10x10 Movies

I’m eclectic in both my reading and my movie choices. I might write a fantasy one week, work on a romance the next, and be off and running onto something new… This month, I thought I’d share some of my favorite movies… in tens, of course! I have to admit, the list kind of surprised me. You find out weird and interesting things about yourself when you set upon a journey… even if it’s one of 10 movies.

  

    Mary Poppins: Because she’s practically perfect in any way. This is the first movie I can remember seeing in the theatre, and it is one that I still watch if I’m feeling sick or depressed. As so many Disney movies do, it takes magic to show the miracle of everyday life. Including simple pleasures like flying a kite.

   Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory: Again, a favorite from childhood that I watch when I’m feeling blue (but not *violet* LOL). As a kid, I drew countless versions of chocolate rivers and candy cane lanes. Now, when my 6 year old son goes to sleep, we talk about our candy garden”… It still works its way into some of my works in progress, too. The movie captures the sensibility of wonder and brings me right into the world right along with Charlie.

3  LOTR: Return of the King: There’s really no reason to ask why on this one. I love epic fantasy, and Lord of the Rings is a perfect fit. Oddly enough, I couldn’t get into the books. But the movies? Oh yes, more please! I chose Return of the King because in the last battle scene, Aragorn gives a speech that reminded me of my favorite Shakespeare play, Henry V. And let’s just consider Viggo Mortensen in that role. Yum.

   Second Hand Lions: I love the way fact / fiction/ past/present/future all mash up together in this movie. But even more, I love the family dynamic between the two old uncles and their befuddled nephew. Priceless.

   Beauty and the Beast: In addition to loving the fairy tale, I really identified with Belle. Of course, when I walk and read at the same time I end up *in* the fountain, not dancing around it.

  Clash of the Titans: This was my first introduction to fantasy of epic proportions, and Greek mythology. I ate it up. Watched it over and over and over again. I even watched a ton of B movies, hoping to gain more insight… but Clash of the Titans was the best. And Medusa! Every time my hair moved in the breeze, I freaked out a little bit (yes, highly imaginative even as a child).

    A Little Princess: This was one of my favorite books growing up, along with A Secret Garden. I didn’t like the Shirley Temple version, though… I liked the 90’s version that was more… artsy and in keeping with the novel. But even the Shirley Temple one had the gentleman who transformed her little attic into a palace and two scared little girls into princesses. Life is tough in this one, but if you hang in there, there are benefits!

8 Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood: I envied those women their friendship. I have close friends, but miles separate us. An ocean, for one of them! But this one also explores the polite fictions that we tell ourselves and our families. Those polite fictions can be the cruelest of all…

9 Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: Come on now, can you even say the title without grinning a little bit? Light hearted, with a goofy inventor, kids, and a flying car. Yup. I’m in love with it. It’s a bright, candy coated bit of froth, and every once in a while, a person needs just that confection.

1 Moulin Rouge: Over the top romance, music to die for…. I loved this movie. Not many of the romances stick with me (as evidenced by their lack of inclusion here), but this movie captured me. Romance, Tragedy, Comedy… It all comes together quite well.

     You can find me at http://wynwords.wordpress.com/   where I blog books, writing and parenting. 

     You can catch my debut story, Dragon's Champion at Mocha Memoirs Press.

  Till Next Month!

Clueless is my name...

Stories are my game... No seriously I'm fecking clueless man. Imagine my surprise when I got an email saying I was supposed to blog today. One is at a loss for words. Oh the irony!!! No forrealz...I'm at a loss. Are you laughing yet? No? If I told you about my threat to kick a geriatric in his BC nads because he was standing too close behind me in the line at Kroger and I could feel his jurassic breath on my neck would you laugh then? Yes? My work here is done...

                                              Nikki W.

Science Fiction comes of age...sort of

Speaking as a writer primarily of science fiction, I can speak for many SF fans in lamenting the fact the genre really took a nose-dive after the national tragedy of 9/11.  Science fiction is the genre of starry-eyed dreamers, those who like to hope, to dream of distant horizons and unexplored frontiers.  As our society passed through a dark period of paranoid fear and cynicism, the hope for brighter tomorrows and brave new worlds that fueled that kind of science fiction petered out.  During that period, the only sci-fi films we saw were mindless military blow-em-ups in  which a brave, stalwart, and of course gun-crazed humanity took on purely evil invading aliens and prevailed by sheer violence.

