Laboratory of Paragraphical Examination

[hmmnmm]

Ever worked on a work that overall seems to show promise, but when you read it over you run into a few places that just don't seem right but you can't seem to pin it down? This happens to me all the time - sometimes I play the avoidance card and pretend the problems don't exist - maybe skip over those places that just don't seem right (which in many cases, is most of the story).

They're okay, or kinda okay, but just not right. You mess with them, reword them, rearrange them, but nothing seems to really nail it. You wonder if maybe it could just be cut out altogether, but no, it's got something in it, something worth the mental expenditure.

Well, rambling discourse elsewhere birthed this idea. Bring an excerpt, a paragraph or two that's bugging you, nagging you, and maybe another set of eyes can see something that you're too close to notice clearly, and without prejudice.

I guess protocol suggests I set an example and go first - unless someone else wants to - I got plenty to choose from. But anyone, feel free.

 

[slyc_willie]

I'll go first

The following is the first part of a work in progress. It is very dark, though it may not appear so from the snippet I've included.

The main character in the story is Luke, and I am undecided as to whether he is supernatural or not. I'm still toying with this story, but I want to make it something of a sexual/serial killer tale.

Eventually, when it is posted, it will be under the alt of syck_willie.

I'd love any ideas or criticism about this piece.

``*``

He watched her movements on the dance floor. Every smooth, silky stroke of an arm or undulation of body was poetically inspiring. It was as if she was painting the air with her presence.

She was lean, lithe, toned and taut. A gorgeous beauty queen with the sultry, erotic moves of an unabashed stripper. Her jeans rode low on her hips, fully exposing the gentle, hard swell of her abdomen, the skin glittering with sweat. Her hair – falling well past her shoulders – flowed and swept about her head like a veil, providing only glimpses of her unblemished face, her slightly-curled lips, her heavy, inebriated eyes. She was lost to everything but the harsh, pounding rhythm of the music. The world was gone for her, replaced with sound and dance.

Like many men, Luke was captivated. But unlike those panting posers in the club, Luke knew he could have her. It was simply a matter of application and timing. The approach would be key.

He watched as a large-bodied man, thick arms and heavy belly, with a college sweatshirt draped over his frame, approached the girl and started dancing. She did not seem to notice his presence at first, not until he tried putting his hand on her thigh, to bring her closer.

Her head snapped up, hair falling back to reveal angular features and annoyed, dark eyes. Her movements faltered, and she was clearly perturbed by her unwanted partner’s presence. The words she spoke to him were drowned out by the music, but she was obviously upset. He was too drunk to care, and grinned back, again attempting to grope her. She slapped his hands and left the floor, running her hand back through her hair.

Luke watched her lips move. He had become adept at lip-reading. Fucking asshole, he read, and smiled. She was not that kind of girl, obviously. Neither a slut, nor a tease . . . except by the movement of her well-formed body, at any rate. That’s good, he thought. She will need to be seduced. They taste so much better when it takes effort to woo them.

The pretty young dancer took a seat at a low, round table, joining a couple of other young women. Neither of her companions were as attractive as she, that much was obvious. Luke wondered as to the dynamic of the relationship between them. Was the pretty one the queen? Did the others follow her like sheep, waiting for a taste of the glory their shepherd enjoyed? It often seemed that way to him; the less-than-pretty always followed the pretty.

He stepped from the bar, walking with slow, deliberate strides. Each footfall matched every other beat in the music. Luke wanted her to see him approach; it was the beginning of the seduction, after all.

She glanced up, tapping the rim of her empty glass, responding to something one of the less-than-pretties said. Her eyes found him, and her lips paused, the tip of a tongue just gracing her teeth. Her dark eyes took him in, starting at his face, moving down, pausing at the tribal tattoos exposed on his arms before returning to his eyes. Her eyes stayed with his for a moment longer than that which would be considered polite. Luke wondered if she felt attraction, or fear. Either way, it suited his needs.

Her hangers-on looked as well, both of them reacting with impressed airs. They found him attractive, Luke knew. But their interest was secondary when compared to hers.

He stopped at the edge of the table, setting down a glass. “Thought you might like a drink,” he said, holding the beauty’s gaze. “Dancing like that can get a little . . . strenuous.”

