The Joy of Writing Sex by Elizabeth Benedict
This book helped me immensely. Throughout it illustrated that the principles of good writing must be carried over into erotic writing.
The main thrust of this book is that a sex scene had to connect with the larger concerns of the work and tell us something about the characters. The needs, impulses and histories of the characters should drive the scene. The relationship the characters have to each other is critical.
There is a section entitled, "What Will My Grandmother Think," that has interviews with several notable authors telling about the struggles they had with thinking about parents or friends reading an erotic scene they had written. This was something I can relate to. One author went so far as to say that he wouldn't write certain scenes until his parents were dead (which is kind of extreme). The basic idea is that, as with all writing, you have to write for yourself and not for others. If you're being safe and toning it down you might as well not bother.
What is important is not the mechanics, but the emotions of the characters. " . . . the swoon. The delicious palpitations of one's heart is the real eroticism." This is what is lacking in pornography. The details have more to do with the body parts than with the people.
"The truth is every time you make love it's entirely different, it's as though you've never done it before and no one else has done it, and if you as a writer can't capture that, you've failed." I like that idea of the uniqueness and special-ness of the event.
As an author, you want your readers to experience the thrill of connection and (if the situation warrants) the despair of knowing that the connection can't be a lasting connection.
A good sex scene engages us on many levels: erotic, aesthetic, psychological, metaphorical and sometimes philosophical. When such a scene is working, the reader is so completely enthralled he/she doesn't realize that all of these concerns are being engaged, they simply read and enjoy. (I always return to John Gardner's "fictive dream" idea.)
This I found very interesting on a personal level as well as a writing level: "Sex is the most intense dialogue that could possibly go on between two people in which you're never sure what the other person is thinking. . . There's so much strategy that goes on in people's heads during sex. . . There's always endless debate over strategy, and that is never confided." As a writer, that is another layer to consider -- the strategy going on in your character's head. It's so much less about the physical actions than it is about the intent.
In "Aspects of the Novel," E.M. Forester states, "When human beings love they try to get something. They also try to give something, and this double aim makes love more complicated than food or sleep."
What makes sex so powerful is our urge to connect with another person. "You long for an unfamiliar heartbeat against your skin . . ."
Top ten principles:
1. A sex scene is not a sex manual.
We all know the physiology of sex, what a writer needs to tell the reader is the things we don't know. What we don't know are the particulars about the character.
2. A good sex scene does not have to be about good sex.
The aim of pornography is to arouse the reader. In writing fiction, it may be more interesting to show a connection that goes awry or has very bad consequences. (Hence the conflict.) Also, the experience can be physically satisfying for the characters, but leave an emotional emptiness.
3. It's okay to be sexually aroused by your own writing.
John Updike admits to being aroused by his own scenes. Again, the connection to the characters is of utmost importance.
4. Your fear is your best friend.
There is no way for a writer to be completely exposed and still be safe. It's necessary for the writer to go out on a limb, to expose oneself emotionally. We should just get used to it.
5. Sex is nice, but character is destiny.
The writer has to be continually aware of what the characters want, not what the writer wants. The writer has to make the reader care about the characters.
6. Only your characters know for sure what to call those body parts.
I definitely faced this when writing my sex scenes. What do you call various body parts without sounding silly or sounding like your words were taken from a Penthouse Forum? The basic rule is to call it what the characters would call it, make sure it's appropriate for the tone of the book, don't be cute or evasive. Also, you may not have to call it anything at all. Benedict quoted several very effective scenes in which the action was all illustrated by metaphor.
7. Take your cues from your characters.
Let your characters take over and show you what they would like to do. If you're having difficulty, you may want to ignore one of them for the moment and direct all of your attention to the other. What does he/she want to happen in the next ten minutes, the next day, the next month? Does the character have anything else on her mind? Is there anything she is afraid of?
Once you have a feel for one character, turn to her partner and decide how the other character responds to this person's desires or fears.
8. Your characters must want it and want it intensely.
Take stock of what your characters want. In fiction it's always more interesting when the character doesn't get what she wants, or gets what she wants but with a heavy price. (This relates to my story. Rosalind gets Jack but at the price of having to flee the country.) A character who wants something that her partner does not is what dramatic conflict is all about.
9. A good sex scene is always about sex and something else.
Sex needs to have a purpose beyond the momentary physical interaction of your characters. It has to reveal something about the characters and reflect something about your plot. Revealing something about the plot is something I'm especially taking stock of. It also can be symbolic, act as a metaphor or develop the theme of the book. For my novel, Rosalind's interactions with Jack have to show his inherent evil.
10. Who your characters are to each other is the key.
The writer has to keep in mind that the dynamics of the scene will vary greatly depending upon how long the characters have known each other and the circumstances. It would be very different for people who have been married for thirty years than it would be for people having an illicit tryst.
