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Old 04-25-2007, 10:40 PM   #1
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Advice on avoiding cheese

I am writing a novel, my first. It appears as if it will be a respectable length, with the prologue and first three chapters done the work is quickly approaching 30,000 words.

Briefly, the book is a tragic love story for the first half and a moral investigation in the second half. Of course, in a love story, one needs must write a few love scenes and herein lies the matter of my question. I intend this book to be very emotional, but I want to convey genuine emotion not some cheap, cheesy, "Fabio on the cover" romance novel type of emotion.

I have no intention of using the words "turgid" or "throbbing" anywhere in the book!

I'm taking the approach of leaving the most intimate of details to the imagination. Something like a made for TV movie- the couple gets right up to the moment and then we cut to the afterglow. I have no problem at all with that sort of thing, it just wouldn't work in this situation given the rather serious subject matter.

Not being a reader of the romance genre, I amy not be fully aware of all the pitfalls in trying to avoid comparision to that sort of work. So....does anyone have any good resources or general advice for avoiding the smarmy swamp of romance novel style writing? What sort of things should I look for?

Thanks in advance.....
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Old 04-25-2007, 10:59 PM   #2
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Do I have general advice for avoiding the smarmy swamp of romance novel style writing? Yes. Read, read, read. And then read some more. What should you read, you ask? Well-written romance novels. Do I know of any? No. Honestly I don't read them much; they're just not my cup of tea. But (and I'm only speculating here) I think the key to a well-written romance novel is not the romance itself. It's tension. The tension that develops between two individuals who find themselves attracted to each other in one way or another. Without this tension, I suspect the story would quickly become scene after scene of serenades and kisses and ... other things.
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Old 04-25-2007, 11:06 PM   #3
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Quote:
Originally Posted by rosenthalpiano
Read, read, read. And then read some more. What should you read, you ask? Well-written romance novels.
Hmmm....now if I had time to read AND write, my life would be a whole lot better. ;o)
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Old 04-25-2007, 11:07 PM   #4
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In a way though, reading IS writing. If you don't read, you won't know how to write (not well, at least).
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Old 04-26-2007, 04:07 AM   #5
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I hate sugary romance too. Perhaps you could read some of the stuff you're trying to avoid - like Mills and Boon books. I haven't read them personally but I imagine they are everything you want to avoid, and so reading them can only help. Skim read if time is tight.

When you write your shagging stuff simply re-read regularly and if it makes you want to hurl you know it's not right. How about getting someone else to read it? Post it here.
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Old 04-26-2007, 06:57 AM   #6
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K, Loulou....here is some of my tripe for you..... This is fairly unedited, first draft stuff.

btw- what are the preferred limits for post length here?

-----------------------------------------
First scene....no shagging....
-----------------------------------------

Lena is a little shorter than me, but perfectly so. Her head nestled wonderfully into my shoulder while we stood and waited, lilacs filling my nose, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing pressing so slightly against my chest.

Drinks in hand, we drove up to the small, dark parking lot adjacent to the bridge and walked out to sip our lattes in the dark center of the span.

Her suit jacket is thin and she shivers, a tiny movement but all the excuse I need to hold her closer. She whispers a thank you and presses tightly to me. The air has taken on the slightest of chills, just enough to raise the goose flesh on my arms. Setting my coffee on a flat section of the railing, its warmth still felt deeply into my hand, I think about how right this feels and the fleeting thought that I should hold back, that this is only a first date, is quickly disregarded and brushed aside.

I've been on many first dates and not felt the tiniest spark of interest, many that I couldn't have ended quickly enough. This is different. Reason and caution have been silenced by this lovely creature held tightly in my arm.

She looks up at me, her face half covered in shadow that only reveals a hint of the features it hides, the other half lit in stark relief under the halogen glow of the far lamp. Never have I held a more beautiful woman. He skin is smooth, clean to the touch, her hair delicately soft and smooth like a fine linen slips between my fingers, her eyes are deeply brown- dark, expressive gems set lovingly set into her face by a master craftsman.

This rush of feeling is confusing. I expected...something, but not this much. There is a disjointedness, a surrealism, to this evening. Hours have passed in an eye blink but I feel changed, transmogrified by Lena's presence into something new. I have hope again. Hope that my monotonous treadmill of a life might be able to change, that something good and wonderful and unexpected can come into it. Looking out over the blackness of the chasm below me, I smile. I no longer see emptiness in the void of dark, but possibility.

Before I know what I am doing, I bend towards her. My eyes slowly closing, pulling her slightly upward.

Her lips are everything I had imagined- soft, delicate, gossamer. Slowly, luxuriously, I kiss her, lips barely touching hers at first. Not tentative, a slight touch, a kiss like the brush of a butterfly's wings. Taking her into both of my arms now, the kiss becomes more fervent, more intense. Her lips part and our tongues shyly dance with each other, testing, learning, guessing.

Our kiss is slow and patient, as if we had a lifetime to complete it. Or perhaps knowing that it could never be complete, that no matter how much we explored each other there would always be something new to discover.

It lasts a moment wrapped in an eternity of infinite aeons. Everything beyond us disappears from my thoughts but her lips, her hair, her hands, her.

My hands gently cupping her face, I pull back for a moment to look at her. Her eyes are huge, asking, wondering. Not the expression I expected. A look of concern crosses my face but she silences my question with a soft finger before I can ask.

“It's ok. I'm...I...I've just...never been kissed like that before. It was...amazing.” Her voice is barely a whisper and I let her soft words linger in the space between us, resting my forehead against hers and gently caressing her cheeks with my hands. Kissing again, holding her again. Intensity and passion in one moment and calm, restful quiet the next. Kissing her is enough. I am content in her arms. Holding her is enough.

