I know there are plenty of problems with me, this piece, I know there are always people ready to tell you not to write for free, or not to write about X or Y, but so be it. I'm taking life and writing one day at a time. I have so many things I want to write about, or think I want to write about, and lists upon lists upon lists and clearly, this year has taught me that money is not the motivator, success, approval - I turn those away again and again. I'm trying to change my ways on all fronts, truly, to become someone totally different who I can like and admire, because I have not been someone I like or admire for quite a while. Anyway, just a preface that could go on forever. I'm not proud of myself or my behavior or my faults, but I also, especially this month, have realized that ignoring them and not facing them won't make them go away. Maybe nothing will, but sometimes writing, calling yourself out in public, helps. I'm hoping to write about Cheryl's memorial last weekend, which I've been pondering bigtime. So many things it brings up, about her, about how we are perceived and want to be remembered.
Sometimes I just have to remind myself, on the personal and professional fronts, I can't change the past, and every second I wish I could is a wasted second. I can only live in the now, can only try to live up to my ideals, not anyone else's. I wrote on Twitter that so much of 2011 is, for me, trying to tune out the outside noise, and there's a hell of a lot of it. It's all too easy to get caught up in trying to win other people's approval and breaking out of that bad habit has been tough for me, but I know it's vital. I know I have to work on repairing the damage I've done in the last few years and figuring out how I can meet my goals, and what those goals are. Some are clearer than others, but they are getting clearer. The path to them isn't quite yet, but it will be.
"My Do Not Call List" at The Nervous Breakdown
Showing posts with label The Nervous Breakdown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Nervous Breakdown. Show all posts
Why “Nerd Lottery” Winner Andrew Kessler Opened “Monobookist” Bookstore Ed’s Martian Book Stocking 2,500 Copies of His First Book
The other day I gushed over how cool Ed's Martian Book (which I keep wanting to call Ed's Martian Hand, in some misguided Dorian's Red Hand mental transposing) is? Well, I interviewed the Meatball Shop-inspired mastermind behind it, Martian Summer author Andrew Kessler. For The Nervous Breakdown, which makes me crazy nervous to write for. Hope you like it and if so, let people know!
My favorite line is at the end: "When you start thinking of ideas, the one that makes people the most nervous is the one you want."
My favorite line is at the end: "When you start thinking of ideas, the one that makes people the most nervous is the one you want."
3 Reasons I Don't Give Feedback on Rejected Submissions
Read them at The Nervous Breakdown
Recently, I've noticed an uptick in authors asking for a critique of the stories I've rejected from my anthologies. Most of them ask politely, and I send back the shortest reply I can explaining that I have a rule against giving any sort of critique. This latest round of requests made me wonder if perhaps I was being too harsh, but then I realized that there are very good reasons for me to refuse. Here are the top three:
Time
Keep reading at The Nervous Breakdown
Recently, I've noticed an uptick in authors asking for a critique of the stories I've rejected from my anthologies. Most of them ask politely, and I send back the shortest reply I can explaining that I have a rule against giving any sort of critique. This latest round of requests made me wonder if perhaps I was being too harsh, but then I realized that there are very good reasons for me to refuse. Here are the top three:
Time
Keep reading at The Nervous Breakdown
Publicity is surreal, kindof like life
More fodder for my mini memoir...Tuesday is my 7-year job anniversary and 11-year apartment anniversary, and I moved to NYC in August 1996, which I still remember so clearly. I often have little clue how I got here, or even where "here" is and whether I like it or not. I'm reading Ellen Meister's novel The Other Life about a woman who can enter portals and visit herself in her alternative lives, one in which she doesn't have kids, one in which her mother is alive, and the questions it poses are fascinating. I bought it after reading her interview with Susan Henderson at The Nervous Breakdown. Who would we be if we hadn't made the choices we have, and if we were given numerous opportunities to toss away this life in favor for the road not taken, would we seize them? I'm not a character in a novel so I don't spend too much time pondering the paths I didn't take, just trying to make the best of this one. I'm attempting to tell "the" story (really "a" story) of how I got here in a mini memoir that I hope a major company wants to publish...we shall see, like with so many of the things I'm working on. No guarantees, but I'm trying to love the process. If it winds up being for sale, I will be sure to let you know. I'm not holding my breath, but I do hope it gets out there because it's been interesting to work on and try to figure out what I gave up and how I stumbled into doing the various things I do now and tackle things like hate mail, my misconceptions of the idea of what a "sex writer" is and what I love about writing and the creative process.
