It's a cultural hazard. I think that any young New Orleans female with at least eighth grade writing skills has tried her hand at some form of literary expression, prose, poetry, essays, or so forth. There's the example of Anne Rice, among others, with her vampire stories that carried a mysterious yet undeniably erotic content. And the New Orleans literary set provides some good literary or less examples; although they are somewhat less evident in Fat City or The Quarter lately.
Anyway, Tina Moreau determined to write some erotica; figuring that she could become a writer of bodice-rippers rather than making an honest living, as she was apparently destined to do.
Tina worked up the outline of a plot: An innocent Scottish or French or English or Cajun maiden named Brigitte experienced bold, untoward advances from a (Lord/Prince/Comte Rutledge) which she virtuously repelled. Varying contrivances in the plot were concocted, before Tina was to get to the meat of the story: her seduction by said rakish Lordship which she found wonderful, legendary, just so erotic beyond belief. The point, as is commonly understood with regard to erotica, is to provide a vehicle for a sexy description; much like the flimsy story lines are found in operas or operettas to provide deep singers an excuse for singing.
Tina planned a climatic situation where poor Brigitte was in her bath, when suddenly Lord Rutledge bursts in on her, sees her in the altogether, and lifts her out of the tub, dripping wet and kicking, which vainly trying to regain her modesty by using her hands. Then he was to initiate the intimidated Brigitte into the Rites of Venus on the sofa in which she responds first with fear, then with utter abandon. However, our author could not go that far with her heroine. Brigitte wept copiously; and Lord Rutledge relented. He covered Brigitte as best he could, and departed from her room with no further incident. The bounder sent a note of apology the next day.
Tina tried to write the rest of the story by having Rutledge repent, sincerely attempting to win Brigitte's hand, and eventually succeeding. Dammit, she came to like her heroine, however prissy she was, and didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Well, this would not totally sell: for some strange reason, there's a class of women who continue to like the vicarious experience of rape fantasies or light S and M in their nonrequired reading. And besides, who in her right mind would want to marry a creep that would do that?
I guess that Tina didn't have the killer instinct when it comes to erotica. And, perhaps, more respect for a potential readership.
Anyway, Tina Moreau determined to write some erotica; figuring that she could become a writer of bodice-rippers rather than making an honest living, as she was apparently destined to do.
Tina worked up the outline of a plot: An innocent Scottish or French or English or Cajun maiden named Brigitte experienced bold, untoward advances from a (Lord/Prince/Comte Rutledge) which she virtuously repelled. Varying contrivances in the plot were concocted, before Tina was to get to the meat of the story: her seduction by said rakish Lordship which she found wonderful, legendary, just so erotic beyond belief. The point, as is commonly understood with regard to erotica, is to provide a vehicle for a sexy description; much like the flimsy story lines are found in operas or operettas to provide deep singers an excuse for singing.
Tina planned a climatic situation where poor Brigitte was in her bath, when suddenly Lord Rutledge bursts in on her, sees her in the altogether, and lifts her out of the tub, dripping wet and kicking, which vainly trying to regain her modesty by using her hands. Then he was to initiate the intimidated Brigitte into the Rites of Venus on the sofa in which she responds first with fear, then with utter abandon. However, our author could not go that far with her heroine. Brigitte wept copiously; and Lord Rutledge relented. He covered Brigitte as best he could, and departed from her room with no further incident. The bounder sent a note of apology the next day.
Tina tried to write the rest of the story by having Rutledge repent, sincerely attempting to win Brigitte's hand, and eventually succeeding. Dammit, she came to like her heroine, however prissy she was, and didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Well, this would not totally sell: for some strange reason, there's a class of women who continue to like the vicarious experience of rape fantasies or light S and M in their nonrequired reading. And besides, who in her right mind would want to marry a creep that would do that?
I guess that Tina didn't have the killer instinct when it comes to erotica. And, perhaps, more respect for a potential readership.
9 comments:
Oh, my...poor Tina in such a struggle over writing. I can relate! In any case I like the cover and the look in the heroine's eyes.
Yes! Predictably, the sexy passages start abour 1/3 through the book. Or on page 2 if it's a really hot one!
I think a '50 shades of Brigitte' would be in order.
tough lines to sell. :)
I'm taking notes......
ALOHA from Honolulu
ComfortSpiral
<3
Good notion! The plot of the novel is a means to provide the dirty parts.
Bummer.
Very funny! And it's true that the tissue-paper plots in erotica (and most romances) are just so dreadful. Yay for Tina sticking to her beliefs even if she never sells anything.
(Lexa from the Celebrate blog hop)
50 Shades of Cajun?
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