But now, it seems, that dark chapter is coming to an end.  American sci-fi is growing up a bit.  The period of boys and their toy soldiers is giving way to blossoming adolescence.  Stephanie Meyer of "Twilight" fame gives us another film adaptation of her work which many hope will be the novelist's next great franchise.  I refer to "The Host" a very off-beat kind of science fiction which combines the sci-fi concept of extraterrestrial invasion with young romance.

The story takes place in a post-apocalyptic near future in which parasitic alien beings have successfully taken over the earth and possessed the bodies of nearly every human being in what was our world.  Not as bad as it sounds.  In many ways, the new Earth is Utopia.  No war, crime or pollution.  Everybody is polite and helpful and everyone gets what they need for free (food, medicine, housing, transportation, etc.)  Yes, a benign socialist dictatorship complete with universal healthcare.  Naturally, there's a small and often vicious human resistance which will stop at nothing to take Earth back from its insufferably goody-goody alien overlords and bring back the joys of war, crime and pollution.  (Any of this sound familiar?)  The heroine, Melanie Stryder is a rebellious, take-no-prisoners southern teen whose dad committed suicide rather than surrender to alien possession, leaving Melanie to fend for herself and her younger brother Jamie.  Mel and Jamie are separated and Mel follows in dear old dad's footsteps by trying to off herself to escape alien capture.  She is saved against her will by alien medicine and becomes the involuntary host to an alien parasite known only as the Wanderer.

The struggle in Mel's head between her and her unwanted mental boarder is a metaphor for a struggle we all face in trying to make moral and personal decisions, having long and bitter arguments with ourselves, two opposing voices screaming in one over-crowded mind.  The religious metaphors get pretty obvious at times.  The alien invaders are called souls.  They're not slimey, icky leech-like parasites.  Rather, they're beautiful, fragile creatures of pure light, with a thousand exquisitely delicate probing feelers, intricate as snowflakes and just as perishable.  (Far too good for the likes of us.)  The symbolic struggle between the higher, nobler spiritual will and the more base animal instincts of humanity is ever-present.  Melanie and the Wanderer start out as bitter enemies fighting for control of the same body.  But, Melanie's shared memories of loved ones lost kindle the Wanderer's compassion, and they soon (far too soon in my opinion) become unlikely allies in an ill-fated road trip which takes them to what may be the last pocket of un-possessed humans.  The resistance compound ruled by the grim, enigmatic, shotgun-toting yet oddly gentle Uncle Jeb is in some ways cliched; hearty, stoic farm folk who look like a cross between the Amish, David Koresh's cult and the Children of the Corn.  But, the vision of Man's last haven is also strange and beautiful.  From a vast, underground hydroponic wheat field nourished by a brilliant assembly of solar mirrors to a dark cave which comes alive with bio-luminescent worms which appear like beautiful constellations.

The resistance has to decide whether to kill their now-possessed long-lost daughter, or try to reach her, if they can find the faith to believe she's still alive inside her now alien-controlled body.  And, can they find common ground with the Wanderer, whom they come to name "Wanda" for short.  Things get very complicated.  Melanie's boyfriend Jared is there, trying to reach that part of her that's still Mel.  Another boy, Ian is falling in love with the part of her that's Wanda.   Yup.  Two boys fighting over two girls fighting over the same body.  (Yeah, I can see the T-shirts now; Are you "Team Jared," or "Team Ian"?  "Team Mel" or "Team Wanda"?)  Meyer's male leads are, as always, Ken-doll hunks and ever-so-gentlemanly.  The schizophrenic heroine is effectively played by Saoirse Ronan, whose anguished, expressive visage and big, sad, penetrating eyes carry the eerie blue contact lenses of mock alien possession marvelously.  The talented young actress has played many strange characters.  (My personal favorite was Hanna, the genetically engineered homicidal outcast in the 2011 film of the same name.)