Don't forget to use the physical surroundings to create the mood. In pornography the action takes place in a vacuum. In fiction, the setting must reflect something about the characters and plot.
Remember that the characters can speak to each other during the sex scene. It reveals information about the characters, can show (or resolve) conflict, and it can reveal something about the characters' attitudes.
A sex scene has to be specific. The specifics are what cause us to fall in love with one person over another. Perhaps there is some need that only one particular person can fulfill at the time. This is achieved through details of emotion, action, setting, culture, age. Being specific doesn't mean being explicit. For example, if the character is a musician, the scene may be portrayed showing musical metaphors. The scene must be very individual to the characters.
Probably the biggest new thought this book had for me was showing the element of surprise. In life we like everything to go smoothly. In fiction we long for conflict, characters who are difficult, selfish, diabolical, vain, in short, people who are trouble. (This goes right along with my evil character, Jack LeFevre.) We are drawn to the conflict that swirls around the characters. The best characters continually surprise us. (Reminiscent of the Donald Maas exercise of thinking of things your characters would never do then making them do these things during the course of your novel, introducing the discordant note.)
When writing about intimate moments that are generally not characterized by conflict, we must create some kind of conflict, tension or surprise. Things that can be surprising are role reversals, the entrance of an unexpected person or unexpected event, speech that is surprising for the characters. In one example, the woman continually stops to ask, "Does your wife do this for you?" (Pretty obnoxious, but out-of-the-ordinary.) A character could get distracted by something, a noise, a disturbing thought. A particular insight could be surprising. The surprise can be in use of language. This is not what the characters say, but writer description. Jeanette Winterson in "Written on the Body" uses sea analogies . "She opens and shuts like a sea anemone. She's refilled each day with the fresh tides of longing."
Benedict discusses sex in the age of AIDS, from both a gay and straight point of view. There is the awkwardness of having "the talk." It occurs to me that I should have Rosalind try to have the talk with Jack and he tells her that condom use isn't necessary because he's been in monogamous relationships. This would show the beginnings of his manipulation of her. She's too entranced by him to care and takes his word at face value. (And he's lying, of course.)
No matter how it is handled, the "safe sex" discussion should be used to further your characters' development.
First time sex was discussed. In this chapter, Benedict used a section of Mary Gordon's book, "Spending," which uses no anatomical references whatsoever. It is very effective, none-the-less. "Then with his lips and his tongue, he struck fire." You get the idea.
In the wedding night section, Benedict uses Charles Baxter's, "Feast of Love," to illustrate a man knowing that the woman is thinking of someone else when she's with him. "Diane brought more fever to our lovemaking than she ever had before, but it was the wrong fever, as if she were trying to get rid of an internal pressure through physical means." Again, another example of adding conflict.
Wright Morris's novel, "Plains Song," illustrates the huge difference in attitude during different time periods. In this story newlyweds have their first sexual encounter at an inn while crossing the country in a covered wagon circa 1900. The woman likened the experience to "an operation without anesthesia." (Quite a strange thought for our 'pleasure-centric' society.)
Life Sentences: Husbands and Wives -- This section illustrated the different concerns in portraying married sex. I liked this: "She remembers her first husband's bold sexuality, their playful, open sex life, in sharp contrast to Thomas's "limited repertoire of moves," which he always ran through in the same order, like a folk singer who plays the same songs in the same sequence."
The next section, "Three Cheers for Adultery," talked about the rich possibilities and conflict inherent in this situation. It's pre-heated because of the element of secrecy. Desire for a person you can't have and don't know very well can take a long time to dissipate. One good point is that there is a "new Puritanism" that wasn't in effect during the time Erica Jong wrote "Fear of Flying," a novel that explored the politics of sex and feminism. Rather than leaving her lackluster marriage, she searches for an uncomplicated, anonymous fling. My character, Rosalind, does have a live-in boyfriend, but it's a problematic relationship. At the beginning she does worry about going home late, having to confront the boyfriend, etc., but that relationship ends early in the story.
Recreational sex: I think most of my novel, "The Dop" falls into this category. Special concerns in this case are: to give us information about the characters and the relationship. On the role of sex in it through dialogue, voice, interior monologue and details that offer insight into character. It's usually a given that the characters don't know each other very well, they have individual histories but not a common one, they may currently have other partners, they may be sexually uninhibited but emotionally guarded, and they may have vastly different expectations of the encounter.
Conflict develops then one character's feelings move at a different pace, and in a different direction, from the other's. There is nothing more important in revealing who the characters are than specific details in dialogue and description.
You can make a sex scene a turning point in your story when your characters do or say something especially revealing while making love.
I think what I mainly gained from this book was the thought that the sex scene has to do something to further your plot and reveal more about your characters. It can't be just a nice moment, it has to drive the action forward.
