Now when I open my Yahoo! email page, the first thing I see is a banner ad for those Vanity Fair…underwear.
What could be better than that?
I’ll tell you what: When I scroll over the banner, it switches to those Elle Macpheresons!
A sign from God?
Probably not, but I think I’ll take it as such nonetheless.
BTW, Mary Jo and I were watching Phineas & Ferb the other night, and there was a mention of unmentionables. I believe the word “underwear” was used. Who could have predicted this would become a theme?
I should have, I guess. It’s Halloween, and the twenty-fifth anniversary of the time I made a skirt out of old blue jeans, then hit the local Walgreen’s for a pair of the biggest fishnets in the world and a 42DD bra that, with enough tugging, just barely circumnavigated my torso. A scraggly wig and a bunch of lipstick transformed me into a decent Dee Snider.
A few years later, that wig and a maternity smock that wasn’t otherwise in use at the time transformed me into a fairly hideous witch. (I’m in no way saying all witches are hideous; I’m talking about me in a scraggly wig and a maternity smock.)
Then there was the time I donned green tights and draped a purple skirt over my head and went as a grape. And the year when a Packers jersey bearing Desmond Howard’s No. 81 plus a ballerina skirt equaled a costume I referred to as “Desmond Tutu.” And the year I wore a blue taffeta dress over a red full-body devil costume.
I know--that last one's a little on-the-nose. But did it me a woman, or a song?
Is there a difference?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
No panties, my ass
I have been informed that it would be unwise to use the word “panties” in Fast Lane.
Panties.
First, a female editor I work with told me:
Then I asked my other editor, my wife, for a second opinion, and she told me “panties” is juvenile: “It’s what little girls wear.”
That sent me directly to my most recent Victoria Secret catalog. (Yes, VC sends me several of these a year, and it’s not a bad investment on their part.) I turned to my favorite spread—the one where they show mostly panties—and saw words like “brief,” “V-string,” “bikini” and, of course, “thong.”
And “panties.”
You’ve got your Hipster Panties, your Stretch Mesh Panties, your Signature Cotton Panties, your Secret Pink Panties and your ever-popular (I’m sure) Brazilian String Panties.
In fact, “panties” was the most common term for women’s underwear—and there was not a single depiction of anyone who might be confused for a “little girl.”
I was subsequently informed that this is because VC is aimed not at women, but at men.
What to conclude, then, when a Google search for “panties on sale” produces a Shopzilla screen that promises “great deals on panties,” followed by links not only to VC’s Sexy Little Things Satin Lace-up Hiphuggers, but also to Elle Macpherson Momamia Bikini Panties, Stretch Cotton Hicut Panties from Sears, Vanity Fair Caress Cotton Hi-Cut Brief—a smooth hi-cut panty, Regular Nylon Hi-Cut Panties from Land’s End and Hanes Women's Perfect Panty Opaque Hi-Cuts, 2-Pack?
I don't know about those Sexy Little Things and Elle Macphersons, but I guarantee you the target audience for the others was definitely not men.
None of the five women in my writer’s group objected to “panties” in the hottest of Fast Lane’s sex scenes, but if it’s not cool to use it, the word dies. A search found it lurking six times in the manuscript, including one in which Lara is being sarcastic.
And so I have some decisions to make. Just what kind of panties are Lara—and other women—taking off when they're about to get it on? I’ll have to do more research—lots more research, in fact—but I can tell you one thing: Those Vanity Fair and Land’s End briefs, comfortable though they may be, are not in the running
Panties.
First, a female editor I work with told me:
One of the things that I never liked about some of John Updike’s writing is that he tried to write as a woman. I don’t think it worked very well for him. In fact, I remember talking about Updike in a lit class in college and most of the men liked the book and the women didn’t (I think it was “S.”). The reason? One of the women said that when Updike called women’s underwear “panties,” it gave him away cuz that’s a decidedly male term. We all agreed that women never use the word “panties” and just call it underwear or underpants.
Then I asked my other editor, my wife, for a second opinion, and she told me “panties” is juvenile: “It’s what little girls wear.”
That sent me directly to my most recent Victoria Secret catalog. (Yes, VC sends me several of these a year, and it’s not a bad investment on their part.) I turned to my favorite spread—the one where they show mostly panties—and saw words like “brief,” “V-string,” “bikini” and, of course, “thong.”