She looked to the drink, set far enough away that she would have to reach for it, and listened to the hushed whisperings of her friends. Luke knew what they were saying: He’s hot! Let him sit down!

“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he continued, as the beauty considered her options. “But you seemed like a Cape Cod kind of girl to me.”

Of course, having watched her, Luke knew that the concoction of vodka and cranberry juice was the beauty’s preferred drink. Not that she had to know he had been watching her . . . .

She slowly smiled, and lifted up, reaching for the drink. She did so casually, carelessly, like a bawdy flophouse girl, and ducked over the glass, sucking on the stirrer. “What’s your name?” she asked.

Unbidden, he pulled out a chair and sat. “Luke.”

Her smile grew slightly. “Kris,” she responded.

He smiled back.

***

Getting Kris to talk was not all that difficult. Though she seemed shy and reserved at first, that was only because she had recently left her boyfriend of three years. She hinted at some form of betrayal, but Luke did not push it. He was more interested in finding out who she was. Kris was twenty-three, a year out of college, working a typical office job to which she wore conservative business skirt-suits every day. She loved dancing, and admitted to having spent a couple of years exposing herself in gentlemen’s clubs to cover her expenses.

Likewise, Kris was interested in Luke’s life, evidencing surprise when he told her he was in his thirties. “You sure don’t look it,” she commented as they sat at the table, Luke’s arm on the back of her chair. Her friends had left them for the dance floor.

Luke smiled and shrugged. “No kids,” he said. “I figure that helps keep me young.”

She laughed, her eyes catching the flashing strobe lights of the club. “No kidding. My older sister, Terry, has two kids and she looks like she’s over thirty. She’s only twenty-five.”

Luke caught her gaze drifting to his arms again, in particular, to the swirling tribal patterns that were revealed by his short sleeves. Her imagination made her liken the black lines to roads upon dark, earthy ground. Looking closer, she noticed words interlaced with the apparently chaotic pattern.

“You like tattoos?” Luke asked.

Kris shrugged. “If they’re done right. I’ve been thinking about getting one.”

“Hard to stop at one,” he said with a disarming smile.

Blush colored her cheeks as she held his gaze a moment, then Kris returned to her perusal of his body work. “’Supplanter?’” she read.

Luke nodded. “Each word I have on my body reminds of a very special moment in my life,” he said.

She smiled, biting her lip, then touched his arm, finding another hidden word. “’Pure.’” She smiled, giving Luke a catty look. “Are you?”

He smiled back. “Not hardly.” Absently, he brushed a strand of hair from Kris’ forehead. “You really are beautiful, you know. You should think about modeling.”

The blush grew. “I tried a few modeling gigs, answered some ads,” she admitted with an embarrassed smile. “Most of them turned out to be amateur porn stuff. Five hundred bucks to blow a guy on camera, that kind of crap.”

Luke arched an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t go through with it,” he said.

She laughed, easing back, feeling his hand just beneath her shoulder. She shot him a crafty look. “No,” she said simply. “I’m only a slut for my boyfriend.”

Luke studied her lips a moment, feeling a stirring inside. “Except he’s not here.”

Kris bit her lip. “No, he’s not,” she said. “He’s out of my life for good.”

Luke nodded. “I was engaged,” he said. “Two years. Thought everything was going great.”

Her brow furrowed. “What happened?”

Luke took a deep breath and sighed. “Came home early from a business trip,” he said, then ground his teeth for effect and reached for his drink. “I could hear them from the front door.”

Kris sighed vicariously, shaking her head. “Jesus,” she muttered. “Sounds like your ex and mine would get along.”

Luke set his drink down and looked to Kris with a smile. “What about us?” he asked. “You think we could get along?”

Kris was quiet a moment, her eyes darting from his to Luke’s lips, his muscular chest beneath the white shirt he wore. “I . . . I don’t know what I’m looking for right now,” she said.

Luke moved his hand from her back to Kris’ shoulder, where he massaged gently. He felt her lean toward him slightly, accepting his touch. “I’d say we have three options,” he said. “We could, say, go have a late dinner, get to know each other better and promise to see one another later, or . . . we could finish our drinks and part ways now.”