This book helped me immensely. Throughout it illustrated that the principles of good writing must be carried over into erotic writing.
The main thrust of this book is that a sex scene had to connect with the larger concerns of the work and tell us something about the characters. The needs, impulses and histories of the characters should drive the scene. The relationship the characters have to each other is critical.
There is a section entitled, "What Will My Grandmother Think," that has interviews with several notable authors telling about the struggles they had with thinking about parents or friends reading an erotic scene they had written. This was something I can relate to. One author went so far as to say that he wouldn't write certain scenes until his parents were dead (which is kind of extreme). The basic idea is that, as with all writing, you have to write for yourself and not for others. If you're being safe and toning it down you might as well not bother.
What is important is not the mechanics, but the emotions of the characters. " . . . the swoon. The delicious palpitations of one's heart is the real eroticism." This is what is lacking in pornography. The details have more to do with the body parts than with the people.
"The truth is every time you make love it's entirely different, it's as though you've never done it before and no one else has done it, and if you as a writer can't capture that, you've failed." I like that idea of the uniqueness and special-ness of the event.
As an author, you want your readers to experience the thrill of connection and (if the situation warrants) the despair of knowing that the connection can't be a lasting connection.
A good sex scene engages us on many levels: erotic, aesthetic, psychological, metaphorical and sometimes philosophical. When such a scene is working, the reader is so completely enthralled he/she doesn't realize that all of these concerns are being engaged, they simply read and enjoy. (I always return to John Gardner's "fictive dream" idea.)
This I found very interesting on a personal level as well as a writing level: "Sex is the most intense dialogue that could possibly go on between two people in which you're never sure what the other person is thinking. . . There's so much strategy that goes on in people's heads during sex. . . There's always endless debate over strategy, and that is never confided." As a writer, that is another layer to consider -- the strategy going on in your character's head. It's so much less about the physical actions than it is about the intent.
In "Aspects of the Novel," E.M. Forester states, "When human beings love they try to get something. They also try to give something, and this double aim makes love more complicated than food or sleep."
What makes sex so powerful is our urge to connect with another person. "You long for an unfamiliar heartbeat against your skin . . ."
Top ten principles:
1. A sex scene is not a sex manual.
We all know the physiology of sex, what a writer needs to tell the reader is the things we don't know. What we don't know are the particulars about the character.
2. A good sex scene does not have to be about good sex.
The aim of pornography is to arouse the reader. In writing fiction, it may be more interesting to show a connection that goes awry or has very bad consequences. (Hence the conflict.) Also, the experience can be physically satisfying for the characters, but leave an emotional emptiness.
3. It's okay to be sexually aroused by your own writing.
John Updike admits to being aroused by his own scenes. Again, the connection to the characters is of utmost importance.
4. Your fear is your best friend.
There is no way for a writer to be completely exposed and still be safe. It's necessary for the writer to go out on a limb, to expose oneself emotionally. We should just get used to it.
5. Sex is nice, but character is destiny.
The writer has to be continually aware of what the characters want, not what the writer wants. The writer has to make the reader care about the characters.
6. Only your characters know for sure what to call those body parts.
I definitely faced this when writing my sex scenes. What do you call various body parts without sounding silly or sounding like your words were taken from a Penthouse Forum? The basic rule is to call it what the characters would call it, make sure it's appropriate for the tone of the book, don't be cute or evasive. Also, you may not have to call it anything at all. Benedict quoted several very effective scenes in which the action was all illustrated by metaphor.
7. Take your cues from your characters.
Let your characters take over and show you what they would like to do. If you're having difficulty, you may want to ignore one of them for the moment and direct all of your attention to the other. What does he/she want to happen in the next ten minutes, the next day, the next month? Does the character have anything else on her mind? Is there anything she is afraid of?
Once you have a feel for one character, turn to her partner and decide how the other character responds to this person's desires or fears.
8. Your characters must want it and want it intensely.
Take stock of what your characters want. In fiction it's always more interesting when the character doesn't get what she wants, or gets what she wants but with a heavy price. (This relates to my story. Rosalind gets Jack but at the price of having to flee the country.) A character who wants something that her partner does not is what dramatic conflict is all about.
9. A good sex scene is always about sex and something else.
Sex needs to have a purpose beyond the momentary physical interaction of your characters. It has to reveal something about the characters and reflect something about your plot. Revealing something about the plot is something I'm especially taking stock of. It also can be symbolic, act as a metaphor or develop the theme of the book. For my novel, Rosalind's interactions with Jack have to show his inherent evil.
10. Who your characters are to each other is the key.
The writer has to keep in mind that the dynamics of the scene will vary greatly depending upon how long the characters have known each other and the circumstances. It would be very different for people who have been married for thirty years than it would be for people having an illicit tryst.
