Sex and the Sequel by Tina

Dana Stabenow, author of the extraordinary Kate Shugak mystery series, asked her readers an interesting question recently about their literary preferences (well, two questions, one subject, which you can find here).

How much sex is too little? How much sex is too much?

My own main character, Tai, is an adult woman of various robust appetites, several of them related to my other main character, Trey, who is a grown-up man with equally red-blooded ideas about the kinds of things two consenting adults can do for fun. Granted, they don’t do much about their mutual attraction in the first book. Oh, there’s a kiss, and they do make some very specific carnal plans, but they don’t end up in bed until maybe fifteen minutes after The End of the book.

But they do end up in bed, oh yes. Just in case you were wondering.

So here I am writing Book Two, which opens with the same characters, only now they’re officially a couple. There is some contention about what that particular designation means, some pondering and awkwardness, but one thing is for certain — they’re having sex. Lots of sex. There’s no more will-they-or-won’t-they for Trey and Tai. It’s all why-yes-I-absolutely-will from this point on.

Which works for me. Writing the sexual tension of a real couple in real relationship is a fascinating creative endeavor. It’s dynamic, it’s fertile, it’s revealing. My novels are traditional mysteries, but the emotional struggles of my characters run in parallel currents to the whodunit. Tai and Trey solve the crimes and save the day, yes, but they grow and change as they do it. And their sexual life together is an important part of this growth.

I’ll confess — I write every sex scene these two people share. For example, in The Dangerous Edge of Things, after Trey and Tai are interrupted in the middle of a long overdue kiss by Trey’s ringing phone, which turns out to be a summons he can’t ignore, he tells the caller, “Give me twenty . . . no, thirty minutes.” The line makes it into the book, even if what Trey does with that extra ten minutes does not.

But I know. Of course I know — authors are the ultimate voyeurs. We have an all-access pass to our characters‘ lives. And it’s important that I see these two in bed, that I make space for their sex life to exist in the universe of this series, even if those scenes don’t get a play-by-play in the book.

So here’s my pondering — while peeking into the bedroom is crucial for me as a writer, how important is it to you as a reader?  Do you want to see characters getting it on, or do you prefer the slow fade to the fluttering curtains?

Share share, please. I am rabidly curious.

* Photo Credit to Rutty on Flickr through a Creative Commons License.

Tina's Review of Douglas Corleone's NIGHT ON FIRE

The beach read — it’s a genre unto itself. For me, such a book must be exotic, intriguing, and smart, with real dilemmas and high stakes. I prefer mysteries, especially those with elements of romance and humor, not madcap, just funny like life is funny, in that you-either-gotta-laugh-or-cry way. And I like characters that I can care about, people who are frustrating and decent in equal measure, people who try and want and fail and try again.

Bonus points if the book has an actual beach in it.

I am delighted to report that Douglas Corleone’s NIGHT ON FIRE qualifies on all counts. It’s the second in this series featuring defense attorney Kevin Corvelli, a former New Yorker who does what a lot of us dream about — he moves his practice to Hawaii. Of course he does it to escape a lot of unwanted attention and personal tragedy. Of course all the trouble follows him right into paradise.

In NIGHT ON FIRE, this particular trouble comes in the form of a dangerously seductive woman who might or might not be a murdering arsonist. Kevin knows better than to get involved . . . but I’m giving nothing away to let you know that he gets involved anyway, and not just professionally either. Soon he’s over his head — woman troubles, kid troubles, co-worker troubles, client troubles, somebody-trying-to-kill-him troubles. It’s hot in Hawaii, and getting hotter.

The plot ricochets from crime to crime and criminal to criminal (including one of the creepiest firebugs I’ve ever met — I’m getting the heebie-jeebies thinking about him). Arson, murder, theft, adultery — every flavor of vice, and every one of the seven deadly sins. It’s a roller coaster ride with fireworks and the ever-present possibility of a loose rail, so be warned. The atmosphere is flavored with a tourist’s dream of Hawaii, but leavened with a resident’s knowledge of its mundane realities from the weather patterns to the traffic annoyances. The supporting cast is strong — three dimensional and free from the annoying quirkiness that often substitutes for characterization in some crime fiction. Corleone doesn’t just assemble a bag of personality eccentricities and call it a character. His people are fully realized, not just plot points. I especially enjoyed the scenes with Turi, Corvelli’s happy-go-lucky small-time drug dealer client. The scenes with him in it felt like eavesdropping.

But the main reason I enjoyed this book so much is the main character, Kevin Corvelli. He’s the kind of guy I want really bad to dislike — bigheaded, reckless, a money-where-his-mouth-is hotshot — but because of his immense charm and often painful awareness of his own flaws, I can’t resist him. In this book we get to see his decent and caring side too (even if it’s a reluctant and grumpy decency). I’ve read in interviews that Corleone has woven a lot of himself in his fictional protagonist, supersizing his own qualities for the story’s sake. If that’s the case, then I hope Corleone’s life continues to give him inspiration for Kevin’s adventures. They make an excellent team.

