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Abstract

we like to dress up as Dracula with sharp teeth that draw blood?Utah is perhaps the best illustration of Puritanical America, regularly making laws against sex and perversion, and yet they remain the greatest binger of Internet porn in the nation.Go figure.Most writers will have to eventually choose whether or not to include sex scenes in their books and how to handle them. These scenes are always tricky to write, and there are a few ways to handle them.Having two characters engage in sex in the middle of a story brings with it several questions. First, do you write the actual sex scene? How graphic do you get with the scene? What terminology do you use to describe, you know, things? How do you avoid making the scene sound like a teenager’s attempt to write erotica?The setting establishes the mood. For instance, in a thriller — a genre I write — characters are racing the clock to save, say, an abducted child, and a scene of prolonged sexual seduction is unlikely. But, say, if the characters endured a tragedy, they might collapse into each other’s arms, happy to be alive and intent on reaffirming life. The same scene could take on a new dimension in a futuristic fantasy!And then there’s implicit instead of explicit sex. I’ve become intrigued by less literal sex scenes, much more symbolic, figurative, and poetic, where the writer wants to focus more on emotions and less on the physical aspects.In short…You can write sex without writing sex. Like myself, many authors agree that less is more philosophy when it comes to sex, exposing just enough detail to stimulate the reader’s imagination.Consider whether subtle seduction would be more intense than a graphic depiction of the sex act itself — a heated glance across the room, a lingering contact as hands brush in the hallway. You can write about all the fundamentals surrounding sex, like the giddy post-coital haze afterwards, the pools of clothes on the floor, and the awkward looks from your dog — all showing that sex happened without having to devote words count toward the actual act itself.Centering on the subtle cues of sex — rather than sexual acts — may create a powerful and long-lasting effect on the reader. If insinuation is enough to get the job done, then you’ve done enough. Any more may seem like a ploy for attention, like one of my friends with the lampshade on his head.Readers are good at imagining scenes for themselves, provided you give them a few vital physical beats. In my writing, I allude to the fact the characters had sex, often writing the initial contact at the end of a chapter. Then, picking up the next chapter after they’ve finished having intercourse.I’ve always believed that the details of the actual sex are not as important as the idea that the characters did have sex. Unless there is a significant plot point revealed in the heat of the moment, such as one of the characters has three nipples or something like that, I’ve never seen the need to get int

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o all the nitty-gritty of who was on top or who orgasmed first.Of course, explicit detail is acceptable in many stories. Remember that a good, intimate scene always leads with emotion, no matter its nature.The passion and excitement your characters are feeling, emotion must take center stage — the insecurity, the self-doubt, or any other feeling that comes into play. Remember, lust is not an emotion. Physical desire alone is rarely compelling enough to make someone act outside the character’s nature without extenuating circumstances.But some see writing sex differently. For instance, Hamlet maintained that one of the primary purposes of art forms is to reflect nature as we artists see it and as it is.…[the] purpose of playing, whose end, both at first and now, was and is, to hold, as ‘there, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her feature, scorn her image and the very age and body of the time, his form, and pressure.For those who follow this line of thinking, holding a mirror up to nature means that sometimes we must be staunch in our representation of humanity and show our lives as they are, not as some Disney movie paints it. Nudity and sex, they maintain, have their place in society’s modern art. And that it is our right to see life depicted as it is, not through some Disney lens or some antiquated story about a Prince saving some damsel in distress.But I must question,What effect does the psyche have when seeing beautiful, fit actors — primarily young — having perfectly choreographed simulated sex have an overt effect on body image, self-esteem, and our own sex lives?For all the moans of pleasure and beautiful writhing bodies, sex on screen or in novels is frequently hard to digest. Unless you’re writing porn or hard-core erotica, depict sexual acts in terms of people rather than their body parts. Sex scenes are not about the trade of bodily fluids but about identifying these fictional emotions, informed by the lifeworld and its practices.Either way, the undertone is between what occurs in the bedroom and who we are. What influences the act? What loiters not just beneath the sheets but under the skin? Is the sexual act an undertaking of revenge? Of mutual commiseration and a refutation of shared sadness? Between two people, it’s not just about who the players are but also who they are to one another.Both approaches serve a purpose, but some authors believe clear, explicit discussions of sex serve an important function in the world of novels. In short, sex depicted in literature expresses and explores a form of consciousness that encompasses the tools most available to the writer, including sensation, action, and speech.For myself, grappling with the complications of acknowledging the complex textures of lived experience welcomes an expression of those parts of humans in which sex exposes all that.Many thanks for reading to the end💞Happy New 2024🥳🕊️💝</article></body>

SEX/LIFE/WRITING

So, What Does a Sex Scene Without the Sex Look Like?

Writing sex, when less is more

Sex sells. But artistic sex isn’t a blueprint for real sex. Try having sex in the shower like Sharon Stone and Sylvester Stallone did in The Specialist, but be prepared for the moment when you bend down, water gets in your eye, and you stagger around mindlessly like a ridiculous naked Frankenstein trapped in a glass coffin for what seems like an hour.

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Or, don’t have sex outside like Cate Blanchett and Andrew Simpson did in Notes on a Scandal because you’ll get your pants soiled, and you won’t be able to think up a decent excuse when you get home.

And, for god’s sake, never have sex on a piano like Julia Roberts and Richard Gere did in Pretty Woman. Because, you know, pianos are noisy, and some of us are trying to sleep.

Sleeping with someone for the first time can be intimidating. Still, you’d never know that from watching films, where everyone automatically knows what the other person wants without having to experience a long and unfulfilling period of trial and error.

Which brings me to the next point.