The metaphors of teenage first love for which Meyer is famous come through loud and clear with Mel's voice screaming inside Wanda's head as she's kissing one or the other of the two handsome suitors:  "What are you doing?  Stop!"  Mel and Wanda seem to take turns being each other's conscience.  In one scene, a real scary bad boy tries to kill her/them and ends up falling into an underground river.  Mel wants to let him die, but Wanda insists on saving him.  When Jamie is mortally wounded and dying, Wanda betrays her people and risks her life to save him with alien medicine.  Wanda is shaken, her blossoming sisterly bond with Mel almost severed when she discovers the dark secret of the resistance:  a kind of nightmarish abortion clinic where alien parasites are forcibly removed from their human hosts and killed.  "Well, what did you expect?" Uncle Jeb asks Wanda in his sad, mournful way.  "We're dying out.  We just want our people back."  She teaches him that violence is not the answer.  The only way to remove the souls without killing their hosts, it turns out, is to coax them out with love.  The scene where she holds a newly removed soul in her hands and gives it to Ian is the scene which confirms their all-conquering inter-species love.  Wanda teaches the humans to forgive and let their alien enemy move on to another world.  The tear-jerking finale is perhaps a bit overdone, awash in Meyer-esque sentimentality.  The surprise ending is perhaps a bit too easy an answer, but it gets the desired audience reaction.

Yes, it's a very atypical kind of sci-fi for our times.  And, very timely.  It can be viewed both at the personal level and the cultural/spiritual/political one.  It's a story of war, but neither side is truly evil.  The core values of the two sides just seem hopelessly irreconcilable.  The world is like the heroine:  divided between two opposing wills that have to find a way to coexist.  As the humans find themselves divided and at each other's throats over how to deal with the changing world, the aliens are horrified as they begin to become corrupted by their human hosts, becoming increasingly violent in fighting the resistance.  In a time in which our society seems hopelessly divided and longing for healing and reconciliation, this story takes the position that love is the answer.  Too easy an answer, perhaps, but it strikes the right chord at the right time.  The story closes with eyes turned up at the stars and closing credits running against a beautiful panorama of brightly-colored nebulae and galactic spirals.  At last, the hope of youth has returned to science fiction.  And, through the vehicle of romance; an interesting fusion of genres that takes sci-fi into the second decade of the 21st century, making it more accessible to a new generation.

Mocha Memoirs Press is a good place to look if you're in the market for paranormal romance.  It may well be the genre of the future, and Mocha presents a lot of very interesting angles on it from many fine authors.  If you'd like to check out my personal take on sci-fi (maybe leaning more to the comical than the romantic, but with elements of both) try my Mocha Memoirs release, "Long Haul."

- Tom Olbert
http://tomolbert.blogspot.com

Putting the Sizzle in Steamy Scenes (Part One)

Shakespeare could get away with reducing Romeo and Juliet’s wedding night to a few lines of dialogue and a morning kiss goodbye, but in a world where movies and television are full of sex, it takes a bit more to satisfy a modern audience looking for "steamy scenes." With that in mind, I’d like to share with you an article I wrote several years ago that is still relevant today. Part One this month, and Part Two next month. J

So how do you get beyond what one writer calls the "blush factor" and create passion on the page without resorting to pornography? How do you know when to be explicit and when to draw the veil?

Being of rather high blush-ability myself, I asked a group of burgeoning romance writers for input. Their feedback includes some great tips to bear in mind.

First of all, writer Janet Franklin pointed out how important sensuality is to the creation of mood for these scenes:

Writing steamy scenes is a very intense experience. I find that putting on a romantic CD really helps get things rolling. Then I might light a few scented candles and close my eyes to focus on my characters. I let them talk to me about what they want to happen, what their deepest wishes are, what their fantasies are. I then think about how they would go about fulfilling and getting those wishes fulfilled. I also focus on their previous relationship and experiences together. For me, steamy scenes need to be gradually approached as the characters woo each other. (Unless, of course, you're going for the instant "lust in the dust" aspect, which has merits of its own.)

As a romance reader, I look for all my senses to be involved. I look for the romance of the act, not the physical blow-by-blow (no pun intended) of what goes where. Steamy scenes are an important part of romantic fiction; I think an author owes it to her readers to go beyond lights out, fade to black. But it takes a poet to bring those scenes to life, to heart, to soul. And that's the true mark of a romance author--to bring her readers into the intimacy of the scene in such a way that they don't feel like voyeurs, but interested participants. Don't forget the other senses as you worry about touch.


Jennifer Turner offered some good concrete advice as well:

When I got to the hot scenes in my book, I read books that I knew offered such scenes. From them I picked the parts I liked best, reworded them, and using the 'personalities' of my Characters, blended it into my own scene. Also, I read somewhere that most editors hate the word MOAN in a sex scene. They say it makes them think the person moaning is in pain, not ecstasy. Plus, I think one of the key things to remember, is making all action believable, like say, it wouldn't be believable to have the Hero carrying the Heroine through the woods while kissing her and trying to get a hand down her shirt. He'd probably run into a tree and drop her on her butt. Another thing, there should be dialogue during the encounter, at one point or another anyway. People in real life don't just foreplay, but they speak to each other, murmuring endearments, especially in those first dozen or so encounters.