I snail mailed two stories recently as submissions to Zane's Chocolate Flava 3 anthology, and realizing that I needed to trim words to make the 3,500-word cutoff, and that I was actually really proud of the ways I'd tackled the subject, was a revelation. Lately writing has been, well, largely a chore, a task, a hurdle. Not fun in the least, and if it's all like that, I have to ask myself, why bother? Actually putting in the time and sending off those stories and making sure they were as good as I could make them, and accepting that "as good as I could make them" isn't the same as perfect or even good by anyone else's standards, but is literally the best I could do, made me feel a sliver of what I remember loving about writing.
I still do this horrible thing where I tell myself that what I've written sucks because it's not how someone else would've written it, and that's a self-fulfilling prophecy to never getting anything published right there. It's what I've done umpteen times, and the fact is, no, what I write is not going to be what someone else might've written, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's "better" or "worse." I should know after combing through thousands of stories for my anthologies that it's all subjective. Of course it is, yet that's so easy to forget when I feel doubts. So now I'm trying to just tune out all the other noise and focus on doing the best I can. It's meant cutting out dating and sex (until November0, and to a large degree, cutting way back on my social life and spending a lot of time alone which can be, yes, lonely. But it took me so many years of fucking around and accomplishing very little to realize that the things I want take time to accomplish, that I have to fight and push myself and slog it out to actually be able to be proud of myself. That doesn't happen by trying to go to every event and be supportive of everyone else's art and shove mine into those spare minutes here and there.
I struggle with that because I want more than anything to be a good creative citizen, to share with other people the art that moves me, and I do that, to the best of my ability. But there does come a point, and I think it's exacerbated in a city like New York, where you are pulled in so many directions that it can feel suffocating. It makes me long to move somewhere far, far away, somewhere far, far quieter, to lead a very different kind of life. And maybe if I can ever afford that, I will. I'm slowly starting to fall out of love with New York, certainly with the way I've lived here for most of my time here. This past week my body simply shut down and told me it couldn't hack that lifestyle. So I'm turning more inward and I find that, much as I hate myself a lot of the time, I like myself a good deal of the time, too, and even if I don't, I'm stuck with myself, and instead of turning outward, instead of constantly looking to other people who I think are smarter/cooler/sexier/better than me to give me a little of that validation, I need to find it somewhere inside. And if I can't today, I just have to hope I can work toward being that person who can tomorrow.
I really feel like I left this other person behind when I decided to take this sex and dating sabbatical. It was sortof decided on a whim, but it's not just about my actions, but my thoughts. I left a lot of baggage behind when I made that decision and maybe I should've done it ages ago, but I didn't, and I definitely learned a lot about myself, especially in the last three years of dating. I'm trying not to become a total hermit and still get out and about (theater recommendation: Saving Tania's Privates at NYC's FRIGID Festival - really fucking amazing, bold, hilarious take on having breast cancer, twice) but not feel guilty for turning down any invitations. It's selfish, yes, but it's also the only way I'm going to wake up in the morning and not feel total dread, which is happening less and less, but shouldn't be happening at all.
In the meantime, was very surreal for my great-aunt to say, "I'm sure you saw your blog in The New York Times." Um, no, I hadn't...I really have to laugh, mostly at myself, at the audacity of hiring a publicist and the inane maxim "sex sells" when my cupcake blog, which I do nothing to promote, gets press without us lifting a finger. So yay cupcakes, yay randomness, yay for the surreal, and yay for just keeping on plugging, even on the bad days.
I snail mailed two stories recently as submissions to Zane's Chocolate Flava 3 anthology, and realizing that I needed to trim words to make the 3,500-word cutoff, and that I was actually really proud of the ways I'd tackled the subject, was a revelation. Lately writing has been, well, largely a chore, a task, a hurdle. Not fun in the least, and if it's all like that, I have to ask myself, why bother? Actually putting in the time and sending off those stories and making sure they were as good as I could make them, and accepting that "as good as I could make them" isn't the same as perfect or even good by anyone else's standards, but is literally the best I could do, made me feel a sliver of what I remember loving about writing.