Have you ever read a book where the author goes on about their characters’ attractiveness and the physical pull between them? Chances are that the scene felt bland. Maybe it even induced an eye roll or two. I’ve read such scenes and thought, “Great, your characters are utterly sexy people making out like the world is about to end. But why should I care?”

Sex scenes can be challenging to write well. While good ones can add chemistry and desire to an on-page pairing, subpar ones can ruin an otherwise good book. And where most beginning writers screw up (pardon the expression. Or not) is in believing that sex scenes are about sex.

But to write about sex in America, you have to understand America’s problem with sex. It is ironic that in a society where sex appeal is exploited to sell everything from perfume to cars to shampoo and where the ingesting of porn involves some 40 million Americans, artistic representations of nudes are regularly banned from being shown in public places.

The first thing Adam and Eve were anxious about once their teeth sliced into the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge was that they were stark-naked, and we’ve been worried about it ever since.

We’re a nation of Puritanical douche-swabs who fear sex but love violence. And yet, we don’t fear sex at all, yet we pretend we do because — well, I don’t know why. Maybe because we’re afraid our mothers will find out we like to dress up as Dracula with sharp teeth that draw blood?

Utah is perhaps the best illustration of Puritanical America, regularly making laws against sex and perversion, and yet they remain the greatest binger of Internet porn in the nation.

Go figure.

Most writers will have to eventually choose whether or not to include sex scenes in their books and how to handle them. These scenes are always tricky to write, and there are a few ways to handle them.

Having two characters engage in sex in the middle of a story brings with it several questions. First, do you write the actual sex scene? How graphic do you get with the scene? What terminology do you use to describe, you know, things? How do you avoid making the scene sound like a teenager’s attempt to write erotica?

The setting establishes the mood. For instance, in a thriller — a genre I write — characters are racing the clock to save, say, an abducted child, and a scene of prolonged sexual seduction is unlikely. But, say, if the characters endured a tragedy, they might collapse into each other’s arms, happy to be alive and intent on reaffirming life. The same scene could take on a new dimension in a futuristic fantasy!

And then there’s implicit instead of explicit sex. I’ve become intrigued by less literal sex scenes, much more symbolic, figurative, and poetic, where the writer wants to focus more on emotions and less on the physical aspects.

In short…

You can write sex without writing sex. Like myself, many authors agree that less is more philosophy when it comes to sex, exposing just enough detail to stimulate the reader’s imagination.

Consider whether subtle seduction would be more intense than a graphic depiction of the sex act itself — a heated glance across the room, a lingering contact as hands brush in the hallway. You can write about all the fundamentals surrounding sex, like the giddy post-coital haze afterwards, the pools of clothes on the floor, and the awkward looks from your dog — all showing that sex happened without having to devote words count toward the actual act itself.

Centering on the subtle cues of sex — rather than sexual acts — may create a powerful and long-lasting effect on the reader. If insinuation is enough to get the job done, then you’ve done enough. Any more may seem like a ploy for attention, like one of my friends with the lampshade on his head.

Readers are good at imagining scenes for themselves, provided you give them a few vital physical beats. In my writing, I allude to the fact the characters had sex, often writing the initial contact at the end of a chapter. Then, picking up the next chapter after they’ve finished having intercourse.

I’ve always believed that the details of the actual sex are not as important as the idea that the characters did have sex. Unless there is a significant plot point revealed in the heat of the moment, such as one of the characters has three nipples or something like that, I’ve never seen the need to get into all the nitty-gritty of who was on top or who orgasmed first.

Of course, explicit detail is acceptable in many stories. Remember that a good, intimate scene always leads with emotion, no matter its nature.

The passion and excitement your characters are feeling, emotion must take center stage — the insecurity, the self-doubt, or any other feeling that comes into play. Remember, lust is not an emotion. Physical desire alone is rarely compelling enough to make someone act outside the character’s nature without extenuating circumstances.

But some see writing sex differently. For instance, Hamlet maintained that one of the primary purposes of art forms is to reflect nature as we artists see it and as it is.

…[the] purpose of playing, whose end, both at first and now, was and is, to hold, as ‘there, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her feature, scorn her image and the very age and body of the time, his form, and pressure.

For those who follow this line of thinking, holding a mirror up to nature means that sometimes we must be staunch in our representation of humanity and show our lives as they are, not as some Disney movie paints it. Nudity and sex, they maintain, have their place in society’s modern art. And that it is our right to see life depicted as it is, not through some Disney lens or some antiquated story about a Prince saving some damsel in distress.

But I must question,

What effect does the psyche have when seeing beautiful, fit actors — primarily young — having perfectly choreographed simulated sex have an overt effect on body image, self-esteem, and our own sex lives?

For all the moans of pleasure and beautiful writhing bodies, sex on screen or in novels is frequently hard to digest. Unless you’re writing porn or hard-core erotica, depict sexual acts in terms of people rather than their body parts. Sex scenes are not about the trade of bodily fluids but about identifying these fictional emotions, informed by the lifeworld and its practices.

Either way, the undertone is between what occurs in the bedroom and who we are. What influences the act? What loiters not just beneath the sheets but under the skin? Is the sexual act an undertaking of revenge? Of mutual commiseration and a refutation of shared sadness? Between two people, it’s not just about who the players are but also who they are to one another.

Both approaches serve a purpose, but some authors believe clear, explicit discussions of sex serve an important function in the world of novels. In short, sex depicted in literature expresses and explores a form of consciousness that encompasses the tools most available to the writer, including sensation, action, and speech.

For myself, grappling with the complications of acknowledging the complex textures of lived experience welcomes an expression of those parts of humans in which sex exposes all that.

Many thanks for reading to the end💞

Happy New 2024🥳🕊️💝