The above advice is important to remember, but realize that it is subjective. While some editors may hate moaning characters, there is still a lot of moaning going on in published literature—therefore it is not a universal thing. Check the guidelines for a particular venue before submitting, just like you do for any other genre--and follow them slavishly. They are there for a reason.

Writing sex today is not an easy thing. The days of bodice ripping and heaving bosoms are now passé for most readers. Although I personally see nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned romance, the reading populace in general are often more progressive in their tastes. It is not enough to fade to black at first contact. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, "fade to black" was originally a cinema term for a scene where the director literally did just that—had his cameraman iris in to a black screen. The physical aspects of the scene were left strictly to the imagination. Traditionally, romance writers in general treated sex the same way. But as tastes have changed, more explicit detail is expected.

However, full out graphics must be handled with sensitivity. The lead in is almost as important as the final consummation. Wynelda-Ann Deaver offers the following advice about creating atmosphere, with a sample of just how important foreplay can be:

In order to get to the point where I can actually write a steamy scene, I do a couple of things first. One of them is to write a dance scene, whether I use it or not. For me dancing is so sensual, so primal that all my inhibitions dissolve with the song. I have "soundtracks" to my writing, and pick the songs that I write certain scenes to very carefully. The following scene was written to Meatloaf’s "I’d Do Anything for Love (But I won’t do That)" from Bat Out of Hell II: Back Into Hell. I love that song…can sink into the beauty and romance of it:

"Well, their singer has agreed to stay on for a couple of weeks. Until they can find a replacement, at least." Cole sat down next to Lacey, draping his arm over her shoulder.

The contact felt right, if not exactly easy. Lacey could feel the warmth of his arm through her tee shirt, and it sent a thrill through her.

"They’ll be practicing in a couple. Want to stay and listen?" Cole played with a strand of her blonde hair absently.

Lacey turned to look in his eyes. They were pensive, lost in thought. "Sure."

The band was good. Lacey found herself bouncing along with the songs. When they started a rendition of "Satisfaction," Lacey started humming along with them.

Cole smiled. The song summed up his feelings at the moment. "Shall we dance?"

"But there’s no one else," Lacey said.

"Exactly. We’ll have much more elbow room this way."

Grinning, Lacey allowed him to pull her up from her chair and followed him onto the dance floor. It felt silly, to be dancing in a club without the camouflage of other couples. More exposed.

Soon, the eyes that might be watching no longer mattered. Cole spun her around, brought her back in close to him. His hands were firm on her waist, bringing her in as close as he could. Branding her. Lacey snaked her arms around his neck. A slow, secret smile teased her lips. It was deliciously wicked to be in his arms, his body moving against hers. She could feel his breath, wanted to make it her own.

The band went smoothly into another song. Cole tightened his grip on her hips as she arched her back and leaned into the song. He wanted to feel the expanse of bare midriff that she revealed, but was afraid to get in too deep. Her dancing was a slow seduction, bringing him to the edge of control.

He slid a hand up her back, guiding her back up to him. She was humming in his ear.

Cole dipped his head, caught her lip gently in his teeth. He breathed in her gasp, slid his tongue gently against her lips. "Lacey?" His voice was quiet, shook with need.

"If you apologize again," Lacey whispered, "I’ll have to hurt you." She reached up and brought his head down to hers. Took him in a kiss that branded him as hers.

"Sing for me," he breathed against her lips.

Lacey looked deep into his eyes. Trusted the warmth, the heat she found in them. The band was playing an old song, one of her favorites. Still, she remained undecided.

His hips moved against hers. "Princess, please."

Softly, she sang for him. Only for him. Their bodies moved as one, she could feel his heart beat against her chest. She knew instinctively that he would demand more from her. More than she had ever given before. Possibly more than she was willing to give.

She barely knew him.

She knew him all too well.

Her voice gained strength. With a growl of satisfaction Cole slid his hands up her back, bringing her even closer. He wanted to shout for joy when she framed his face in her hands, her voice strong and true.
She hadn’t noticed that the singer on stage was now silent. That Lacey was the song, and the music followed her.

