The Proper, and Only, Acceptable Use of the term “Pre-Published”

Cornelia Reed, who is subbing on Sarah Weinman’s blog, has a new novel coming out soon from Mysterious Press and talks about it in a post:

So mostly I’m in that pre-published bliss state, where everything about
the book itself is still all potential I haven’t screwed up, and I
think of my editor Kristen Weber as this shining distant goddess, like
how Winston Churchill thought of his mother when he was little.

This is the first time in ages that I’ve seen the term "pre-published" used in a way that doesn’t make me cringe all over.  In my mind, this is an example of the proper, and only, acceptable use of  "pre-published" — i.e. your book has been bought by a publisher and is about to be imminently published. It is not a term that describes an aspiring novelist who dreams of selling his or her book some day.

Sex Ed

Tonight,  my daughter’s elementary school screened for parents the sex education films that they are planning to show fourth graders later this month.  The films were so dated,  so circumspect, and so careful not to say (or illustrate) anything that might possibly offend anybody, that my child is probably better off not seeing them at all. 

She’ll see them…but the information they convey (and I’m being generous here) is so muddled and watered-down by the terrified educators who made them twenty years ago that all the movies will succeed in doing is confusing my daughter instead of informing her.

Did you know that babies "come out of the same special opening that the father used to deliver his semen to the mother?" Where is this special opening? Is it in her arm pit? Perhaps it’s between one of her toes. The movie doesn’t dare say. But they do tell you how important it is to successful reproduction that you have a healthy diet, get plenty of sleep, take frequent showers, and behave responsibly. You also shouldn’t smoke or take drugs.  I’m surprised they forgot to mention the importance of pledging allegiance to the flag.

There were three other movies and, to be fair, the second one mentions the vagina and the penis, but never says the man inserts his penis into the woman’s vagina. Exactly how the sperm gets from the man’s penis to the woman’s uterus is a mystery the films dare not not explore for fear some neanderthal parent might scream "pornography!"

We had one such parent in the audience today. She didn’t scream pornography, but she couldn’t understand why her fourth grader had to "be subjected to all of  this."  To what? I’ve seen anti-persperant commercials that were more explicit about human mating than these so-called educational flms. (That said, it was made clear to the parent, many times, that her child didn’t have to see the movies or take part in the sex education classes).

To be honest, I think these dated,  boring, vague, uninformative films do more harm than good. We want to engage our children, not numb them. If we are going educate our kids, let’s actually educate them instead of intentionally confusing them… let’s give them the facts they need to understand sex and ask their parents the questions that will help them make important decisions in later years.

I know it’s possible for an educational film to do those things… because we saw one tonight. It was a short, animated film about the immune system (we saw it, I suppose, because it touches on AIDS).  Not only was it clear and concise, it  treated the subject with cleverness and humor. It  didn’t pull punches and treated its audience…the kids… with intelligence and respect.  It did all those things because whoever made it wasn’t worried about offending anyone.  How the immune system works isn’t something that gets parents riled up. The subject of AID was dealt with simply and clearly — it’s what happens to the body when the immune system fails. It didn’t discuss unsafe sex or sharing needles or any of that…

Why can’t they make a sex education film that tells children that a baby is concieved through sexual intercourse… when a man puts his penis into a woman and delivers his semen, which is full of sperm and fertilizes the egg?

I know what you’re thinking… "the same reason you had such trouble telling your daughter about sex the first time, dunderhead." Ah yes, but a film can illustrate it so much better than I can explain it… and if my daughter saw a film like that,  it would remove much of her confusion and make it much easier for the two of us to discuss what intercourse means biologically, emotionally, and morally.

In his case, I think  the schools aren’t doing us any favors with their antiquated, and vague, "educational" films.

Fluff You

Carly at the Daily Grind blog takes the writers of a recent NIP/TUCK  episode to task for perpetuating the “fluffer” fantasy and portraying it as an entry-level porn job.
First off, she says, fluffers simply don’t exist… guys tend to, uh, fluff themselves between scenes.

Furthermore, the notion of “having to work your way up” in the industry is absolutely hysterical. If a girl walks into an agency and says, “I’m ready to do a 900-guy anal gangbang with overweight Germans while juggling flaming chainsaws and playing ‘Bark At The Moon’ on the kazoo,” the agent isn’t going to tell her, “I’m sorry, but you have to start out as a fluffer first.” He’s going to get on the phone to JM Productions right away and negotiate a piece of the pie for him or herself….

…So no big deal, scriptwriters, but I had to get that off my chest. We must stop the fluffer madness for the good of the people, for accuracy, and for the sake of entertainment everywhere.

(Thanks to  "Markus1917  in Berlin" for pointing me to this blog)

 

Foul Language

My sister-in-law Wendy wonders on her blog why  romance writers, and readers, have such a hard time with people using cuss words.

So often, romances have a sanitized vibe to them. As though they have been scrubbed clean for the protection of the reader. Well, you know what? My ‘virgin’ eyes don’t need to be protected from foul words because I can cuss colorfully. My mother says I can make a sailor blush—and she’s been saying that since I was thirteen. I don’t buy into the theory that only the uneducated, who can’t stretch for word choice, pepper their speech with profanity. Everyone
I know, and I mean everyone, in my circle of family and friends went to
college and every single one of them cusses (some more liberally than
others). So why don’t characters in romances reflect this? Why don’t they speak like real people?

It’s not just in romances. You wouldn’t believe how many emails I got when someone said "shit" in the first  DIAGNOSIS MURDER book.  One profanity in the whole book and you’d think I’d spent ten pages describing a scene of bestiality…

Blurbs…the sequel

My friend Gregg Hurwitz talks about what it takes to get him to conside giving a book a blurb.  Number two on his list is that author has actually read Gregg’s stuff.