Don't forget to use the physical surroundings to create the mood. In pornography the action takes place in a vacuum. In fiction, the setting must reflect something about the characters and plot.
Remember that the characters can speak to each other during the sex scene. It reveals information about the characters, can show (or resolve) conflict, and it can reveal something about the characters' attitudes.
A sex scene has to be specific. The specifics are what cause us to fall in love with one person over another. Perhaps there is some need that only one particular person can fulfill at the time. This is achieved through details of emotion, action, setting, culture, age. Being specific doesn't mean being explicit. For example, if the character is a musician, the scene may be portrayed showing musical metaphors. The scene must be very individual to the characters.
Probably the biggest new thought this book had for me was showing the element of surprise. In life we like everything to go smoothly. In fiction we long for conflict, characters who are difficult, selfish, diabolical, vain, in short, people who are trouble. (This goes right along with my evil character, Jack LeFevre.) We are drawn to the conflict that swirls around the characters. The best characters continually surprise us. (Reminiscent of the Donald Maas exercise of thinking of things your characters would never do then making them do these things during the course of your novel, introducing the discordant note.)
When writing about intimate moments that are generally not characterized by conflict, we must create some kind of conflict, tension or surprise. Things that can be surprising are role reversals, the entrance of an unexpected person or unexpected event, speech that is surprising for the characters. In one example, the woman continually stops to ask, "Does your wife do this for you?" (Pretty obnoxious, but out-of-the-ordinary.) A character could get distracted by something, a noise, a disturbing thought. A particular insight could be surprising. The surprise can be in use of language. This is not what the characters say, but writer description. Jeanette Winterson in "Written on the Body" uses sea analogies . "She opens and shuts like a sea anemone. She's refilled each day with the fresh tides of longing."
Benedict discusses sex in the age of AIDS, from both a gay and straight point of view. There is the awkwardness of having "the talk." It occurs to me that I should have Rosalind try to have the talk with Jack and he tells her that condom use isn't necessary because he's been in monogamous relationships. This would show the beginnings of his manipulation of her. She's too entranced by him to care and takes his word at face value. (And he's lying, of course.)
No matter how it is handled, the "safe sex" discussion should be used to further your characters' development.
First time sex was discussed. In this chapter, Benedict used a section of Mary Gordon's book, "Spending," which uses no anatomical references whatsoever. It is very effective, none-the-less. "Then with his lips and his tongue, he struck fire." You get the idea.
In the wedding night section, Benedict uses Charles Baxter's, "Feast of Love," to illustrate a man knowing that the woman is thinking of someone else when she's with him. "Diane brought more fever to our lovemaking than she ever had before, but it was the wrong fever, as if she were trying to get rid of an internal pressure through physical means." Again, another example of adding conflict.
Wright Morris's novel, "Plains Song," illustrates the huge difference in attitude during different time periods. In this story newlyweds have their first sexual encounter at an inn while crossing the country in a covered wagon circa 1900. The woman likened the experience to "an operation without anesthesia." (Quite a strange thought for our 'pleasure-centric' society.)
Life Sentences: Husbands and Wives -- This section illustrated the different concerns in portraying married sex. I liked this: "She remembers her first husband's bold sexuality, their playful, open sex life, in sharp contrast to Thomas's "limited repertoire of moves," which he always ran through in the same order, like a folk singer who plays the same songs in the same sequence."
The next section, "Three Cheers for Adultery," talked about the rich possibilities and conflict inherent in this situation. It's pre-heated because of the element of secrecy. Desire for a person you can't have and don't know very well can take a long time to dissipate. One good point is that there is a "new Puritanism" that wasn't in effect during the time Erica Jong wrote "Fear of Flying," a novel that explored the politics of sex and feminism. Rather than leaving her lackluster marriage, she searches for an uncomplicated, anonymous fling. My character, Rosalind, does have a live-in boyfriend, but it's a problematic relationship. At the beginning she does worry about going home late, having to confront the boyfriend, etc., but that relationship ends early in the story.
Recreational sex: I think most of my novel, "The Dop" falls into this category. Special concerns in this case are: to give us information about the characters and the relationship. On the role of sex in it through dialogue, voice, interior monologue and details that offer insight into character. It's usually a given that the characters don't know each other very well, they have individual histories but not a common one, they may currently have other partners, they may be sexually uninhibited but emotionally guarded, and they may have vastly different expectations of the encounter.
Conflict develops then one character's feelings move at a different pace, and in a different direction, from the other's. There is nothing more important in revealing who the characters are than specific details in dialogue and description.
You can make a sex scene a turning point in your story when your characters do or say something especially revealing while making love.
I think what I mainly gained from this book was the thought that the sex scene has to do something to further your plot and reveal more about your characters. It can't be just a nice moment, it has to drive the action forward.
posted by Sally Bosco at
7:21 AM