Grab some sunscreen, mix up some mai tais, and pick up NIGHT ON FIRE. Plan on diving in and staying a while. It’s fast-paced, sharply plotted, smart but not smarty-pants, and there’s real heart at the center. I’m looking forward to my next outing in Kevin Corvelli’s Hawaii.

*         *         *         *         *         *         *

DOUGLAS CORLEONE is the author of the Kevin Corvelli crime series published by St. Martin's Minotaur.  His debut novel ONE MAN'S PARADISE won the 2009 Minotaur Books/Mystery Writers of America First Crime Novel Award.  A former New York City criminal defense attorney, Douglas Corleone now resides in the Hawaiian Islands with his wife and son.  NIGHT ON FIRE is his second novel.

You can find NIGHT ON FIRE at your local bookstore or through Amazon.com (find a buying link here). You can read more about Douglas Corleone and this award-winning crime series at http://www.douglascorleone.com.

Minutes from The Mojito Literary Society meeting

These are the official minutes of the first official meeting of the official Mojito Literary Society, ascribed this day April 18, 2011. A Monday. Waning Moon in Virgo. Barometric pressure falling.

FRIDAY: Tina arrives at the official MLS Safe House -- The Casa de Sucre y Rum -- to perform the necessary ablutions and also some laundry. She also doublechecks to make sure that there is mint, sugar, sparkling water, and limes. Susanna arrives. There is much rejoicing and sharing of gifts, then much exclaiming over one another's exquisite taste and bounteous generosity. Tina doublechecks to make sure Susanna has rum.

Rum. Check.

Laura arrives. There is much exclaiming over her ethereal beauty and lovely dress. The traditional mutual admiration portion of the evening follows -- yes yes, we are all literary geniuses! Mwah! -- at which point Laura opens the white chocolate macadamia cookies. There is much rejoicing. 

Nom nom nom.

The rights of copyright are established for a television reality series tentatively entitled "Stop Talking: You're Ill." You did not hear about this here. And then the principals retire for the evening to their respective abodes.

SATURDAY: Susanna and Tina prepare for Katrina's arrival. They sleep, then sleep some more. Then they drink champagne from the bottle whilst standing around in their nightwear and watching the neighbors' backyard wedding from the patio.

Correction: They did not drink champagne from the bottle. They made mimosas in pretty crystal stemware. Really they did. The former is an outrageous rumor perpetrated by a certain disgruntled wedding party. Except for the standing around in the nightwear part, which has documentary evidence. They cop to that part.

Katrina arrives. She brings tortilla chips with no soy, no wheat, no dairy,and no cucumbers. Also she brings poetry, and a petite watermelon. There is much rejoicing and name dropping and general acclaim as to her overall wonderfulness.

The MLS must divide and conquer at this juncture. Laura, Susanna, and Tina engage the services of a local spa facility. There is a steam room. No, we are not going to tell you what we talked about in the steam room. Katrina held down the fort at the Casa -- no fires, hurricanes, or tornadoes, nor did she feel the need to even leave the house. It was a judgment call on her part, but after careful discussion, the MLS quorum voted to approve her decision with full approbation.

Here, here.

The MLS regrouped at our marsh outpost -- Casa de Laura y Joel. Even though a kayak approach is often recommended, we chose to use the Truman and a stick-shift Saturn for this particular rendezvous. There was garlic cheese and other savory goodies, and of course, fine handmade watermelon mojitos crafted by Joel himself. Prosecco with raspberries and blackberries and strawberries to follow and fig-filled cookies. To which all the members went damn! And then fell upon the repast.

There was much more rejoicing. 'Cause, I mean. Damn.

Then there was much praising of Joel, whom all members agreed was extremely talented in all relevant areas and much gorgeous and smart to boot, and they immediately tendered an offer of MLS membership on the spot.

NOTED: Tina would like the record to reflect that the MLS members offered this praise freely, and would have done so even if Joel had not referred to us as "goddesses." But he did. Which Tina would also like duly noted.

Then there was the offering of the Monty Python dramatic tributes. Then we watched the moon come up. Big fat buttermilk moon. Following of course the smashing of the peppermint pink pig and reading of the proclamation of happiness, prosperity, and good fortune. Mazel tov!

SUNDAY: Sleeping, meditating, writing. And then more of the same. More name dropping ensued, some of which involved Twitter and Pablo Neruda and handsy celebrity poets of various stripes. And then plans were made for the next meeting, which will be in a villa in Cozumel. Or Mozatlan. You get the idea. Said meeting will be financed through means that we are not going to tell you about because you should have been paying attention, especially during the steampunk part (which a certified engineer proclaimed doable, really he did).