“I didn't expect this tonight, I just wanted to meet you, and.....I don't know, I just wanted to meet you.”

“Me too,” whispering my reply into her ear, “I didn't plan this. It just...happened. Sounds cliché, doesn't it?”

“Yes, but I know what you mean. It just happened for me, too. But I've wanted to kiss you since the restaurant. I wasn't sure, didn't know how you would react.”

The wind is stronger now and she shivers again despite our embrace. The far side of the bridge leads to a lighted trail in a small, steeply inclined woodlot between the gorge and the street. We find a short, wooden bench there, sheltered from the breeze by the surrounding trees, set to the side of a small landing in the stairway leading up the slope.

Quiet now, so quiet. Where before we were almost talking over one another's sentences, now we sit, side by side, her head resting on my shoulder. Silent, appreciating closeness that wasn't there when the day began, I wonder at this woman leaning into me and how I've been so quickly and completely overtaken by her.




------------------------------------------
Second scene, next chapter....the first shag....
-----------------------------------------

Tiny waves pull the water back and forth a few inches at a time. The sky to the west is deep purple and blue, blackness encroaching from the east overtaking color and silencing its final expostulation of the day. Motionless, we watch the slow transformation. Light to dark, day to night, such a drastic change to happen so quickly, so serenely and severely. I feel like it is a metaphor for the last few days, a sudden transformation into something new and different that happened so quickly I almost didn't notice it until it was over.

“Come with me,” she says to me so softly her voice seems to blend in with the quiet whispering sounds of the night. Careful to keep the bench as quiet as possible, we walk to a small stand of trees. Lights hidden by the trunks of massive willows and maples she brings me behind a curtain of drooping willow leaves, hanging morosely without the will to stand on their own.

“What are we,” I start but her lips cover mine and the words, the thoughts, are forgotten, made unimportant as she kisses me. Pressing her body against mine, wrapping her arms around me, I feel the small movements of her hips against mine, her hands roam over my body, pressing, exploring, exciting me with every touch. A hand slips under my shirt, warm against me, caressing my chest, my back, her slight touch shattering the walls I had put up against my desires. My hands begin to explore her, slowly, softly, feeling her small reactions, tiny gasps, her back glowing with relentless heat, a moan when my fingers brush across the top of her breasts, invisible barriers fall away into the night and we succumb to the temptations they held at bay.

------------------------------------

Lying in the dark, her still naked body curled into mine, the night chill has us both shivering. The warmth of our lovemaking has subsided into a small glow, comforting and peaceful but not enough to keep the cold at bay.

The first time we made love, it was urgent, almost impatient. Clothing flung away with disregard, not caring where it landed, we threw ourselves into the grass in a lover's embrace. Cries of our passion fulfilled sounded almost simultaneously, echoing briefly off the trees, gasping and holding each other, our breathing calmed, kisses softened, caresses slowed, but our desire and need was only whetted, made more acute and powerful.

Without a word we lay in the grass, me looking down at her in the shadows, her gazing up at me, kissing, staring, smiling, sighing, hoping, letting the ardor lessen before it rose again. Our bodies began to move against each other again, but more deliberately this time, with a measured pace instead of the reckless abandon that followed when we first fell between the trees. I made love to her as if time did not matter, as if all that mattered was our pleasure. Bringing her to the brink, then holding back, back to the edge of climax, until I could contain myself no longer.

It was so much more than sex, so much more than mere physical release. There was a depth and higher quality to our lovemaking that transcended the mundane and was something more. In that moment, I felt the last vestiges of my reason fall away and I knew that I wanted her in my life, that I wanted to share with her everything that was me and that I wanted to know and experience everything that was her.

Touching her, feeling her movements with my entire body, holding her in my arms as we entwined our limbs, discovering her body, climaxing with her, holding her tightly to me, and me to her, our faces so close that our breath intermingled to form a single grey wisp in the chill air with each exhalation. I wanted to hold her there forever, each time I looked at her face I felt a physical reaction, the small stutter in my heart's rhythm, a tiny shiver of adrenaline in my chest, a moment of weakness in my arms.

My hand moving slowly against her cheek, thinking that we should put our clothes on and escape the cold night but not wanting to, not wanting this to end, not wanting to break the hypnotic spell woven by the dark, the murmuring willow fronds, her eyes, her skin, the hint of lilacs again. The scene is dreamlike, dark shadows surrounding uneven patches of bright, yellow brightness from the far off lights, the soft yet prickly feeling of the grass against my skin, the subtle sounds Lena's bare flesh makes against mine, leaves above us slow-dancing with with the silent breeze.

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Last edited by velo : 04-26-2007 at 07:02 AM.
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Old 04-26-2007, 07:52 AM   #7
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Because your book is a love story I think this works. It is what the reader will expect and want. You can't have a love story without some passion.

This is really good for a first draft. Really tight writing, well observed, poetic almost.

The only thing I can't fairly comment on is whether it is cheesy schmaltz "Mills and Boon' type stuff having not read it. It is a little syrupy for my tastes, I have to say, but I've read stuff not too disimilar by Dean Koontz.... What makes it syrupy? Hmmm... words like caressing, embracing, delicate, shivering.... But if this is going to end in tragedy (I love tragedy) and 'moral investigation' these 'tender' scenes could be great contrast for the agony, torture and grief that is to come....

Having said all that, don't listen to me, I read porn more than romance so I'm no help at all.
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Old 04-26-2007, 09:14 AM   #8
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Quote:
I read porn more than romance so I'm no help at all.
Well, duh, who doesn't?!?!?!

Contrast is really a good term for it. The first half will be all lovey and crap, but the second half sees the guy's ripped utterly asunder.

Thanks for the input.
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