I still do this horrible thing where I tell myself that what I've written sucks because it's not how someone else would've written it, and that's a self-fulfilling prophecy to never getting anything published right there. It's what I've done umpteen times, and the fact is, no, what I write is not going to be what someone else might've written, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's "better" or "worse." I should know after combing through thousands of stories for my anthologies that it's all subjective. Of course it is, yet that's so easy to forget when I feel doubts. So now I'm trying to just tune out all the other noise and focus on doing the best I can. It's meant cutting out dating and sex (until November0, and to a large degree, cutting way back on my social life and spending a lot of time alone which can be, yes, lonely. But it took me so many years of fucking around and accomplishing very little to realize that the things I want take time to accomplish, that I have to fight and push myself and slog it out to actually be able to be proud of myself. That doesn't happen by trying to go to every event and be supportive of everyone else's art and shove mine into those spare minutes here and there.
I struggle with that because I want more than anything to be a good creative citizen, to share with other people the art that moves me, and I do that, to the best of my ability. But there does come a point, and I think it's exacerbated in a city like New York, where you are pulled in so many directions that it can feel suffocating. It makes me long to move somewhere far, far away, somewhere far, far quieter, to lead a very different kind of life. And maybe if I can ever afford that, I will. I'm slowly starting to fall out of love with New York, certainly with the way I've lived here for most of my time here. This past week my body simply shut down and told me it couldn't hack that lifestyle. So I'm turning more inward and I find that, much as I hate myself a lot of the time, I like myself a good deal of the time, too, and even if I don't, I'm stuck with myself, and instead of turning outward, instead of constantly looking to other people who I think are smarter/cooler/sexier/better than me to give me a little of that validation, I need to find it somewhere inside. And if I can't today, I just have to hope I can work toward being that person who can tomorrow.
I really feel like I left this other person behind when I decided to take this sex and dating sabbatical. It was sortof decided on a whim, but it's not just about my actions, but my thoughts. I left a lot of baggage behind when I made that decision and maybe I should've done it ages ago, but I didn't, and I definitely learned a lot about myself, especially in the last three years of dating. I'm trying not to become a total hermit and still get out and about (theater recommendation: Saving Tania's Privates at NYC's FRIGID Festival - really fucking amazing, bold, hilarious take on having breast cancer, twice) but not feel guilty for turning down any invitations. It's selfish, yes, but it's also the only way I'm going to wake up in the morning and not feel total dread, which is happening less and less, but shouldn't be happening at all.
In the meantime, was very surreal for my great-aunt to say, "I'm sure you saw your blog in The New York Times." Um, no, I hadn't...I really have to laugh, mostly at myself, at the audacity of hiring a publicist and the inane maxim "sex sells" when my cupcake blog, which I do nothing to promote, gets press without us lifting a finger. So yay cupcakes, yay randomness, yay for the surreal, and yay for just keeping on plugging, even on the bad days.
When "impossible" isn't just in quotes, but in your head
I blogged about my “Six Impossible Things Before 2012,” my version of New Year’s resolutions, but really ongoing, day-to-day life tasks that normal people seem to have accomplished, like not bouncing checks, that I haven’t mastered yet. I didn't title it that way, but in my head, "impossible" was in quotes, because if I truly believed those tasks were impossible, I wouldn't have set them for myself. They are fucking hard, is what they are, they often seem/feel impossible, but they are not truly impossible. I am so good at dooming myself to the worst case scenario that I forget that some people actually look to themselves to step up and create their own best case scenario, no matter how bad their present one is. I want to be like those people. This is a case where obviously actions speak louder than words; see the last paragraph of my essay, linked below. Do It Anyway indeed.
For my second piece at The Nervous Breakdown, "No Sugar in My Bowl, No $1,000 in My Pocket: The Art of Self-Sabotage," I wrote long (too long perhaps) about what happens when “impossible” is not in quotes, but when you self-sabotage yourself into impossibility. I tend to do it with the big pricey things—law school, big anthologies, while meanwhile, yes, writing for free or cheap, I’m totally there. I have many problems and I’m trying to own up to them and be a better person. Not there yet, but baby steps.
For my second piece at The Nervous Breakdown, "No Sugar in My Bowl, No $1,000 in My Pocket: The Art of Self-Sabotage," I wrote long (too long perhaps) about what happens when “impossible” is not in quotes, but when you self-sabotage yourself into impossibility. I tend to do it with the big pricey things—law school, big anthologies, while meanwhile, yes, writing for free or cheap, I’m totally there. I have many problems and I’m trying to own up to them and be a better person. Not there yet, but baby steps.
Sex column: "The Nonconsensual Play Party Voyeur" and vain attempt at catchup
I clearly don't have much time to update this blog - not sure if/when that will change but you can keep up to date by becoming my fan on Facebook, where I post articles I've written and news mentions. You can also keep up with me daily on Twitter (@raquelita) and Tumblr, where I also offer free books to Amazon reviewers when they're out (right now I am looking for 20 reviewers for the extremely hot Best Bondage Erotica 2011 - click here for details, until that link is no longer active and I've gotten all my reviewers lined up, that book comes out in November, just in time for my 35th birthday).