That is all.

We know. We wish you'd been there too.

Review-Nearly Departed in Deadwood

You gotta’ love a book that starts out with the words, The first time I came to Deadwood I got shot in the ass. Yes,sirree, heroine and single mother, Violet Parker, has her work cut out for her selling real estate in Deadwood, South Dakota while worrying that, with little girls vanishing, something might happen to her own children, especially daughter, Addy. Never mind she also has to deal with a co-worker trying to get her fired and a secret admirer sending her daisies and creepy love poems. You’ll laugh out loud as this overwhelmed sleuth tries to discover who is abducting children while dealing with a daughter who keeps placing want ads for her mother’s next potential husband, drooling over two delectable men and having a weekly repast with a crotchety old man.

And just think, the sequel is out next week! Enjoy this fast read with a Mint Julep. It’s getting close to Derby time.

Bobbye's Recommended Reads

Today I'm recommending science fiction reads in a number of different forms.


I don't know what I expected but I didn't expect this. Graham has written a unique and thought-provoking series of short stories. They're full of emotion, yet fun to read. I love the "programmer" touch but agree you don't have to be tech savvy to enjoy these. I am a biopunk/cyberpunk writer myself writing as Daryn Cross, so I'd recommend these to readers of the genre, but I believe they transcend all genres and can be enjoyed by a large number of people.



A war against the Darch has raged for years, and humanity is on the verge of extinction. Scientists have created biomechs to supplement as warriors, but it’s just a temporary fix on what appears an insurmountable problem. One desperate scientist injects JXS241, a biomech warrior, with what he hopes is the solution for mankind’s survival. But the biomech is captured by the enemy.
Raven Nirvanni survives on the fringes of a shattered culture. While on a self-imposed suicide mission to annihilate an enemy destroyer, she encounters the imprisoned biomech. Deciding the fate of humanity far outweighs the destruction of a single ship, she recues him and decides to ensure he reaches his destination.
With the enemy anticipating their every move, Raven is completely taken aback when she realizes she’s falling for JXS241. But can she really love a machine? And if so, can he reciprocate?


Captain Temesia Elysse has just steered her ship through almost certain death. With the help of her gifted crew, the Dark Nest has survived. Her newly evolved psychic people are targets of Homeworld genocide. Hundreds have been killed aboard the Light Nest. Back on Homeworld soil, her people are being hunted. Her lover may be dead, the gifted teacher Reyn Wolfe. It will take all Captain Elysse's restraint, with vast new psychic powers available to her and her people, not to let her infamous temper get ahead of her. But there must be a rescue mission for those still alive. And there must be justice. There will be a reckoning. And the Homeworld council has no idea their persecuted victims are alive, or just how powerful they’ve become.

Determination

De-ter-mi-na-tion [dih-tur-muh-ney-shuhn]
1. the act of coming to a decision or of fixing or settling a purpose.
2. the quality of being resolute; firmness of purpose.
3. a fixed purpose or intention: It is my determination to suppress vice.
4. fixed direction or tendency toward some object or end.

"Okay, what is she up to today?" you ask. Just what it looks like. I finished writing a blog for Writers Fun Zone a couple of days ago and it really got me to thinking about my purpose and writing career. So here’s the question posed to you today. How much determination do you have?

Now, without giving anything away (feel free to read the blog at www.writersfunzone.com, posted Thursday, March 10, 2011), there are a lot of factors that go into being prolific and for being a success as well. Of course, quality of the writing is one important factor in whether or not a writer does become successful at selling books; but, how much does determination control direction and result?

I believe it has everything to do with it. You can be the best writer in the world, but if you lack the drive to sit in your chair to get a complete work on paper it doesn’t mean a thing. You may how to do something, but if you don’t do it, who cares? Calvin Coolidge said it better than I do: “Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race”

I guess what I’m saying is, to me, determination is more than fixed direction or firmness of purpose. It is the drive that continues to the finish line. My mother used to say I was the most determined person she’d ever met. She said she didn’t know anyone who could look at herself in the mirror, and seeing brown hair and blue eyes, say, “My hair will be red and eyes will be green.” Okay, so that did happen, though I’m sure my hair was really auburn and just got lighter (without Mother Clairol at that time) and my eyes had some green and just got brighter. But the point is made. You have to be driven and focused and that all comes back to determination.

So buckle up! What are you going to achieve today?

My friend Tina has written the worst mystery ever

Why THE DANGEROUS EDGE OF THINGS is the worst mystery I've ever read. A poignant and touching book review by Rosanna, Susanna's evil (and less intelligent) twin.

