Monday, November 9, 2015
Building a Brand
Saturday, February 19, 2011
“Come On, Get Happy” by Alison Tyler
I like happy porn.
Before you throw rocks at me, I will quickly state that of course deep, dark stories possess merit. This is a personal preference. For the most part, I like my smut smiley. While the concept of being punished makes me wet—one of my biggest pet peeves is the genre of sex stories in which characters must be punished for what they like or what they need. 9 ½ Weeks is a perfect example. I adore the novella right up until the end. To me, 9 ½ Weeks is sexy sexy sexy sexy sexy sexy sexy oh, she’s off her rocker, let’s lock her up. Why does Elizabeth have to be institutionalized? Why can’t she and John make it work? (There’s a new ending I’d love to pen.)
Now, when I say I like happy porn some people get the wrong idea. I’m no vanilla cupcake. I take my coffee with quite a bit of kink. Tie me up. Spank me. Make me call you Ma’am. Use a crop or a fraternity paddle or those nasty alligator clamps. Leave me marks I can admire in my bathroom mirror—just don’t leave me without a silver ray of hope at the end. Especially if the hope is that I’m going to get another spanking!
The stories that thrill me most are the ones that make me care without tossing in a suicide pact or a dying spouse or a wound that will not heal. To this end, I offered a challenge (http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2010/12/get-happy.html) about a month ago, asking smutters to post snippets of upbeat erotica on their blogs or websites. Check out this line-up:
• Jeremy Edwards:
• Shanna Germain:
• Emerald:
• Saskia Walker:
• Nikki Magennis:
Most of the writers I adore are ACDC. Well, at least they’re AT/DL. They can write they way I like for me, but they can do the dark literary work for other editors. What can I say? That makes everybody happy.
Why am I drawn to happy stories? Don’t I know that the world is an unhappy place? That sad things happen? That all we are is dust in the wind? Sure, but I never liked Kansas that much anyway. I’ve always been more of a Chili Pepper girl.
Am I happy all the time? (to steal a title from an author I worship, Laurie Colwin). Not on your life. When my man was diagnosed with cancer a year and a half ago, I found myself starring in one of the very plots I would never publish in an anthology. How’s that for a kick in the ass? Did living day-to-day in a soap opera story make me long for sad tales? Hell, no. I reached for the dirtiest upbeat stories I could clutch in my hot little hands.
Avid readers could easily point out that I’ve written sad tales myself. But I’ve penned so many stories (about 1000 at this point) that some are bound to end with a whimper rather than a bang. Call 2% of my stories sad. My batting average is still grinning ear to fucking ear.
Jean Roberta once said about me: Her male characters sometimes mislead her female characters, or vice versa, but Tyler describes disappointment in a light and witty way. No one seems to get seriously hurt. If any of her characters have dark nights of the soul, these happen off the page.
That is me to an Alison T.
And Ashley Lister gave me my one of my very favorite quotes: “It’s part of the PTP trademark that the content of their books portray sex as fun and wholesome. Alison Tyler’s stories are invariably sex-positive and her commitment to this ethos shows in every title that comes out of her Pretty Things Press.”
I do my best to live up to this in everything I write.
Why? Ah, repeat my mantra with me, won’t you: It makes me happy.
XXX,
Alison
P.S. Where I am not at all dismayed by death, doom, and dying is in memoirs. I can’t explain this either. You’d think I’d rather read about faux sadness than real despair, but you’d think wrong.
Alison Tyler is the author of 25 naughty novels and the editor of 50+ erotic anthologies. She’s been called “the mistress of literary erotica” by Violet Blue and a “trollop with a laptop” by East Bay Express. Her favorite color is scarlet, her (current) favorite perfume is RUSH, and she likes to wear an armful of retro ID bracelets and bowling shirts with other people’s names embroidered on the pockets. Visit her often at http://alisontyler.blogspot.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Bloody Google

When I was a little kid and the world was full of haints and taints and supernatural wonders, there was this game called “Bloody Mary”. The way it works, you have a darkened room and a mirror, then you and your friends are supposed to look in the mirror and chant “Bloody Mary” three times and a blood soaked girl ghost with an embittered attitude will appear. Never worked for me. Later on I tried “Pamela Anderson” and “Sybil Danning” and that didn’t work either.