Nothing says
arrogance like an unpublished writer asking me to read his manuscript
who hasn’t bothered to read one of my books.

Even that won’t guarantee Gregg will give you a kudo.

I don’t care if it’s a social novel or a book of lesbian haiku, the first few pages better sing.

Which explains why he wouldn’t blurb my book of Jewish lesbian haiku ("Mazel Love"). I thought it was because my publisher put Dick Van Dyke’s picture on the cover of that book, too.

Martial Law

My friend Paul Guyot pointed me to Doughy White Guys, where the blogger praises the second season of Martial Law, which Bill Rabkin & I wrote and exec-produced. 

I miss that show with Arsenio Hall and the doughy Asian guy. Doughy Asian guys
rock. People who thought that show was foolish – see the thematic tie-in? –
didn’t get that it was a comic book. The writers were good, they knew what the
show was and more importantly what it wasn’t. Well, not the writers from the
first season. That first year was weak, the show wasn’t sure what it was
supposed to be yet.

It’s nice to know that someone besides my wife and my agent got what we were trying to do…

At Least One Guy is Reading POD Books

I found a blog dedicated to reviewing vanity press novels. That’s right, all that PublishAmerica, iUniverse, POD stuff.  And no, some cruel Judge didn’t order him to do it as "community service" to work off an indecent exposure conviction. So how can he endure it?

I expect nothing. And, in fact, I get
nothing the far majority of the time. But every now and then I stumble
across a winner, a book so compelling and well-written that I feel the
need to immediately call my friends and share. And the fruit, my
friends, is that much sweeter.

Writing for Dummies

This book has been out for a while, but I stumbled across it for the first time today while visiting

Romance_for_dummies

the blog Rubis Bleu.  Who knew writing romance was so easy? I’m starting mine today.  (Speaking of which, am I the only one for whom the phrase  "her heaving breasts" conjures images of breasts vomiting or throwing themselves overboard?)

Speaking of Rubis Blue, she posts an example of the kind of email an attentive man ought to leave his lover "the morning after."  To start with, just the notion of sending your lover a morning after email made me feel old. Email didn’t exist when I was dating. And if it did, it would have struck me as an awfully impersonal way of saying how special the previous night had been. Even so…on to her example:

"…and you make those incredibly arousing
whimpering sounds as your body shakes. Then you kiss me hard with this
overflowing passion pressing yourself against me. Especially if I start
out by teasing your lips first, just barely grazing them, flicking them
with my tongue, watching your arms straining against my hand as I hold
you down. Your eyes with that hungry, burning look in them. I felt how
hard your nipples were and how your body trembled. I just wanted to see
you. To slowly pull all of your clothes off. Watch your chest rise and
fall. To feel your thighs, your smooth skin, all the way up. Bite the
insides of your legs while feeling your hips rising under my hand. You
are beautiful. You taste so soft, warm, and sweet. You have no idea how
much I wanted to take you."

I think if I left that note on my wife’s pillow, back in prehistoric times before she was my wife and email didn’t exist, I don’t think it would have aroused her or touched her. I think it would have made her laugh her ass off. 

Then again, maybe I will leave her a note like that. She loves it when I make her laugh.

UPDATE (3/23/05) Sarah Weinman unearthed this wonderful post on the blog "The Sum of Me" about how over-heated sex scenes in romance novels did little to prepare one avid reader for the pleasures, and disappointments, of "real" sex.

In romance novels, it’s not uncommon for the heroine – or hero,
even – to actually faint with pleasure. Like, without the aid of drugs.
Passed out cold because the orgasm was that good.

And then they IMMEDIATELY HAVE SEX AGAIN.

This, apparently, is how you can tell if it’s true love.

This
is also called "fiction" — and reality was a bit of a let-down for a
girl who gobbled up this stuff for years. I think my (rather hilarious)
reaction to the real deal can best be summed up as: "Holy SHIT is that
good stuff, hooo boy." And then a dawning realization and an overall
feeling of – "It IS great. . . but it’s only great? I mean –
plate tectonics never came into play. I’m still conscious. The
bedsheets are not reduced to ashes and no suns have gone supernova,
from what I can tell… are you sure we did it right?"

What Does a Writers Assistant Do?

That was the question posed on screenwriter John August’s lively blog today. He’s got a good answer, and so does his former assistant Rawson Thurber, who went on to write DODGEBALL.

It’ s a smart question to ask, since being a writer’s assistant is a good way to break into the business…which is probably why there is so much competition for the jobs (and why so many applicants are WAY over-qualified).  The pay is crap ($500-a-week), the hours are hell (9 am to as late as, well 9 am), and the work is menial (answering phones, running errands, typing scripts, printing revisions, organizing files, putting revision pages into scripts, etc.)… but the experience is priceless. You learn how a TV show works from the inside. You see how stories are broken. You read lots of scripts… not just the one that are written, and endlessly rewritten, for the show… but the specs that come in clamoring for the showrunner’s attention. You see how freelancers succeed… and how they fail. You see how the producers deal with writers, studio executives, network executives, managers, actors, and everybody else associated with making a show. You make lots of contacts…not just with the writer/producers on the show and the freelancers who come in but, if you are any good at what you do, with the network and studio executives who call the office 178 times a day. If you’re smart, you’ll also hang out with the editors, line producers, script supervisors, directors, assistant directors… hell, everyone… and learn whatever you can about production. A job as a writer’s assistant is a graduate school education in the television… and, in your down time (on the rare occasions when there is some), you can write.  And I know it works. Not only have a lot of showrunners I know started out as writers assistants, most of the our assistants have gone on to become professional screenwriters themselves… one even became a development executive (though I lost track of her years ago).