Dita Parker

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

I shall not want

I have

a root cellar full of summer
pens and paper
a fresh laptop battery
stories to write
books to read
women I can call at three in the morning
a good man to sleep next to through the night
a niece on the way 
children to cherish
the use of all my senses
a sense of direction
strong legs
laughter in me yet
freedom and rights

and for these I am grateful.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Sensible shoes

...day five. So far so good, dearest denizens. Had to scrub poor WIP of an entire scene but it couldn't be helped. It's not that it was bad, it was just...superfluous. So if you're writing an erotic romance of the paranormal variety starring a daredevil hero (not to be confused with Matt Murdock) and an immortal heroine (a vamp, yes, but not a vampire) and you're missing a scene, call me, I think it accidentally ended up in my book. I also found out something very interesting about my leading man, information he hadn't volunteered but has fessed up.

I'm in the process of teaching myself plotter ways. Why? To help the pantser in me write faster, more efficiently. (I thought age was supposed to bring you poise and patience. I swear maturing is munching on mine. That's why.) What else? Yes. I think it's time we had The Talk, several, actually. So I won't have another Romantica out for a while. It doesn't mean we can't still talk about sex. Let's face it, erotic romance writers spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about it, especially when writing those climactic scenes, no pun intended. Okay, totally calculated.

It's not just a matter of what goes where at what pace courtesy of who for us. Reducing a person to their reproductive organs in action is pornography, and we'd rather our characters feel and not just fuck, think, and not just about doing it, and be proactive instead of submissive, unless it's BDSM (safe, sane and consensual!). At least that's what erotic romance is and means to me, so how about we talk about some of the things that have inspired me to write Romantica, things I often think about when writing.

I'm not an educator by profession, but anyone who's ever suffered through one of my sermons here at the den knows I can be one by inclination, so I do solemnly swear I'll do my best to keep things light and on the fun side, because I believe that sex, like life, is, for the most part, fun, sweet, intense, and enjoyable. And when it's problematic, you go in search of answers and solutions, and when there are none, you find a way to live with it. Preferably without losing your sense of humor. Let's keep it honest and true to life then, but let's sin with a grin. And no euphemisms allowed unless they're the topic of the day, okay?

My take, to be taken with a pinch of salt, as you would anything else that smells suspiciously like advice. So...if you're not sure you're comfortable talking about certain parts of the human anatomy outside a purely fictional context, you may a) have stumbled upon this blog by accident, b) not want to participate. Especially after I tell you there won't be any tests but I'm thinking some homework might be in order, and maybe a poll or two at some point. But if you are insecure about and/or uncomfortable with some parts, any part, really, of your body (and show me someone who hasn't been at some point in their life), it wouldn't hurt anything to come over and hear what I have to say on the subject because that's where I think we should start, where the enjoyment of sex, and lack thereof, stems from: your body and how you view it, treat it, think of it.

Let me get my thoughts and notes together, okay? How about we make a smexy September of it here at the den, starting a week from now? Until then, frisky Friday, sweetie darlings. Think sexy thoughts.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Always on my mind

Dear Work In Progress,

It's me, Writer In Progress. I know you really hate me right now, and that makes me hate myself. I know our rendezvous have been few and far between this summer. You feel ignored. I feel as if I've been neglecting you. But I said I'd be back, that we would be together again soon, that I had every intention of finishing what I started, so you'll just have to get over your wounded pride, and I'll have to get over my guilt and shame.

Had I thought there was no hope for us, I would have told you so, months ago. Thing is, I still believe. I did then and I do now, and if you believe, as I do, that what we had has anywhere to go, we put this...not trial separation but trial by separation behind us right here and now and pick up where we left off last time we met.

I can't promise there'll never be another summer like this, but please, pleeease understand I also needed time to think things over. Not to decide if I want to do this, but how I'll go about it. And you were never far from my mind, you know that. You were always there, startling me with realizations, sneaking up on me with revelations, so if we're cool, if you believe in me as I believe in you, how about we go that last stretch? The longest miles, yes, but the most rewarding, too, I swear.

I'll treat you right. You know I will. I'll take care of you, see you get what you're due. What do you say? Tomorrow, bright and early and ready to rumble? I say it's a date.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

My blueberry night

Temperature: 17.5/63.5

Eating: Greek yogurt and blueberries

Drinking: no, eating

Watching: North & South (BBC, 2004)

Listening: to the theme (see above) in all its variations playing in my head

Writing: from a Romantica reader's POV, I'm pretty worthless at the moment, I've been informed. *sigh* What are friends for, right? Thank you, ma'am, may I have another? *groan*

Feeling: the tough love, raring to go; rar-ing, sweetie darlings

Monday, August 8, 2011

How soon is now

For a lady who really likes her footwear, I'd rather not wear any. But sometimes one must, so I put on my fanciest flip-flops, and no, that is not a contradiction in terms, these are as bling as they come, and hauled Hubby and the fruits of our love and lust into town to soak up the city in the summer. Holy Moses on a motorbike! No, I didn't see Moses on a motorbike. Believe me, I'd have pictures.