Ah!
But that was before the age of “Google Alerts”! Now let’s play the Bloody Mary game again and see how this goes.
To wit:
As some of us know, a couple of weeks back I really stepped barefoot into a big, fragrant, steaming pile when I made some uncalled for snarky remarks about a book called “Alison’s Wonderland” -
Alison’s Wonderland
Alison’s Wonderland
Alison’s Wonderland
which was edited by Alison Tyler
Alison Tyler
Alison Tyler
Alison Tyler
and has a nice story called “David” by Kristina Lloyd
“David” by Kristina Lloyd
“David” by Kristina Lloyd
“David” by Kristina Lloyd
and a pretty hot story called “Managers and Mermen” by Donna George Storey
“Managers and Mermen” by Donna George Storey
“Managers and Mermen” by Donna George Storey
“Managers and Mermen” by Donna George Storey
and a good retelling of the Billy goats gruff story called “The Three Billys” by Sommer Marsden
“The Three Billys” by Sommer Marsden
“The Three Billys” by Sommer Marsden
“The Three Billys” by Sommer Marsden
and
“Sleeping With Beauty” by Allison Wonderland
“Sleeping With Beauty” by Allison Wonderland
“Sleeping With Beauty” by Allison Wonderland
which reminded me a little of the Anne Roquelaire trilogy and a really good story “Unveiling His Muse” by the great Portia Da Costa,
“Unveiling His Muse” by Portia Da Costa
“Unveiling His Muse” by Portia Da Costa
“Unveiling His Muse” by Portia Da Costa
the first one of her stories I’d ever read though not the last, and some other authors whose stories I also enjoyed, whose wounded feelings and sharp reproaches appeared on the eXcessica
eXcessica
eXcessica
eXcessica
books blog which you can read here:
http://excessica.com/blog/index.php/2010/08/12/never-judge-a-book-by-its-cover-or-its-scene/
I won’t recap my snarky remarks since I would like to leave this post with my ass and my face in their original places, and they don’t bear repeating anyway. I said dumb stuff.
Wait.
Paranoia.
Holy moly.
I may be saying dumb stuff at this very effing moment without realizing it or be about to say dumb stuff without realizing it.
Hey – let’s do this:
I will make a preemptive apology in case it’s needed for anything insensitive I may say at any time in the immediate future:
I’m sorry.
I’m really really sorry. (fill in the blank)
And my point is, if any of you eXcessica folks show up here in my mirror please say hi. Write something on the wall so I know you’re around. I like you. I like your stuff. I was also much chastened when Lisabet pointed out that many or most of the writers I miffed are in fact regular contributors at my scene ERWA, some of them with a much greater contribution there than me. So I really stepped on my dick every way you look at it.
Having said that, I am unrepentant of my comment that Alison’s Wonderland has a very cool cover. It just does. Okay? You sure? It has a really nice looking cover art and I don’t give a shit who knows it. There I’ve said it. Get over it.
What haunted me about my remarks afterward as I explained to Lisabet when I was weeping on her maternal cyber-shoulder, was that I was entirely tone deaf to the way I was coming across. This will seem astounding to any writers reading this, since the accumulated effect of words is the magic we aspire to perfect, but it had never occurred to me in a zillion years that what I was saying was offensive to anybody or that Bloody Google would suddenly show up in the mirror and punch four more holes in my nose. I was actually trying to express something like what Sommer Marsden
Sommer Marsden
Sommer Marsden
Sommer Marsden
Said in the eXcessica blog –
eXcessica blog
eXcessica blog
eXcessica blog
- which is what I should have said which was something like “we are all different but great, look at how many groovy flavors of writing there are”. Which was what I thought it was coming out like but it wasn’t . . . like that is what I meant it wasn’t . . . but that it’s not . . . . Do you know what I mean?
