten in the publishing world. I’ll give y’all a second to absorb that…

In recent months, Fifty Shades of Grey has become the benchmark for erotic romance. (I’ll save my rant on “mommy porn” and why I find that label offensive for another day.) There are endless news stories about it. It is displayed prominently at booksellers from the hometown used bookstore to Barnes and Noble. Fifty Shades has acquired an instant pop-culture entree that leads many readers to ask other authors, “Oh, is your work like Fifty Shades?” There was even that Best Buy commercial during the Super Bowl…

Some people may look at this post and think I’m just throwing out sour grapes. Let me defuse that particular rumor bomb right now, by saying that I’m nothing but happy for people who manage to turn their work into money. God knows it’s a hard thing to do. If it just so happens that this person has the right contacts in the media, thereby all but guaranteeing a bestseller, so much the better. My problem is not with E.L. James’ success, per se, but with the manner in which she achieved it.

Let’s start with the premise of Fifty Shades. It started life as a Twilight fan fiction incorporating heavy BDSM into the storyline. Ehhhh….okay. I’ve written a fanfic or two in my time, never intended for publication, and which the general public will never see, but I learned a few things about my craft doing it. So I can’t get too down on it, especially when I know a couple of really excellent authors, foremost among them Margie Church, whose entry into the publishing world started life in exactly the same way.

Here’s the crucial difference: Margie used characters and a spin-off story as her starting point, but made it original enough in the final form to be well distanced from the source material. Originality is the deciding factor here. Well, that and the fact that Margie can write.

I’ve read the Twilight series and, as I’ve confessed before, I enjoyed it for the imagery and the overall storyline, if not necessarily for the character portrayal, which I found somewhat lacking. (There was a YouTube video a while back in which Bella was compared to a Lego brick, which I thought was hilariously apt.) For all that, Stephanie Meyer at least crafted an original story. Is it *snooty accent* “great lit-er-a-toooooooooor?” Certainly not. Is it worth reading on its own merits, yes.

Now compare Fifty Shades. I have only read one of the trilogy, but I feel confident based on the experience that I can pretty well analyze the overall series. I picked up the second book, Fifty Shades Darker, at the local library out of morbid curiosity and read it in two sittings. I knew from the second Anastasia laid eyes on Christian that it was Bella looking at Edward. His hair’s the same, everything’s the same except for the amber color of his eyes. The plot closely mirrors that of Twilight as well, with a number of parallels that lies well outside the statistical dispersion required to be mere coincidence. I harbored a brief spark of hope when the other woman was introduced, but this was dashed in short order when Christian Grey’s castoff and Anastasia’s predecessor in his affections proved to be Anastasia’s drugged out, mentally unstable twin.

This leaves aside utterly the horrific number of sentence-level problems and generally amateurish level of writing craft, which I won’t even get into except to give it a nod here. I could write a book unto itself about all the editorial gaffes and cliched prose used in this particular work.

The only recommendation I can give this book is that the sex was hot, and according to a couple of well-placed and knowledgeable sources close to me, the depictions of the BDSM relationship between Bella and Edward….oh, oops, sorry: Anastasia and Christian–was well-written and fairly realistic.

“But J.S.!” I know someone will protest breathlessly. “Why are you picking on poor E.L. James?”

I’m not. If I’m doing anything at all here, I’m pointing out a very disturbing trend for the future of publishing.

You see, E.L. James is a Cinderella story. She was a television producer who fiddled with writing in her spare time, and became infatuated with Twilight. Okay, so far, so good. However:

It’s hardly a secret in writing circles that if E.L. James had not had the contacts in the publishing world she gained by dint of her career as a TV producer, Fifty Shades would never have seen daylight. Far better written, more original manuscripts have been condemned to the slush pile, while her trilogy has become a worldwide bestseller. The most galling part to me, however, is that this thinly veiled fan fiction, as amateurishly written as it is, has become the gold standard in what erotic romance is, inviting comparisons in the media and among readers to other erotic romance authors.

In my opinion, Fifty Shades should not be considered as a role model for what erotic romance should or can be. Instead, it should send a chill down the spines of readers and authors alike, because its success sends a clear message about what publishing companies are looking for. Forget originality, forget sweating and straining to produce a plot that doesn’t sound like half the other books out there, forget spending the time learning your craft and committing yourself seriously to paying the dues that authordom requires. No, we as publishers are only interested in one thing, and that’s how we can make a buck. Give us something cut whole cloth from someone else’s bestselling template, with just enough variance in the color and seams to prevent us from getting slapped with an egregiously expensive lawsuit, and we’ll make you a gazillionaire.

It’s pretty damned disheartening, when you get right down to it.

Now, I want to note that this does not apply to all publishers. This trend seems to be restricted almost entirely to the Big 6 and their subsidiaries, to the best of my knowledge. If anyone knows of other publishers who do the same, I’d like to know about them. However, there seems to be a preponderance of very similar bordering on plagiarized tales on the bookshelves right now, leaving the vast majority of midlist authors to fight upstream against a flood of “If you like ________, then you’ll love _______!” Of course they will….it’s the same story, remixed and repackaged juuuuuuuuust enough to avoid those pesky lawsuits.