Kris sipped her drink, set it down, then looked up to him. “You said three options,” she prompted.

Luke smiled slowly. “Or,” he said, staring intently into her eyes. “We could go back to my place and fuck all night.”

Kris visibly shuddered. “Oh . . . .”

***

Kris was willing and eager, desperate, even. She all but attacked him once they had made the short walk from his Mercedes to the elevator in the lobby of the condominium. Pushing him against the polished brass rail, she sucked his lips and ran her hands up and down his hard, muscled body.

“I wanna see you naked,” she whispered heatedly, nipping at his neck. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“So are you,” Luke responded, pushing her back, slipping up her tight black top and lowering his head. Kris gasped, then purred, cradling his head as he sucked a stiff nipple into his mouth. Her breasts were smallish, yet very sensitive, judging from the curling, rocking motions of her body.

“Fuck, baby . . . I’m so hot,” she moaned, then gasped again as Luke’s hand slid between her thighs, pinching her leaking pussy through the denim of her jeans.

He let go of her nipple and kissed her fiercely. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

Kris groaned. “I want you to fuck me,” she answered. “Hard. I want you to fuck me hard.”

He grinned. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said, before smothering her mouth with his. She moaned deeply, clutching him with desperation.

***

He looked down upon her, watching Kris’ contorted face as he thrust into her again and again. She stared back as if in shock, face sweaty, cheeks and neck glowing with orgasmic rouge. Her hair was tangled and twisted across the pillows of the bed. Her short-nailed hands clawed at his thick arms, holding on as lean, long legs danced in the air on either side of him. She let out a hot puff of breath each time he drove inside, her mouth slack and panting. Kris could not count the number of orgasms she had enjoyed – even endured – since the lovemaking began.

He’s a god, she thought in a brief moment of celerity, before yet another mind-numbing explosion radiated out from her pleasured sex. She cried out ferally, arching her back as she surrendered, yet again, to perfect bliss.

Luke clutched her head in his hands, pulling her up as Kris convulsed with pleasure. “I’m gonna cum,” he growled. “Open your mouth.”

She obeyed numbly, so overwhelmed by pleasure that she could not think of disobeying. She felt the sudden vacuum in her pussy as Luke pulled out, pushing up over her even as he pulled her face closer. His thick, long cock loomed close, shiny with her own fluid . . . and then she was tasting herself upon him, feeling that magnificent phallus stretching her lips and nudging to the back of her throat. Kris sucked desperately, wantonly, eager to bring her lover to release, to repay him for the exquisite pleasure he had given.

The rush of fluid was warm, bittersweet, thick and cloying. Kris had never particularly enjoyed the taste of semen, had always spat it out in the past. But this man . . . this man deserved her complete compliance. He deserved something she had never done before.

Luke shook over her, his cock spasming in Kris’ mouth, spending every last drop of fluid he had to give. She slid back, just until the head of his dick graced her lips, and swallowed, making a brief sound. Luke’s cum slithered thickly down her throat; she was somewhat surprised to find she enjoyed the feel, the aftertaste. Then she delved back down, sucking gently, urging out the last little bit of sperm, even savoring the drops on her tongue. Kris licked up and down his slowly-softening shaft, tasting both his cum and hers. She wondered, with a satisfied smile, if the flavor was something she would have to get used to.

Luke trembled, allowing himself to relish the pleasure Kris gave him. He ran his hand through her hair, listened to the soft, wet sucking sounds she made as she lavished his spent cock. He chuckled when she kissed the sticky tip, then licked it with a smile. Her eyes glittered up at him.

“How’d I get so lucky?” she asked.

Luke smiled back. “Just the right timing, I guess.”

She stroked him gently, rubbing the head of his cock across her lips. “I’m staying with you tonight, right?”

His fingers caressed her cheek affectionately. “Of course,” he said. He moved off her, slid down into the bed. Automatically, Kris curled up against his side, nudging his chest with her chin, sighing and murmuring softly. Her hand stroked his abdomen, occasionally bumping his flaccid, yet still thick, penis.

“This feels so right,” she whispered. “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but . . . I hope we’ll see each other again. I want to.”