And “panties.”
You’ve got your Hipster Panties, your Stretch Mesh Panties, your Signature Cotton Panties, your Secret Pink Panties and your ever-popular (I’m sure) Brazilian String Panties.
In fact, “panties” was the most common term for women’s underwear—and there was not a single depiction of anyone who might be confused for a “little girl.”
I was subsequently informed that this is because VC is aimed not at women, but at men.
What to conclude, then, when a Google search for “panties on sale” produces a Shopzilla screen that promises “great deals on panties,” followed by links not only to VC’s Sexy Little Things Satin Lace-up Hiphuggers, but also to Elle Macpherson Momamia Bikini Panties, Stretch Cotton Hicut Panties from Sears, Vanity Fair Caress Cotton Hi-Cut Brief—a smooth hi-cut panty, Regular Nylon Hi-Cut Panties from Land’s End and Hanes Women's Perfect Panty Opaque Hi-Cuts, 2-Pack?
I don't know about those Sexy Little Things and Elle Macphersons, but I guarantee you the target audience for the others was definitely not men.
None of the five women in my writer’s group objected to “panties” in the hottest of Fast Lane’s sex scenes, but if it’s not cool to use it, the word dies. A search found it lurking six times in the manuscript, including one in which Lara is being sarcastic.
And so I have some decisions to make. Just what kind of panties are Lara—and other women—taking off when they're about to get it on? I’ll have to do more research—lots more research, in fact—but I can tell you one thing: Those Vanity Fair and Land’s End briefs, comfortable though they may be, are not in the running
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Fast Lane fantasy, Ochocinco reality
The “history” of the titular website in my novel, Fast Lane, is this: Clay Creighton’s father, Chase, started a men’s magazine in the 1960s that featured articles about cars and booze and pitching woo.
And pictures, of course, of scantily clad women.
Chase died when Clay was 21. Clay took over and introduced The Rotation—three women hand-picked to be his consorts. Members are constantly cycled through The Rotation to match what Fast Lane trumpets as the three stages of romance: Phase 1, the excitement of primal physical attraction; Phase 2, deepening knowledge; and Phase 3, comfortable familiarity.
In this philosophy, though, familiarity also leads to boredom. So, every few months, the girl who’s been around the longest has to go, replaced by a new Phase 1.
Sound far-fetched? Only if you’re oblivious to recent dating/mating shows on TV.
Not that I’m an aficionado. Outside of Pawn Stars and American Pickers, I’ve watched exactly sixty minutes of “reality” TV: One episode of what has to be—what for the sake of Western civilization absolutely must be—the nadir of reality entertainment: Ochocinco: The Ultimate Catch.
The premise is that Chad Ochocinco, a wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals, travels the country to find eighty-five women who would like to date a rich, famous, world-class athlete. After culling the herd to sixteen, he assigns the survivors to brackets like teams in a basketball tournament, then subjects them to tests so he can eliminate the losers and crown a champion.
In one test, Ochocinco goes on a date with two hopefuls at once so they can “compete” head-to-head.
What did this vulgar display tell me?
My conception of Fast Lane is not at all unrealistic. This kind of thing not only exists in America in 2010, it’s also big business.
And there are women who are more than happy to get involved. Why? I don’t know. Maybe some want to claim their fifteen minutes of fame or view it as a launching pad to a career. I suppose some actually believe they could find love and happiness with what some media outlets describe as “a serial dater with four kids” who is known to football fans as a sometimes controversial, but harmlessly amusing, flake.
It almost is Fast Lane. And it’s what Lara sets out to destroy. The question is, what will she find when she cozies up to Clay and sees the view from inside?
And pictures, of course, of scantily clad women.
Chase died when Clay was 21. Clay took over and introduced The Rotation—three women hand-picked to be his consorts. Members are constantly cycled through The Rotation to match what Fast Lane trumpets as the three stages of romance: Phase 1, the excitement of primal physical attraction; Phase 2, deepening knowledge; and Phase 3, comfortable familiarity.
In this philosophy, though, familiarity also leads to boredom. So, every few months, the girl who’s been around the longest has to go, replaced by a new Phase 1.
Sound far-fetched? Only if you’re oblivious to recent dating/mating shows on TV.