For starters, the main character, Tai, owns a gun shop and previously gave ghost tours in Savannah. Then when her brother is a suspect in a murder, she starts her own investigation (okay, as a twenty year resident of Atlanta, I understand why you might want to investigate things yourself…so she gets credit for that. But I’m telling you, this book sucks.) My point is: what kind of protagonist is this? I want humorless, hard-boiled types with commitment problems and all sorts of neurosis. And besides, a fictional southern chick who isn’t oversexed or emotionally fragile or hasn’t an unhealthy dependency on rich older men is just weird. Tai isn’t stereotypical, I just can’t handle that. This isn’t safe. Anything could happen in this mystery. Completely unpredictable.

But worst of all is Trey, the supposed badass security expert. Fine, I’ll concede the hot looks and a Ferrari have their appeal, but from the description, I was given to believe that Trey possessed supernatural powers allowing him to perceive when people were lying. I thought this was so cool, because I love hot heroes who couldn’t possibly exist in real world, like vampires or werewolves. But then Tina goes and explains the specific parts of Trey’s brain that have been damaged, giving him this odd ability to detect lies (and he is not 100% accurate with it either. What the hell? There’s that damn unpredictable element again) , but leaving him with a nasty identity crisis. This sounds a little too close to reality for my tastes.

To illustrate my points, I have chosen this terrible passage:

I smiled up at him. “You’re Mr. Seaver,” I said. “And you’re kind of relentless, anybody ever tell you that?”

He didn’t reply. His eyes were blue, startlingly so, and he directed them like x-rays. The bartender pretended to be engrossed in mashing up mint leaves, but his ears pricked our way. I lowered my voice.

“Look, I know you’re watching me, so just do me the courtesy of admitting it, all right?”

After the slightest hesitation, he nodded once, crisply.

I smiled wider. “See how easy that was? Now we can be friends.” I patted the stool beside me. “Would you like to sit down, maybe have a drink? I’m putting everything on somebody else’s tab tonight.”

He shook his head. “I don’t drink. Except for water. And hot tea.”

“Water like in ice water.”

“Water like in Pellegrino.”

What kind of badass drinks tea and Pellegrino? Suck some blood perhaps, but fizzy water? Quick, I must grab some Charlaine Harris. I’m feeling a bit dizzy.

And another thing: the plot! Good heavens, it’s filled with all sorts of twists and turns. I couldn’t keep up. All these characters keep showing up and they’re, you know, different. A bisexual African American best friend, a Hispanic stripper and a new age healer. Look, I live in Atlanta and just because I see these people every day, they have no place in a mystery. No place at all!

Another example from Tai’s friend Rico - -the bisexual African American one.

Rico’s voice was serious. “This is deep shit you’re talking. You called a lawyer, right? Doesn’t your brother work for some fancy people who know a fancy lawyer.”

I made a noise. “Don’t worry about Eric, he’s good at covering his ass.”

“We’re not talking about his ass, sweetie. That’s your ass up there on 11 Alive News at Ten.”

“I didn’t even know this girl!”

Rico snorted. “Like the APD care. They got prostitutes to push, drug cartels to run –“

“This is ridiculous.”

“So say all the suspects.”

“Rico!”

“I’m for real! And don’t think for a second they’re not looking at that assload of weapons you inherited.”

I probably shouldn’t have included that passage. It’s a bit suspenseful and might make you want to read this book. So, let me assure you the book’s ending is awful. I didn’t see it coming. I hate surprises. I don’t care that Tina showed how it all worked. Yeah, it made perfect sense in retrospect. And the worst thing, (and this is a tiny spoiler…although I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you that, because you aren’t going to read this book anyway) the murderer is not a psycho killer!!! Look, aside from real statistical evidence, isn’t every murderer a psycho? Tina doesn’t even include one of those creepy first person monologues in the murder’s voice, you know, like in EVERY mystery book. I just don’t understand how she got those starred reviews in Kirkus Review and Publishers Weekly for this piece of claptrap. They say it’s well-written, but I’ll let you judge for yourself by including the following crappy passage:

I remembered Piedmont Park from the previous summer, when Rico and I had watched Casablanca one midsummer night, blanket to blanket with the soccer mom/buff gay guy demographic, drinking moscato straight from the bottle. At that time, barely a month had passed since Mom’s death, and I remembered feeling like I was in an overturned fishbowl, separate from the rest of the city. Every sensual detail had been as rich and distinct as an oil painting – the hazy islands of candlelight around us, the smell of crushed grass, the latent heat.

See what I mean. And they say Tina teaches writing classes.

So, in conclusion, if you want a mystery that supposedly makes logical sense and is solved by “real” people, you might like this book. My twin sister, Susanna, thinks the book is amazing. She keeps going on about great characters, witty dialogue, awesome pacing, and smart plotting. But she's an "intellectual." For me, I prefer psycho werewolf paranormal shape shifting fairy killers that I can spot from the first page and cozy secondary characters that are comfortably predictable in their quirkiness.