It didn’t come out that way. Looking back on it, well, yeah. I get that. But not at the time.
What can I say.
I’m a guy.
My remarks were not constructive criticism, since there was nothing to construct. Constructive criticism is what we offer when we are attempting to guide the inquisitive seeker into better paths, so we hope. Constructive criticism is what we wish we’d had more of when we were younger if we’d been listening. Which most of us weren’t. Real world, constructive criticism is what we offer when someone offers us a manuscript for a critique. Giving critiques to the work of peers, at least when it is asked for, is how we improve our own work. It’s how we learn to read as a writer, which is an essential skill. It’s how we express and repay our gratitude for the generosity of those writers who took on our early incoherent junk as we were learning our chops and helped us improve. Constructive criticism is what Lisabet has given me, and still does, on those many occasions when I’ve sent her something half baked and she’s told me plainly what works and what doesn’t, and 90% of the time I go with what she says. She’s honest. I listen. Also I like her. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere past my first year without her and each and every year since. She has more faith than I do.
What she said of me, of digging deeper, this is what she does for me too. Neither of us go for the nits. That's why God made spell checkers. She deals with story. She deals with character. She tells me when that is working or failing, because she knows by now I'll tear down a story and rebuild it several times before I'm happy with it. I've torn out whole middle sections of stories when she said something wasn't working. That's what you need to hear. That's love. Thank you Lisabet. Ever and ever.
Here’s the real problem. When is criticism useful or even wanted?
I come from a unique background. I have had an unusually extravagant exposure to bullshit compared to the average person. As a consequence my relationship with truth is . . . . well . . . antagonistic. If I have to choose between speaking the truth and making someone happy – truth will get heaved overboard to lighten the load, pretty much every time. The exception is the person who really loves truth. The one who really wants to know. In that case to speak is a great honor and a kind of sacred thing. A spiritual act. And even then you’d still better be careful you’re being helpful and not being a jerk. This begs the question “What is humility?”
After a life time of passionate, lunatic spiritual searching I’ve got very little wisdom to show for it. But I’ve got one or two tattered gems.
“Listen friends,” he whispered, with a wave of his hand. “It’s okay. Come, come see.” He hunched down and waited. Reluctantly, they leaned in. He silently scanned the little crowd and saw only skepticism. In a low voice he said -
“I’m going to tell you something spiritual I know for sure is true.”
Here we go.
Humility as it relates to truth has nothing to do with pride. It is unrelated to true pride. Even the pride of an artist or a writer. Humility in its most useful and plain form is simply this:
The acquired discipline and skill of seeing yourself as you really are.
That’s it.
Humility is the ability to see yourself very plainly, no better or worse, without playing any games with yourself. It sounds ridiculous. But this is a very difficult, almost impossible thing to actually do in real life. You can spend your whole life trying to master this one point, to see yourself as you really are with no tricks. The ego plays tricks on you all the way. Writing can be a tool for exploring this, but what we find, what I find, is that my ego gets very involved in my writing. Ego is what kills rock stars. Ego is what kills creativity. But ego has a lot to do with what gets your ass in front of the keyboard day after day when nobody reads your stuff. It keeps you going. It’s your devil and your cheer leader.
Anyway, as Sommer Marsden would say, this is turning into “a long ass blog”.
“a long ass blog”
“a long ass blog”
“a long ass blog”
My point is this. Constructive criticism is criticism with kindness and purpose. Friend to friend. BUT – it should be asked for. Boundaries and specifics agreed on. And you had better be really sure you want it.
Otherwise, tell me what you want to hear and we'll just go with that and that way everybody wins.
I think.
C. Sanchez-Garcia