Not that I’m an aficionado. Outside of Pawn Stars and American Pickers, I’ve watched exactly sixty minutes of “reality” TV: One episode of what has to be—what for the sake of Western civilization absolutely must be—the nadir of reality entertainment: Ochocinco: The Ultimate Catch.
The premise is that Chad Ochocinco, a wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals, travels the country to find eighty-five women who would like to date a rich, famous, world-class athlete. After culling the herd to sixteen, he assigns the survivors to brackets like teams in a basketball tournament, then subjects them to tests so he can eliminate the losers and crown a champion.
In one test, Ochocinco goes on a date with two hopefuls at once so they can “compete” head-to-head.
What did this vulgar display tell me?
My conception of Fast Lane is not at all unrealistic. This kind of thing not only exists in America in 2010, it’s also big business.
And there are women who are more than happy to get involved. Why? I don’t know. Maybe some want to claim their fifteen minutes of fame or view it as a launching pad to a career. I suppose some actually believe they could find love and happiness with what some media outlets describe as “a serial dater with four kids” who is known to football fans as a sometimes controversial, but harmlessly amusing, flake.
It almost is Fast Lane. And it’s what Lara sets out to destroy. The question is, what will she find when she cozies up to Clay and sees the view from inside?
Friday, October 15, 2010
Naked in the mirror
I don’t particularly want readers to be thinking about whether Fast Lane was written by a man or a woman. So I’m constantly evaluating.
On one hand, Judy Cornfield, a member of my novel writing group, wrote in the margin, “You’ve found your niche: women’s fiction.” She based this conclusion not only on Fast Lane, but also on my first novel, Chick Flick, which puts a married couple through a night of hell but is, as Judy phrased it, “a sweet love story at heart.”
On that same hand, Peggy Williams, a screenwriting pal, wondered how my script Metal Mom—the one that got optioned twice—could so accurately reflect her life as a forty-year-old mom/wife/working woman.
On the other hand, there’s this comment from a Daily Kos post by Laura Clawson:
Not so clear over here.
Of course I had a scene similar to that. On page eight. Lara (my heroine), didn’t undress, since she was at a party, but she did see her reflection in a chrome pillar and thought that, after months of working out, she looked pretty good.
There I was, being a man. I immediately changed it to Lara realizing that while everyone else at the party is and looks ten years younger, fuck, the man she’s after, Clay, is seven years older—and he can just grow up and deal with her more mature appearance.
Clawson wrote that “the fantasy…is not to be beautiful but to have an identity for yourself that is not caught up in your appearance. Romance heroines rarely know how beautiful they are. This isn't because they are too stupid to look in a mirror or too low in self-esteem to understand what they see there, but because they are presenting the fantasy of being something other than body, of not having any of this cosmetic-advertisement stuff matter.”
Which is great. I’m all for that in real life, anyway.
Of course, then there’s a Romance Writers of America study showing that when it comes to what women want in a hero, being well-muscled and good-looking trumps being smart.
Talk about what’s sauce for the goose…
Still, I get what Laura Clawson is saying. If you’re overly concerned about body image, the fantasy would be not to be. So Lara’s all about that now.
But Clay…he’s still got his six-pack abs and the smoldering gaze of a gorgeous teen vampire.
On one hand, Judy Cornfield, a member of my novel writing group, wrote in the margin, “You’ve found your niche: women’s fiction.” She based this conclusion not only on Fast Lane, but also on my first novel, Chick Flick, which puts a married couple through a night of hell but is, as Judy phrased it, “a sweet love story at heart.”
On that same hand, Peggy Williams, a screenwriting pal, wondered how my script Metal Mom—the one that got optioned twice—could so accurately reflect her life as a forty-year-old mom/wife/working woman.
On the other hand, there’s this comment from a Daily Kos post by Laura Clawson:
My editors at Harlequin used to joke that they could always tell when a man had written a manuscript. Somewhere in the first fifty pages the heroine undressed in front of a mirror...and liked what she saw. That sounds like a good idea, having a body that you can admire when you are buck-naked in your own bathroom. But what clearly seems a better idea, a more appealing fantasy, is to walk by that mirror and simply not care.
Not so clear over here.
Of course I had a scene similar to that. On page eight. Lara (my heroine), didn’t undress, since she was at a party, but she did see her reflection in a chrome pillar and thought that, after months of working out, she looked pretty good.