What a transformation. A metamorphosis. One hardly recognized those streets. One hardly could make out the streets, they were jam-packed. The ladies were looking quite lovely and the gents mighty fine; buskers on every corner; cars vintage and voguish cruising the streets just for show; tourists from all over the world; fresh foodstuff sold and eaten in the parks and market squares.

Summer is the most inspiring and least productive time of the year here at the den; laid-back and freewheeling. But it's a Janus-faced affair, a race against clock and calendar when you do your damnedest to concentrate on concentrating in the moment, the sights and scents and sounds and sensations of summer because they will be gone soon, way too soon. It's also Christmastime spread out over some two and a half months with visitors coming and going and with our family meeting up with friends and relatives for picnics or barbecues or a day at the beach.

It's a blast, and it's another day away from the office and another night spent playing catch-up. I've learned to adjust, I've had to, to take on only projects I can live and work with with a clear conscience. That means less time for everything work-related for a few weeks, but there's no playing catch-up with the seasons. I can preserve food all summer long but I can't bottle a summer day, as lovely as that would be. And what a first world problem, making less money but still making ends meet while actually enjoying yourself, so this ain't a complaint, dearest denizens, merely an observation.

Mother Nature has been very generous this year. The warmth, or heat, coupled with the occasional thunderstorm of diluvial proportions, has helped produce a heap of tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, lettuces, onions, red peppers, chili peppers, and herbs galore. The raspberries are huge, there are gooseberries and blueberries aplenty, there will be plums and apples in abundance, we got out first grapes this year, and Hubby managed to grow watermelons. Watermelons, in these latitudes. [The higher the latitude, the starker and faster the effects of global warming. Wake up and come smell our citrullus lanatus arcticus if still in doubt.] I've asked for mangoes, limes and avocados while he's at it.

What I haven't stocked up on is fall/winter fashion. Look. I can look at the spring/summer collections in November. No problem. I cannot and never will grant winter apparel a glance or a thought before my fingers and toes start going numb, okay? I'll have to settle for leftovers when I finally get around to dragging my freezing tush into the stores to at least consider having a look at something, you say? See my concern. *stares at the screen, expression never changing* I solved that problem long ago. I buy items that fit my body type, coloring and personal taste whenever something suitable comes along. That means clothes that don't scream 'latest fashion' but therein lies the catch: pieces that don't scream the exact month and week I picked it up. Won't touch the latest stuff unless they're timeless enough to tempt me, meaning meeting the prerequisites mentioned above. Fitting, stylish and ageless? Sold.

Oh but I'm raring to go, my mind and notebook filled with ideas to look and dig into, questions to be answered and answers to be questioned. But we'll have to talk about those some other time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go chop some firewood. Winter is coming.

P.S. Receivers at the ready, folks, for the Cave Chaos launch, take two, on New Dissident Radio, from 4 to 5 pm (EST).

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Something to believe in

Say you're channel surfing, losing your faith in the economy, science, the media, powers earthly and divine as you dive deep, deeper, into dismay. Just as you're about to give up on not only the night's programming but all of mankind, what do you see? Robert Duvall lecturing Haley Joel Osment:

"Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love...true love never dies. You remember that boy. You remember that. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in."

Sleep tight, sweetie darlings. See you tomorrow.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Reality killed the video star

So. MTV is thirty years old. I don't recall the momentous day it launched, but I do remember MTV landing upon European shores six years later on that/this very same date, August 1. No, I don't actually recall it being the first of August, only the occasion itself. What I do remember is Sting wailing "I want my MTV" as the first song blasted, Dire Straits' Money for Nothing, and how many clothes female artists wore back then.

So what the hell happened? Last time I checked, MTV was behaving like your average thirty-year-old: aging most ungracefully by desperately hanging on to their teens and hopelessly trying to prove they're still hip and happening. I did what your average sensible thirty something does and switched to VH1 Europe, an actual music channel.

What else is old? New. What else is new? Cave Chaos, sweetie darlings, to be launched on this most memorable of dates! Yes, in an hour or so, the weekly, hour-long, live talk radio show featuring several smexy segments airs for the very first time. Your anchors: EC's own Jaid Black and Lisa Marie Gray. The topics: if it relates to female sexuality, is strictly taboo, irreverent and politically incorrect, it's bound to come up at some point.

For your weekly dose of behind-the-scenes and between-the-sheets action, visit New Dissident Radio every Monday from 4 to 5 pm EST. Happy August, dearest denizens!