So, for the readers, my personal recommendation is, the next time you’re surfing your favorite online bookseller or cruising your local bookstore looking for something to read, steer well clear of imitative fiction. (Isn’t it all? Yes, Plato. Thank you. Now sit down and shut up. I suffered through The Republic twice, and that was enough, thanks anyway….) Instead, choose an author you don’t know or haven’t read in a while. Pick something outside your comfort zone. Select authors who actually care enough about their readers and their craft to at least make a reasonable pretense of putting together an original plot, characters, and situations.

All of erotic romance is not represented by Fifty Shades any more than it is by my work, or Margie’s, or Bianca Sommerland’s, or R. Renee Vickers… Stop putting all genre authors in one box by picking one (poorly conceived, written, edited, et cetera) book and claiming it stands as an example of the whole. It doesn’t, any more than my comments here represent every author’s views or any other author’s represent mine, on any topic.

Dare to be an original reader!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

 

Sneak Peek (NSFW): “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues” Coming April 19th from Changeling Press!!!

Sorry I don’t have to do a longer post today, but one’s in the works for the weekend. In the meantime, enjoy this smoking-hot excerpt from my forthcoming novella, “Even Groomsmen Get The Blues!”

An awkward wedding. A beautiful woman. A gun-shy groomsman. Does love stand a chance?

Ben Grimm hates weddings just on general principles, and the fact he would have been one of the intendeds if his fiancée hadn’t been sleeping with half of Grove Park isn’t improving his outlook. Ben does his duty as Mike’s groomsman, but once the ceremony’s over Ben’s had enough. Just as he’s trying to decide how soon he can politely leave, Melanie Carson, one of the bridesmaids, comes over and makes Ben an offer he can’t resist.

One-night stands aren’t really Ben’s style, and the sultry redhead who took him to new heights of erotic pleasure quickly assures him she’s not interested in being an angel of the morning. Somewhere along the line, without ever having met him, Melanie decided to offer Ben her heart. Now it’s up to Ben to decide whether the exquisite sex is worth giving another woman a chance to break his heart… or if he’s ready to try to let Melanie heal it.

Chapter One

Being single and lonely sucked even worse when he had to dress up in a monkey suit and dance around acting all happy for his best friend, Ben Grimm reflected. He loved Mike like a brother, but right now he wanted nothing more than to “adjust” Mike’s teal bow tie until he choked the idiotic, I’m-so-in-love grin off the groom’s face.

“Jack and Coke,” he yelled to the bartender over the thudding beat of the music. The bartender nodded and bustled off to take the order of a rowdy crew at the other end. Ben sighed, running a hand through his ash blond hair, and peeked at the clock surreptitiously, wondering how much longer good manners demanded he stay. Being a single guy at a wedding sucked syphilitic goat peckers, Ben ruminated. The few decent-looking women on display were either taken, too young, or eyeballing another potential conquest, which left him out in the cold.

He didn’t begrudge Mike and Lacey their happiness, and he certainly didn’t want to be a cloud on their day. If Veronica hadn’t done what she had, this would have been a double wedding.

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, he thought sardonically, checking the clock again. His feet ached from standing for most of the day, his lower back was starting to spasm from an overly enthusiastic turn on the dance floor with a cute nine-year-old girl who had a charming lisp and who’d developed the kind of prepubescent crush he just didn’t have the heart to turn down, and he felt the beginnings of a low-grade migraine settling in at the back of his head. He’d have one drink, make his excuses, and get the hell away from all this lovey-dovey bullshit.

“Got a date?” a husky feminine voice murmured in his ear, downy soft lips brushing his sensitive lobe.

He whipped his head to the right ruthlessly enough to wrench his neck and provoke a strangled curse. When he saw the speaker, whiplash tumbled to the bottom of his priorities list. She can’t be… His jaw dropped, and a gibbering voice in his head screamed, Say something, stupid!

“Were you talking to me?” Ben’s mouth felt even drier.

The redhead laughed, exposing the creamy sweep of her throat and rolling her shoulders so the tips of her breasts pressed against the teal satin of her gown. “I thought if I didn’t come talk to you, you were either going to slip out the door or jump out the window.” Her large eyes, the exact shade of her dress, played over him appraisingly. “I’m Melanie.”

He stuck his hand out awkwardly. “Ben.”

She took the offered hand. His cock pressed uncomfortably against his zipper, responding to her heat. Six months of enforced monkitude had done nothing to make his errant manhood behave itself, and Melanie was sexy enough to push every hot button he had just by engaging in basic social contact. For a moment he entertained a fantasy of her spread-eagled on a bed while he took her, and he locked the erotic thought down fast. If he’d been a little quicker, he might have avoided the painful erection the woman before him had triggered.

Melanie pulled away, sliding her gaze south of his cummerbund as if mentally subtracting his tuxedo from the equation.

“You planning to drill through the wall? Or can I suggest a better use for that?”

Be sure to visit my Changeling Press author page!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne