Monday, 15 December 2008


Since I first had a book published I’ve been working my behind off to promote myself and my work and a large part of that has been networking. Once upon a time social networking was being charming to people at a cocktail party, but life is more random (and, some would argue, less glamorous) these days and the world of networking has the emphasis firmly on the ‘net’ now.

First on my list was Myspace. Apparently it’s the site de-rigeur for the teen generation, but I have to admit it falls somewhat short of my expectations. A clonky interface, complex to navigate, constantly having to sign in again and it’s hard to find people you know. I have an account, but I hate having to check it and rarely update my blog on there.

Secondly was the obvious choice as far as I was concerned: Facebook. I love Facebook, have used it before and set up a writing-specific account within moments. Since then I’ve had fun logging in and adding all sorts of whojits and gadgets to suit my use. Possibly my favourite so far is their blog-following widget, which does exactly as it says on the tin.

I’m not sure if blogging can be rightly called social networking, especially since I’m having trouble finding other, similar blogs, or even getting people to comment on here! Still, I suppose it gets me out there, somewhere…

Manic Readers is a more specific site, but so far I’m finding it excellent as a promotional tool and great fun to update, too. I can add my books, links, bio and free reads to my ‘author page’ as well as photos and audio clips. It does reviews, interviews and other fun, writerly things – I love it!

I’m still getting the hang of this networking malarkey. I do wonder how many people on Facebook got offended when a slutty erotic author added them as a ‘friend’ out of the blue, but that’s not really my problem – they can always hit ‘ignore’! I’m always looking for new friends, buddies or fans, however, so why not hunt me down on a networking site and add me in – I very rarely hit ‘ignore’…

Thursday, 11 December 2008

Keeping Up

The last week or so I've set myself a target of one thousand words per day. I actually managed to stick to it, too, for several days, but real life gets in the way. Occasionally you run out of time or out of energy or out of inspiration. Today it's energy - my thoughts are sticky and trickle like tar, each sentence is a struggle, each word a triumph as I grasp it--slipping away like a wet soap in the bath. And yet...yet the urge to write is still there, still as strong and vital as ever. I need to communicate, to set my thoughts down in black and white words. Even when thoughts trip through my mind I am forced to transmute them into deathless prose, changing a brief spurt of annoyance into a mental rant worthy of the stage. Every thing I say, every thought I think is subject to this translation--moving from the spoken to the written form.

I heard once, I think it was in Sister Act of all things, that if you wake up and you can think of nothing but writing, and you go through your day and can think of nothing but writing, and you go to sleep still thinking only of writing, then you are a writer. I cling to that some days, when I struggle with the act of writing, or people don't seem to be paying attention to what I write. Every day I am a writer, because I can think of nothing but writing.

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

What's In A Name?

My career as an erotic author commenced only after discovering a nifty little website called Literotica, a free erotic reads site that encouraged authors to submit their own writing. In the early years of my acquaintance with this site I must have read hundreds and hundreds of different stories by different authors, so I'd count myself a minor authority on the topic about which I am going to rant.

Why oh why oh why can't erotic authors pick *normal* names for their characters?

I mean, this is a flaw that occurs in non-erotic writing too, but it seems to be far worse in erotica. I suspect it's due to some obligation the author feels to make their character 'sexy' and 'unusual', perhaps thinking that a Tom or an Alice can't possibly get involved in sexual misadventure.

Personally I think this is a load of old, smelly tripe. The whole point of erotica is that the author wants the reader to connect with the story and the characters--to see the situation and the people as realistic as far as they possibly can, because shortly you could be about to get them involved in some marginally unrealistically mind-blowing sex.

I hate picking names for my characters, but when I do I try to make them as normal as possible--Natalie, Andrew, Melissa, Richard, Katie, Alistair--names one would come across in everyday life. I refuse to provide examples of some of the sillier names I've seen in erotic writing, because I don't want this to get personal with any one author and made-up names are, by their very nature, easily recognisable and identifiable.

Just one more thing that occurs to me -- perhaps this is a cross-Atlantic thing again. I have noticed that Americans tend to go in for slightly more unusual names than we English. The use of boys' names for girls, surnames for boys' first names and so forth. I'd like to think that this is all it was-- a cultural clash between English and American, but somehow I doubt it. So, if you're ever planning on writing some erotica, please please consider calling your main character something terribly terribly normal. I'd love to see more Chris's and Carolines!

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

Yin & Yan

It always strikes me as curious how much we, as humans, deal in opposites and contrasts. This seems to be especially prevalent in sexual encounters, where a balance is required between dominance and submission. I’m not talking about the more extreme elements of this, which extend into the strictly defined world of BDSM, but rather the more vanilla of us who indulge in dominant and submissive behaviour without even questioning it.

When in bed with a man I long to be controlled and dominated. Occasionally I'll take control or dominance, but it's always just a brief foray that's fun, but not really exciting. It doesn’t turn me on to take control, though if I’m with a partner who enjoys it then that pleases me. It doesn’t, however, pleasure me.

What I really want, what I long for, is for that attempt at taking control to be overthrown. For him to push me off, use his strength to turn me over, push me down, hold me still while he punishes me. Even typing that thought out excites me. When it comes to sex I don’t want the polite niceties of a give-and-take relationship. I want rawness, animality, brutality—to a certain extent, anyway.

I can’t really understand the mentality that wants to take control. At least, not when I think about a heterosexual encounter. When I think about bedding a woman, the idea of control and domination has a much greater appeal. I love the idea of restraining her, of fighting for superiority and winning. It makes me shiver to think of tying her up and teasing her until she is beyond thinking and begs me to take her. I would love to fix a strap-on to me and turn her onto her front and fuck her until the air turned blue with her screams. Equally, though, I would want her to return the favour, without trying it I can’t decide which I would prefer or whether I would enjoy the experiences equally.

I wonder what element of being ‘female’ or ‘feminine’ it is that dictates to me, in such a basic, primal way, that it is arousing to be dominated by a man, but to dominate another woman. But then, bisexuality is a very complex aspect of sexuality and I try not to analyse it more than I absolutely have to.

Saturday, 6 December 2008

A Day's Delay...

From now onwards all my blog posts will appear a day earlier on my official site.

If you want to up to date with the very latest Emelia news and musings, then make your way to

If you just can't bear to leave the blogspot site, then all the posts will appear here, but 24 hours after they appear on

Look forward to seeing you there!

Friday, 5 December 2008

You say it best when you say nothing at all

A blank page is a very intimidating thing. Looking at this 'new post' page, just now, terrified me. I'm expected to type and create words that mean something, words that connect to other people, without knowing anything about those other people. Writing fiction is, perhaps, a little easier. I write fiction primarily for myself and when others enjoy it, it's just a big bonus. I create characters, worlds and stories in my head, then all I have to do is describe it. The blank page is almost encouraging then, those first few words of a story are easy, because you so desperately want to make it real.
This, however, this is hard. I'm writing this in the full expectation that others will read it and no real idea what they want to read about or how I come across. Like I said, it's intimidating.
Readers, if you're out there, comment on my posts, even if it's just ticking a box -- am I getting through? Or am I, as I fear, just manifesting a new-fangled form of insanity by typing to myself instead of talking...?

Thursday, 4 December 2008

After all the hoo-hah of the American elections I have to admit that I was beginning to care less about any kind of American politics. Then along came proposition 8 which affected friends of mine. It made me feel queasy -- here in the UK we have civil partnerships which have the same benefits as marriage and it makes perfect sense to me. What right has the State to say who you can love? As long as you're two consenting adults hurting no-one else then who the hell has the right to speak against it?

So here was me getting all hot under the collar, but why do that when instead you can sing about it? Save me one of those prawn cocktails...
Prop 8 the Musical!