The Allure of Writing Erotica
Why did I choose to switch from writing romance to writing erotica? It’s a question I’ve been asked at least a dozen times in the past few weeks. My stock answer is … I didn’t.
I’ve always written steamy romance. As a matter of fact, the love scenes have always been my favorite parts of all of my “romance” books. They show emotions and reactions we don’t always see in the other areas of the story.
Erotica, while far bolder than traditional romance, is still a love story … with a bit (or a lot) of kink. In the case of my new release, The Muse, it’s also a sense of adventure. Erotica gives your characters a blank slate to discover who they are, both emotionally and sexually, without the recriminations that come with the guidelines a romance must follow.
In a word, erotica is “freedom” for both the characters and the author.
I began writing The Muse as a submission call for publisher with whom I had a previous relationship. The idea put forth in the call was for something historical but with far more heat than their usual books. We were told, no holds barred … whatever we wanted to write. I took that to heart and began crafting something that not only set my characters free but me, the writer, as well.
About three chapters into the book, I began having second thoughts. What if I wasn’t up to the task? I thought about tucking the half-written manuscript away but couldn’t. In that beginning I found a new spark, a “freedom” my writing had been lacking. So, I kept going. The original “call” was eventually cancelled, but by that time the story was alive and thriving and begging to be finished.
Once I’d completed, edited, and nipped and tucked, I began researching the market, looking for just the right place to submit my first attempt at erotic romance. (I refused to relinquish the idea that, deep down, this was a romance.) I knew one thing for sure, it had to be someone who wasn’t going to change their mind mid-stream. A friend steered me to Decadent Publishing and I couldn’t be happier.
Writing an erotic romance worked wonders for re-igniting a spark in my creativity. And, while erotica might not be everyone’s cup of tea, it’s certainly an exciting way to explore that naughtier side we all have tucked away within our subconscious.
Whether you write, or read, erotic romance (or both), I hope you’ll enjoy my first release in this genre. I have already signed a second contract for another Roaring Twenties novella and I’m looking forward to sharing The Mysterious Mrs. Pennybaker with my readers by early next spring.
Decadence, freedom and illegal activities…
Everything a sheltered debutante in the mid-1920s could want. When Hyde Park socialite Susan Leland meets up with Evan Forrester for the second time, she makes no excuses for their first meeting—an auto accident in which she broke the young artist’s wrist. She finds the handsome Evan both infuriating and intriguing, yet not quite as intriguing as sultry torch singer Holly Winters, a performer at Susan’s favorite supper club.
A chance to make amends…
By posing nude for Evan to paint. When Susan balks, Evan, not wanting to deal with an innocent, sends her away but not before the arrival of his next model, Holly Winters. As Susan’s preparing to leave, the beautiful and talented singer convinces her to come back the next day—so they can pose together.
Will Susan find happiness in the arms of Evan Forrester—or another?
Evan shook his head and reached for the robe lying against the edge of the settee. “Here, put this back on.”
“This was a bad idea. You need to dress and get out of here.”
Susan took the robe from his outstretched hand and wrapped it around her body. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”
“I did, or, at least, I thought I did. However, I’m the wrong fellow to be coaxing an innocent young girl into taking her clothes off. The nudes I paint don’t just lie there.”
“They don’t?” she asked, uncertain of exactly what he meant, yet curious all the same.
“No, Susan, they don’t. Believe me when I tell you, you’re not ready for what I require.”
She was about to ask him to explain when a knock sounded at the door. “I thought we had until three.”
Evan glanced up at the antique clock on the far wall. “What can I say? Some dames are actually anxious to pose for me.”
He left her standing in the middle of the studio to answer the door, returning moments later with his next model holding tightly to his arm. Susan’s eyes widened in surprise.
He nudged the woman forward. “Holly, this is Susan. Susan, may I present Holly.”
The beautiful singer took a step in her direction. “I saw you at the club last night, didn’t I?”
“Yes. I’m a big fan.”
Holly shrugged her slim shoulders. “Thanks. It pays the bills.”
Evan urged Holly toward the dressing room. “Get changed, doll. Susan and I are just finishing up here.”
Once Holly had left the studio, Susan turned back to where Evan stood, organizing his paints. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”
“It’s not your fault,” he told her, preferring to examine his brushes rather than meet her gaze. “I should have realized this wasn’t your type of entertainment.”
“Maybe we could—”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just scram, okay?”
Susan made her way out of the studio, reaching the makeshift dressing room just as Holly Winters came through the door. “Excuse me,” she said softly, embarrassed at having collided with the singer.
Holly laid her hand against Susan’s shoulder, steadying her. “No worries, sweet cheeks.”
Lifting her hand, she brushed her fingertips across Susan’s chin, the slope of her throat.
“Perhaps we’ll run into each other again. Maybe even pose together if you’d like.”
Susan’s skin warmed beneath Holly’s touch. “I don’t think I’m coming back.”
“That’s a shame. Your alabaster skin against my darker coloring would have made a magnificent contrast.” Holly paused, and then dusted Susan’s cheek with her hand. “Think about it. If you’re interested, I’m usually here every day sometime between two and four. It’d be the kitten’s mittens if you’d join us.”
The invitation given, Holly stepped past her and headed for the room beyond. Susan’s heart raced as fast as a drummer’s solo in the middle of the latest jazz song. She clutched tightly at the dressing gown she’d wrapped around her half- naked body. She’d been so certain, so accepting of her decision to pose for Evan. Yet when push had come to shove, she couldn’t relax, couldn’t allow herself the very sensual freedom she’d been wanting for so long.
Now, it no longer mattered. Holly Winters had arrived for her sitting, and Susan’s chance at daring had been lost. Evan had dismissed her, claiming he’d made a mistake in asking her in the first place.
A sound from the studio drew her attention like a moth to flame. The scrape of furniture across the hardwood floor reverberated through the entire loft. Susan edged closer to the sound, to the door Evan had left open a few inches. Her breath held tightly in her chest, she peeked through the narrow opening.
Holly lay on the velvet settee. Unlike Susan, the torch singer had no shyness about her, no reservation against shedding her clothes. She relaxed back against the dark red background, wearing nothing more than a strand of pearls and a bejeweled headband cocked teasingly across her brow. One arm was stretched strategically above her head, the other lay passively at her hip, her long, well- manicured fingers feathering across the thatch of hair at the apex of her trim thighs.
Susan’s throat tightened. As attractive as the woman was fully clothed, she was even more beautiful wearing nothing at all.
Decadent Publishing: http://www.decadentpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=991&osCsid=i2tptpqngns0qei7d0hhfvhj63
About the Author:
Like most authors, Nancy Fraser began writing at an early age, usually on the walls and with crayons or, heaven forbid, permanent markers. Her love of writing often made her the English teacher’s pet, which, of course, resulted in a whole lot of teasing. Still, it was worth it.
When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five beautiful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.
She invites you to visit her website (www.nancyfraser.ca) and follow her on Twitter (@nfraserauthor). Or, more importantly, just enjoy what she writes.