Luke stirred, slipping from beneath her, from the bed. She looked up curiously.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. His form was darkened, silhouetted by the pale light glowing through the broad balcony door behind him.

Tentatively, Kris took his hand, stepping from the bed in her nudity. “Out there?” she asked apprehensively, as Luke slid open the glass door.

He turned back with a smile. “Out there,” he said.

With a nervous, yet excited, look, Kris let herself be lead onto the balcony. A night breeze washed over them. Kris shuddered as the sweat on her body was cooled. She pulled herself against Luke instinctively, wanting his heat. She pressed against him, sliding around to his front, feeling his thick cock against her abdomen, is muscled chest against her breasts. She smiled up at him, her chin rubbing his chest. Idly, she traced the tattoos that extended from his arms to cover his chest and, as she had discovered, the upper part of his back. As before, she found more words hidden amongst the web-like designs.

“’Farmer,’” she read, then, “’Weaver.’” Her brow knitted with curiosity. “Things you tried doing?”

He looked down upon her. “Things I did,” he said. “I keep them with me to remind me of the . . . simple beauty they provided.”

She laughed softly. “You are a very odd man,” she said. “Damn sexy, but . . . odd.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard something like that,” he said, running his hands up and down Kris’ back. He felt her shivering against him.

“You said we had three choices,” she said. Kris bit her lip softly. “Maybe, um . . . maybe there’s a fourth?”

Luke gazed softly upon her, brushing the back of his fingers across her cheek. Kris blinked and smiled warmly. “Do you think this is the beginning of something?” he asked.

Her gaze was unwavering, though it seemed tempered by nervousness. “Is it too soon?” she asked.

“Too soon for what?” he asked back. “A relationship?”

“Yes.”

Luke pulled away, slightly, and with a smile, pulled Kris to the railing. He stroked her naked back, looked down upon the street some fifteen stories below. “Sometimes, I stand out here and look down, wondering what’s going through everyone’s mind,” he said. “What they think, what they hold dear. To me, their lives seem so . . . simple.”

“Simple?” Kris asked, her eyes wide and, to all appearances, innocent.

“From up here, I can forget about all the little details of human experience. Just break everything down to simplicities. Love and hate, hope and despair, elation and fear . . . life and death.”

Kris shivered again. “L-let’s go back inside,” she said, pushing away from the railing.

Luke caught her, pulling her to him for a searing, crushing kiss. The young woman yielded instantly, moaning into his mouth, and quivered as Luke’s hand cupped her sex, fingers pushing into the slickness of her pussy.

She broke the kiss with a soft gasp, looking upon Luke dazedly. “God, you turn me on so easily,” she whispered.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Kris . . . that’s short for Kristine?”

“Kristin, actually,” she corrected, then giggled. “Why, are you gonna send me flowers?”

“Of course I am,” Luke responded. Abruptly, with one hand clutching her oozing pussy, the other on her shoulder, he lifted her into the air and hurled her over the railing.

Shock and horror at the sudden reality that she was falling rendered Kris mute as she tumbled through the air to the street below. Luke watched avidly, focusing on the flailing of her arms and legs through the fifteen-story descent. Finally, with a sickening crash, Kris’ life was ended as she slammed into the roof of a parked Jaguar. The glass windows exploded outward, and even from his height, Luke could see the thousands of shards dancing like diamonds in the air.

Luke closed his eyes, his body shuddering as he savored the moment. Faintly hearing the numerous car alarms that echoed between the buildings below, he turned and stepped back inside the condo.

***

 

[hmmnmm]

Ah! A participant.
Thanks, Slyc.
And what a specimen you've laid on the table, here. I'll confess I did not yet go through it in depth, but a casual perusal offers some fine powerful prose.

First humble suggestion, however, since I began at the beginning, and you hear all the time how crucial the beginnings are: What about featuring the dancer right off? About her movements making poetry on the dance floor? Some enticing descriptions of her - and then, introduce the He who is watching her?

"She painted poetry in the air as she danced... lean, taut..." then the low-riding jeans, the abdomen, etc...

and then, "Luke's eyes watched it all" or "Luke's eyes drank every ounce and every movement"
Somethin' like that.