My latest Secrets of a Sex Writer column is called The Nonconsensual Play Party Voyeur.
When I was in my mid-twenties and just starting to discover my kinkiness, I went to a lot of play parties. I was never much of a participant, but I liked being a voyeur, seeing the things I’d previously only read about come to life right before me. I could watch someone—not porn stars, just regular people—get punched, spanked, flogged, whipped, tickled, teased, tortured, fisted, live and in person.
Attending events taught me there was a community of fellow perverts who were into some of the same things I was, and even if we didn’t share a specific kink, there was a commonality of spirit. I liked the rules that went along with BDSM, the mantra of “safe, sane and consensual.” That made complete sense to me.
Over the past few years, I’ve shied away from public sex or play parties because I prefer my bouts of limited exhibitionism to take place in other arenas. Recently, though, I found myself at a party I hadn’t consented to attend—I hadn’t even known it was a play party.
I can’t reveal too much about the logistics or specifics, but I can say that because I wasn’t prepared, I felt not only out of place, but extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t have a date, which I don’t mind, but I couldn’t relax. I was surrounded by complete strangers and had to wait to get a ride in order to leave. I felt trapped.
Read the whole thing at SexIs Magazine.
I wrote about the big new national sex survey and quoted Debby Herbenick, PhD, and author of Because if Feels Good, at Lemondrop, where I wrote about my tattoo (and garnered 344 comments, none of which I've read, because I'm smart like that).
I have two very exciting interviews coming up at Lemondrop, so stay tuned, and will soon be writing for the must-read site, The Nervous Breakdown, whose book club I also highly recommend (first two picks were Room by Emma Donoghue and Exley by Brock Clarke). It's $9.99 a month in the U.S. and books arrive at your door, along with, at times, bonus books, like the Merge Records history. Presents in the mail and intelligent discussion about them and unexpected literary treasures? Do check it out.
My 2010 IPPY Gold Award winning book Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories (click to watch sexy SoHo Grand-shot champagne, lingerie and kissing book trailer and read TOC and intro) was given a shoutout in Canada's Globe and Mail as a good book to read for those who want to talk dirty. I concur! From the piece:
Your boyfriend has (like many men) never fully expounded on what it is he wants? Divert. Pick up an anthology of erotica. Suggestions: Do Not Disturb, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel; Lips Like Sugar, edited by Violet Blue or Russell Smith’s collection Diana: A Diary in the Second Person. Propose story time and read aloud to your paramour. Note carefully what each of you responds to. Even if you do not get to the end of the story, you may want to keep your librarian glasses on.
Erotica gives you a script. You did not invent this naughty story; you are merely one of its players. Talking dirty makes for role-play. And role-play? Ms. Rosenblat says: “Once you are in character, it is the perfect way for women to give feedback. Then he feels like a porn star and she gets the sex she wants.”
My reading series In The Flesh ends December 16th with a blowout event. The next reading is October 21st, Orgasm Night, with 5 (yes, 5!) readers from all over the country from my book Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women plus authors I'm so lucky to have and you will not want to miss! See the site for full lineup. Also mark your calendars: I'm having a public 35th birthday celebration and Passion: Erotic Romance for Women reading, again with authors coming in from Berkeley and Washington, DC (aka, not people you can see here all the time). That, along with free cupcakes, happens November 11th at 7 pm at Word, 126 Franklin Avenue, Greenpoint, Brooklyn, right off the G train.
Look for Passion ads in the November issue of Romance Writers Report (for the Romance Writers of America authors reading this) and on the sites Romance Divas and Smart Bitches Trashy Books. I need bloggers for the virtual book tour in November - you get an assigned day in November and in exchange you get a free book and write about it on that day. Email passionateantho at gmail.com with your URL and mailing address! The sexy kissing book trailer will be out soon too.
My calls for submissions page has now been updated to reflect the calls for the 2011 collections Women in Lust, a couples erotica anthology and Going Down: Oral Sex Erotica. My 2012 calls will be coming soon.
And October 16-17 I will be walking 39 miles in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Wish me luck! Click on that link if you'd like to donate.