Neither of them noticed Tag walk into the club. He watched with narrowed eyes his baby sister making love on the dance floor with a man that he didn’t know. Saw her utter captivation.

Heard her sing. Truly sing. He hadn’t heard Lacey sing in…forever. Her voice was powerful, full of hurt and hunger and vulnerability and power. Perfect.

The bartender who had taken her in back the night before came up to Tag. "Can I help you, Sir?"

Tag shook his head. "I’ve already found what I was looking for." He turned and left his sister in Cole Haggerty’s arms.

Lacey smiled shyly at Cole as the music ended. "Perfect," he whispered. Then bent his head to claim her lips.

Scattered clapping from the stage brought Lacey out of his arms quickly. She could feel herself blushing bone deep.

Cole swore softly. He needed another cold shower, damn it.

---- From Princess, By Wynelda-Ann Deaver

The only other trick I have up my sleeve for writing steamy scenes is really odd. Sometimes the only way I can get over the blush factor is to write the scene on brightly colored construction paper. It seems to free my mind from its hang-ups.

Tune in next month for Part Two.

Feeling Peevish

Greetings, noble readers!  Or should that be "nubile" readers?  Anyway, it's time for another sit down with yer old pal, Lexxx.  If you don't know me by now, I'm the writer of the Strange Bedfellows series from Mocha Memoirs Press as well as other various and sundry scribblings.  But today I'm blogging not as a writer, but as a reader.  It's true-- one cannot be an effective writer if they are not first and foremost-- an avid reader.  Strangely, what I read for pleasure is a little different from what I write.  I'm more of a horror girl.  I like the blood and violence; the spooky paranormal atmosphere.  For me a book is best when I have to put it in the freezer to get to sleep at night.  But I digress. The pet peeves I have as a reader transcend all genres.  Call me a grammar Nazi if you must, but there are many things that will immediately make me put a book down.

1.  Poor grammar.  If you're an author who gets paid for what you write, then you should have a good grasp of the English language (or whatever tongue you happen to write in).  An editor should not have to remind you about capital letters, punctuation, it's/ its or using an apostrophe s for a plural.  Oh, and nothing gets my back up worse than a disregard for subject/ verb agreement.  I've found myself participating in conversations on writer mailing lists detailing lessons on basic grammar.  Here's a news flash, publishers-- if the author doing the submission is making glaring grammatical errors, then they aren't ready to publish.  If the story is so good that grammar doesn't matter, that's what the "revise and resubmit" letters are for.  That's not to say that we all don't make mistakes, but a disregard for grammar diminishes us all.

2.  Ignoring plot points in favor of more sex.  I've been writing in the romance genre for a while now and I've noticed that in a lot of instances, romance writers get slammed for writing "fluff."  We get accused of having weak plots that center on sex and lovey-dovey drivel.  For the most part, this is a slippery-slope arguement that has no basis in reality (i.e.-- bullshit).  However, I have been the "victim" of a PWP-- a porn without plot.  And if that's what you're looking for, that's great.  More power to you, but that's just not my thing.  I like romance novels that center on the relationship between the lovers, but that also have an intricate, interesting plot woven into it.  After all, there's only so many ways that the characters can get it on. After a while, there has to be something more if it's to hold my interest. 

3.  Insulting the intelligence of the reader.  Romance readers often get a bad rap.  Actually, genre-readers often get a bad rap.  It is as if the world thinks that anyone who reads horror, romance, sci-fi, fantasy, etc. are adorable little morons.  I can't tell you how many times I've had complicated sentence structure or vocabulary edited out of a story.  One of my biggest peeves is the myth of "head hopping."  Writers are often not allowed to write in third-person omniscient POV nowadays because we're all so scared of confusing the reader.  I, for one, would like to think that my readers are intelligent folk who have no trouble following the points of view of the characters.  As a reader, I enjoy varied and complex sentence structure and vocabulary that ignites the senses.  That's not to say it should be pretentious, but you know what I mean...

Now comes the part where I give the shameless plug.  If you're reading this blog, chances are, you're a Mocha Memoirs reader. CONGRATULATIONS!  Mocha Memoirs writers are among the best in the business.  I've read lots of books from the MMP authors and I've never been disappointed.  Writers like Selah Janel, Siobhan Kincade, Nikki Prince, Nikki Winter, Drea Riley, Billy London and so many others grace the MMP store with their amazing abilities.  If you haven't checked out the MMP team, I urge you to do it now.  You won't be disappointed. 

*************
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