Just an idea.

 

[mjl2010]

I'll butt my head in and say I was impressed. As far as that goes, I can't think of anything Slyc wrote that didn't impress me. Can't wait for the whole thing. Next week, right Slyc?

MJL

 

[slyc_willie]

Ah! A participant.
Thanks, Slyc.
And what a specimen you've laid on the table, here. I'll confess I did not yet go through it in depth, but a casual perusal offers some fine powerful prose.

First humble suggestion, however, since I began at the beginning, and you hear all the time how crucial the beginnings are: What about featuring the dancer right off? About her movements making poetry on the dance floor? Some enticing descriptions of her - and then, introduce the He who is watching her?

"She painted poetry in the air as she danced... lean, taut..." then the low-riding jeans, the abdomen, etc...

and then, "Luke's eyes watched it all" or "Luke's eyes drank every ounce and every movement"
Somethin' like that.

Just an idea.

I thought of doing that at first, but the reason I began from Luke's point of view was because the story is about him; Kris is only in this first part.

However, from the standpoint of being titilating, you have a good point. Describing Kris' dancing may be the better way of bringing in the reader. I'll have to think about that.

 

[slyc_willie]

I'll butt my head in and say I was impressed. As far as that goes, I can't think of anything Slyc wrote that didn't impress me. Can't wait for the whole thing. Next week, right Slyc?

MJL

You flatter me, MJL. Not sure when this is going to be done. Although, I have decided to change a few things about Luke, which will be reflected when I repost the snippet. I have an idea about how and why he kills women.

 

[slyc_willie]

Okay, I replaced my snippet with a revised version.

In a twisted way, I'm going to enjoy writing this character.

 

[hmmnmm]

Let's try this:
Do you like it as it is?
When you read over it, do you come to any places that tend to suggest another wording or arrangement? But they are not real obvious, more like a little splinter in your toe.
Maybe let's not be in such hurry about this stuff - sometimes a later look in a totally different frame of mind may reveal something, and an answer.

 

[slyc_willie]

Let's try this:
Do you like it as it is?
When you read over it, do you come to any places that tend to suggest another wording or arrangement? But they are not real obvious, more like a little splinter in your toe.
Maybe let's not be in such hurry about this stuff - sometimes a later look in a totally different frame of mind may reveal something, and an answer.

I do this with all my stories.

Is it good enough? Should I change this word? That phrase? Should they kiss sooner? Should there be more of a tease? Do I really need to jump right into the middle of the sex?

However, I've pretty much suppressed my inclination to double-think what I wrote. I figure the words came out, as they did, because that is what the story demanded.

 

[hmmnmm]

I do this with all my stories.

Is it good enough? Should I change this word? That phrase? Should they kiss sooner? Should there be more of a tease? Do I really need to jump right into the middle of the sex?

However, I've pretty much suppressed my inclination to double-think what I wrote. I figure the words came out, as they did, because that is what the story demanded.

Endless ways to say any one thing. Tricky. Addictive.
Some stuff just seems to come down in one or two sittings and would be ruined with much more than a few touchups. Then some stuff calls for the meticulous approach.
I think of an intricate classical piece on one end of the scale and a Pete Townshend power chord on the other. And everything else in between. Knowing when to touch, when to back off.

Well, I think you got a pretty powerful piece here. You could mess with it or leave it and it'd be pretty 'Slyc' That next to last paragraph is pretty vivid.
But I shore ain't no literary expert - maybe another set of eyes will pop in and offer some insight.

 

[slyc_willie]

Endless ways to say any one thing. Tricky. Addictive.
Some stuff just seems to come down in one or two sittings and would be ruined with much more than a few touchups. Then some stuff calls for the meticulous approach.
I think of an intricate classical piece on one end of the scale and a Pete Townshend power chord on the other. And everything else in between. Knowing when to touch, when to back off.

Well, I think you got a pretty powerful piece here. You could mess with it or leave it and it'd be pretty 'Slyc' That next to last paragraph is pretty vivid.
But I shore ain't no literary expert - maybe another set of eyes will pop in and offer some insight.

I'm less worried about 'literary' insight and more about what the reading public thinks and wants.