This is what happens when I don't blog for a while. Ha! I'm working on not making promises or plans I can't keep, so again, use the links above to find me, and I occasionally post photos from my iPhone to Flickr. Like this one from when I was sitting at a Starbucks in Burbank and saw the Los Angeles Times folded to reveal this:
My latest Secrets of a Sex Writer column is called The Nonconsensual Play Party Voyeur.
When I was in my mid-twenties and just starting to discover my kinkiness, I went to a lot of play parties. I was never much of a participant, but I liked being a voyeur, seeing the things I’d previously only read about come to life right before me. I could watch someone—not porn stars, just regular people—get punched, spanked, flogged, whipped, tickled, teased, tortured, fisted, live and in person.
Attending events taught me there was a community of fellow perverts who were into some of the same things I was, and even if we didn’t share a specific kink, there was a commonality of spirit. I liked the rules that went along with BDSM, the mantra of “safe, sane and consensual.” That made complete sense to me.
Over the past few years, I’ve shied away from public sex or play parties because I prefer my bouts of limited exhibitionism to take place in other arenas. Recently, though, I found myself at a party I hadn’t consented to attend—I hadn’t even known it was a play party.
I can’t reveal too much about the logistics or specifics, but I can say that because I wasn’t prepared, I felt not only out of place, but extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t have a date, which I don’t mind, but I couldn’t relax. I was surrounded by complete strangers and had to wait to get a ride in order to leave. I felt trapped.
Read the whole thing at SexIs Magazine.
I wrote about the big new national sex survey and quoted Debby Herbenick, PhD, and author of Because if Feels Good, at Lemondrop, where I wrote about my tattoo (and garnered 344 comments, none of which I've read, because I'm smart like that).
I have two very exciting interviews coming up at Lemondrop, so stay tuned, and will soon be writing for the must-read site, The Nervous Breakdown, whose book club I also highly recommend (first two picks were Room by Emma Donoghue and Exley by Brock Clarke). It's $9.99 a month in the U.S. and books arrive at your door, along with, at times, bonus books, like the Merge Records history. Presents in the mail and intelligent discussion about them and unexpected literary treasures? Do check it out.
My 2010 IPPY Gold Award winning book Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories (click to watch sexy SoHo Grand-shot champagne, lingerie and kissing book trailer and read TOC and intro) was given a shoutout in Canada's Globe and Mail as a good book to read for those who want to talk dirty. I concur! From the piece:
Your boyfriend has (like many men) never fully expounded on what it is he wants? Divert. Pick up an anthology of erotica. Suggestions: Do Not Disturb, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel; Lips Like Sugar, edited by Violet Blue or Russell Smith’s collection Diana: A Diary in the Second Person. Propose story time and read aloud to your paramour. Note carefully what each of you responds to. Even if you do not get to the end of the story, you may want to keep your librarian glasses on.
Erotica gives you a script. You did not invent this naughty story; you are merely one of its players. Talking dirty makes for role-play. And role-play? Ms. Rosenblat says: “Once you are in character, it is the perfect way for women to give feedback. Then he feels like a porn star and she gets the sex she wants.”
My reading series In The Flesh ends December 16th with a blowout event. The next reading is October 21st, Orgasm Night, with 5 (yes, 5!) readers from all over the country from my book Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women plus authors I'm so lucky to have and you will not want to miss! See the site for full lineup. Also mark your calendars: I'm having a public 35th birthday celebration and Passion: Erotic Romance for Women reading, again with authors coming in from Berkeley and Washington, DC (aka, not people you can see here all the time). That, along with free cupcakes, happens November 11th at 7 pm at Word, 126 Franklin Avenue, Greenpoint, Brooklyn, right off the G train.
Look for Passion ads in the November issue of Romance Writers Report (for the Romance Writers of America authors reading this) and on the sites Romance Divas and Smart Bitches Trashy Books. I need bloggers for the virtual book tour in November - you get an assigned day in November and in exchange you get a free book and write about it on that day. Email passionateantho at gmail.com with your URL and mailing address! The sexy kissing book trailer will be out soon too.
My calls for submissions page has now been updated to reflect the calls for the 2011 collections Women in Lust, a couples erotica anthology and Going Down: Oral Sex Erotica. My 2012 calls will be coming soon.
And October 16-17 I will be walking 39 miles in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Wish me luck! Click on that link if you'd like to donate.
This is what happens when I don't blog for a while. Ha! I'm working on not making promises or plans I can't keep, so again, use the links above to find me, and I occasionally post photos from my iPhone to Flickr. Like this one from when I was sitting at a Starbucks in Burbank and saw the Los Angeles Times folded to reveal this:
