Plain Talk

by Jean Roberta

Oh dear. As usual, most of the things that are important to me are also important to the rest of the crew here, so it’s hard for me to find a new approach to the topic du jour (or du fortnight).

I’ll try this: communication is important to me. So much of what has been said to me (and what I’ve said to others when I’m afraid to let out the truth and possibly offend everyone around me, as though truth were a pungent fart) consists of clichés and platitudes. I’m not really complaining, since many of the cliches I’ve heard have been well-intended.

When my parents each died within six months of each other, I had to help arrange two funerals, then accept the condolences of person after person (friends, acquaintances, colleagues of my father) saying quietly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I was tempted to ask, “Seriously? Isn’t it also your loss? Are you 100% sorry to see them go, or you a little bit relieved? Let’s talk.” I couldn’t say that aloud, of course, without confirming my sisters’ belief that I’m mentally ill and inappropriate wherever I am. (Writing about sex is, of course, another sign of my inappropriate nature.)

Honest communication seems so rare for various reasons that I tend to remember the times when someone has said the right thing to me.

For example: while married, I sometimes managed to have a private conversation with my best friend Joan, usually in her modest but cozy apartment. Unlike everyone else I knew, she didn’t tell me I just needed to learn how to persuade my jealous husband that I wasn’t really having orgies with other men. She didn’t tell me his jealousy was a cultural thing that I just had to accept.

On one occasion, I told her that he was tending the baby for the afternoon, and that I planned to go back to work and save money so that eventually, I could move out.

Joan said: “You can’t stay there with that man, and you can’t save money that way. You need to leave as soon as possible. Borrow money if you have to. You can always pay it back later.”

I saw the truth of that. Staying with a ticking time bomb, hoping it wouldn’t go off in the next few months, would have been much more reckless than escaping and coping with the negative fallout. I agreed with Joan, and we agreed on an escape plan, in which she would drive the getaway car.

Several weeks later, I was discussing my situation with Joan and a male friend of hers. Male Friend asked if my husband ever hit me when he was in a rage. I answered honestly that he never did, not even once. Male Friend said: “He was probably afraid that if he ever started, he wouldn’t stop until he killed you.” Bingo! The fact that I wasn’t actually a “battered wife” had never felt reassuring, and in fact, my husband’s use of force was a constant reminder of how much worse it could get. (He tended to keep me confined in the house, and haul me around by one arm while outside). I didn’t expect anyone to understand my sense of living with an axe hanging over my head, and knowing the thread that held it could snap at any moment.

Being understood usually feels miraculous.

While grading student essays, I have to explain as clearly as possible why most student essays are not clear enough. I always hope my students will understand that I’m not playing a guessing game to encourage them to say whatever will confirm my beliefs. I want them to say what they actually intend. If they don’t really know what they intend, that’s the root of the problem.

Often, while reading the work of several fellow-Grippers, I think, “That’s it! That’s the best way to describe that experience.” Having mini-epiphanies is a large part of the pleasure of reading.

Several years ago, one of my star students (named Marvin, but I thought of him as the Marvel) asked me to explain my written comment about a dangling participial phrase in his essay. (If you don’t recognize this term, here is an example: “Walking around the corner, the Grand Hotel came into view.”) I told him that in general, his essay was well-conceived, well-organized and well-written, which is why I wanted him to know about one little flaw that impeded the flow of ideas, even though the real meaning of the sentence was clear enough.

He didn’t seem at all resentful. He seemed intrigued. He told me that no one had ever explained sentence construction to him the way I had, and he was grateful for my advice. I couldn’t be sure he was 100% sincere, but I was willing to accept the compliment! I also couldn’t be sure whether his hard-driving Chinese parents (as he described them) were responsible for his impeccable manners, but whatever the cause, I enjoyed dealing with a male student who behaved so differently from most of the ones I had met.

Communication that works is probably the most important factor in my continuing existence. It seems rarer than many people will admit, and in the long run, it's more comforting than flattery or false comfort.

Revelations

by Jean Roberta

What is sexy on the page can be different from what is sexy in real life. Extreme sensations, described in some black-hanky scene involving scary accoutrements, don’t leave any marks on a reader. And as soon as a written scene stops casting a spell, the reader can simply close the book or the screen.

Touch and words are both more potent in real life, where they are both more nuanced. The gentlest touch, in the right circumstances, can send tingles all through the person receiving it. A tone of voice can convey more than the actual words.

The element of surprise, both in real life and in written erotica, is sexy for me. Even if the tension of unspoken desire has been building for awhile, an open expression of desire or acceptance is always a revelation. After all, fleeting lust is fairly common; many of us are briefly reminded of sex during a working day, or we notice an attractive stranger whom we don’t intend to approach.

When Person A says “I want you,” and Person B responds by saying, “I thought you’d never say it!” or “Not as much as I want you!” (or “Surely you jest!” or “Oh my God! But we can’t! Not here, anyway,” or “Don’t you think we should wait until your spouse leaves?”) the dynamics of the relationship have changed permanently. The burning-eyed cat is out of the bag, and things will never be the same.

There can be moments of revelation even in long-term relationships. Person A can tell Person B (with or without words): “I still want you after all this time,” or “There’s something irresistible about you when you don’t think I’m watching.” This news can be as cheesy but thrilling as a “surprise” birthday party (even if there were lots of previous hints), and delighted acceptance lets the suitor or plotter know that s/he is still on the right track.

I like to write about sexual revelations in my fiction, even though they carry a risk. If Person A and Person B rip each other’s clothes off and fall into each other’s arms too soon (and/or welcome the arrival of Person C, even though there is no previous evidence that ménage is everyone’s favourite flavour), the scene can read like a parody of more serious erotica. Pacing is important, and it’s a skill I’m still learning. Yet no matter how gradually a relationship develops, there is always a moment when someone has to jump off the diving board, not knowing if there is enough water in the pool.

Making a move is taking a risk, both in real life and on the page. The object of desire could snort with derision, and so could the reader. However, reaching a destination requires making a first move, and a second. For me, the thrill can change but never fade.

Chirp, chirp, squack!

Humans are social creatures. We are communicators by nature, signaling to each out our wants, needs, desires and affection with words, lingering glances, soft touches, and so much more. We are capable of conveying so much with each other.

We are also marvelously capable of miscommunication.

It's enough to make you wonder if any other animals can truly mess things up on the scale that humans can. After all, how many birds in the rain forest, screeching a warning about a snake, are actually calling out that a leopard is about to pounce?

Yet we can manage to say something, have it mean one thing, and have it interpreted as something completely different quite well.

I marvel at those who are capable of making themselves perfectly understood all the time. Because I have been married twelve years, and we lived together two years before that, and we still have miscommunications rearing their ugly heads from time to time. And we understand either other normally.

Perfect strangers? I gave up a long time ago on trying to have completely synchronous conversations. They can take what they want from the conversation.

I've learned from years of working with the public, that human communication is less about the words you use, and more about what the other person wants to think that you said. If someone is spoiling for a fight, they will twist anything you say, regardless of tone, word choice, body language, etc. Likewise, if someone wants to read something sexual into your words, they will.

One of the authors at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association, a guest to the blog a few weeks back – Mike Kimera, had a tagline on his emails that has always stuck with me. It said: "What you read is not what I wrote. I supply the text, you supply the meaning."

To me, truly effective communication is having the person I am talking to on the same page enough that their interpretation of my words matches my meaning when I said them.

Beyond that … it's all a matter of did they warn you about a snake? Or a leopard? Me, I'm gonna look around for both, cause who the heck knows which one they meant.