There I was, being a man. I immediately changed it to Lara realizing that while everyone else at the party is and looks ten years younger, fuck, the man she’s after, Clay, is seven years older—and he can just grow up and deal with her more mature appearance.
Clawson wrote that “the fantasy…is not to be beautiful but to have an identity for yourself that is not caught up in your appearance. Romance heroines rarely know how beautiful they are. This isn't because they are too stupid to look in a mirror or too low in self-esteem to understand what they see there, but because they are presenting the fantasy of being something other than body, of not having any of this cosmetic-advertisement stuff matter.”
Which is great. I’m all for that in real life, anyway.
Of course, then there’s a Romance Writers of America study showing that when it comes to what women want in a hero, being well-muscled and good-looking trumps being smart.
Talk about what’s sauce for the goose…
Still, I get what Laura Clawson is saying. If you’re overly concerned about body image, the fantasy would be not to be. So Lara’s all about that now.
But Clay…he’s still got his six-pack abs and the smoldering gaze of a gorgeous teen vampire.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Winning over Eric and Larry
My writers group has two dudes, Eric and Larry, who weren’t eager to get on board with Fast Lane. The first few times I read pages, they prefaced their comments with, “Well, it’s all right for your audience, but…”
I wondered who they thought my audience was, though I was pretty sure they didn't think it was members of the Association of Female Rocket Scientists.
A Romance Writers of America study revealed that 63% of romance readers have attended college, 21% are college graduates and 10% have attended post graduate programs. The ladies over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books don’t have any stats, but they do have ire to burn.
“I’m not sure when enjoying romance novels became equated with being stupid,” the Smart Bitch called Candy wrote, “but I know it’s a stereotype that’s been kicking around for a long time. Why? Is it the fact that they’re not viewed as being realistic, and that one would have to be stupid to buy into all that nonsense? Is it because a genre this popular could not possibly have any intellectual merit? Or is it something else entirely?”
One website says fantasy and escapism are the elements that make romance novels popular. I don’t have stats or ire, but as someone who leaves his cares behind by putting on a Green Bay Packers shirt every Sunday and watching a football game I can only fantasize about playing in, I can’t really judge anyone else’s intelligence based on participation in escapist activities.
At any rate, Eric and Larry are now riding the bandwagon. After one reading, Larry wrote in the margin Fast Lane had “moved beyond quasi-porn” into “novel material” that requires “worldly experience to understand.”
That was pretty early on. It took Eric a while longer. On page 83, he wrote, “I’m ready for what’s next and believe the reader will be, too.”
Great! But who is that reader?
“You’ve actually got me rooting for Lara and Clay to escape this madness and go off and be happy together forever,” he announced to everyone at the table after I’d finished a section that ended on page 120.
Later, I also saw what he had written in the margin: “I'm such a sap.”
I wondered who they thought my audience was, though I was pretty sure they didn't think it was members of the Association of Female Rocket Scientists.
A Romance Writers of America study revealed that 63% of romance readers have attended college, 21% are college graduates and 10% have attended post graduate programs. The ladies over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books don’t have any stats, but they do have ire to burn.
“I’m not sure when enjoying romance novels became equated with being stupid,” the Smart Bitch called Candy wrote, “but I know it’s a stereotype that’s been kicking around for a long time. Why? Is it the fact that they’re not viewed as being realistic, and that one would have to be stupid to buy into all that nonsense? Is it because a genre this popular could not possibly have any intellectual merit? Or is it something else entirely?”
One website says fantasy and escapism are the elements that make romance novels popular. I don’t have stats or ire, but as someone who leaves his cares behind by putting on a Green Bay Packers shirt every Sunday and watching a football game I can only fantasize about playing in, I can’t really judge anyone else’s intelligence based on participation in escapist activities.
At any rate, Eric and Larry are now riding the bandwagon. After one reading, Larry wrote in the margin Fast Lane had “moved beyond quasi-porn” into “novel material” that requires “worldly experience to understand.”
That was pretty early on. It took Eric a while longer. On page 83, he wrote, “I’m ready for what’s next and believe the reader will be, too.”
Great! But who is that reader?
“You’ve actually got me rooting for Lara and Clay to escape this madness and go off and be happy together forever,” he announced to everyone at the table after I’d finished a section that ended on page 120.
Later, I also saw what he had written in the margin: “I'm such a sap.”
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