I only want to feel that what I am writing is something others want to follow.

 

[hmmnmm]

I'm less worried about 'literary' insight and more about what the reading public thinks and wants.

I only want to feel that what I am writing is something others want to follow.

Well then, in that case, for what my opinion's worth, I think you've got something here that will definitely pull and hold a reader's attention. Of course, we were let in on the nature of the main character, so the jarring scene where he actually tosses her over - though mighty effective, will likely be even more so to the unawares reader. It startled me - and I'm a hard guy to startle.

It also raises questions - the whys, how manys, how many mores, etc.

 

[mjl2010]

Well then, in that case, for what my opinion's worth, I think you've got something here that will definitely pull and hold a reader's attention. Of course, we were let in on the nature of the main character, so the jarring scene where he actually tosses her over - though mighty effective, will likely be even more so to the unawares reader. It startled me - and I'm a hard guy to startle.

It also raises questions - the whys, how manys, how many mores, etc.

You caught me by surprise that's for sure. My jaw dropped, literally. I went "Holy Fuck!" out loud. You've got my attention, that's for sure.


MJL

 

[mjl2010]

I do this with all my stories.

Is it good enough? Should I change this word? That phrase? Should they kiss sooner? Should there be more of a tease? Do I really need to jump right into the middle of the sex?

However, I've pretty much suppressed my inclination to double-think what I wrote. I figure the words came out, as they did, because that is what the story demanded.

While I don't have your experience yet, I find that letting the words flow and then coming back for touch ups it the best. If I try to work it better, I end up trashing it and reverting to the original. If it's that bad, I just put it in the "rejected" folder to take out and read sometime, see if the idea can go somewhere.

"Snapshots" flew onto the screen in a few hours. One of my better writings and I only spent a short time fixing it up.

MJL

 

[hmmnmm]

If I may veer just a bit - somewhere up there I threw out the phrase that any one thing may be said in endless different ways. That was said in assumptive haste, because I've only been able to think of very few ways to imply some crucial ornaments.

The Smell of Pussy thread got me thinking more and becoming more frustrated.

I've lately realized that when trying to write of wet cotton panties, damp cotton panties, it gets pretty darn redundant pretty darn quick. Maybe a few words about the sensation of touching them or feeling them between the fingers? Maybe the less is more principle applies here? Just a right hint with the one or two right words? But what words?

 

[slyc_willie]

You caught me by surprise that's for sure. My jaw dropped, literally. I went "Holy Fuck!" out loud. You've got my attention, that's for sure.


MJL

Which is, of course, the effect I was going for.

I've written numerous antagonists like Luke in the past, but I've never written a story such as this with a strong sexual bent. My idea is to show just how violent, disgusting, and cruel a person can be, yet put on a facade that even the reader would like.

 

[slyc_willie]

If I may veer just a bit - somewhere up there I threw out the phrase that any one thing may be said in endless different ways. That was said in assumptive haste, because I've only been able to think of very few ways to imply some crucial ornaments.

The Smell of Pussy thread got me thinking more and becoming more frustrated.

I've lately realized that when trying to write of wet cotton panties, damp cotton panties, it gets pretty darn redundant pretty darn quick. Maybe a few words about the sensation of touching them or feeling them between the fingers? Maybe the less is more principle applies here? Just a right hint with the one or two right words? But what words?

Redundancy, especially in erotic writing, is a pit often fallen into. As you put, just how many ways can you describe a pair of wet panties? Sticky? Swampy? Moist? And then you start looking for more 'flowery' prose:

"He slipped his hand beneath her skirt, finding a damp, clingy barrier to her sex. Her juices were like melted butter on his fingers . . . ."

After a while, descriptions like that make you snicker.

I've used some of the same devices repeatedly in my stories, often without thinking it. I believe I have two stories in which a female character says something to the effect of "I don't turn on the faucet without getting a drink," which, when I first wrote it, seemed a pretty clever way of explaining that she swallows. Seeing it now, however, and it sounds a little ridiculous to me.

I try not to focus too much on the use of certain little words. Wet panties are wet panties; the reader can decide if they're saturated, sticky, or if there's just a little wet spot.

 

[phoenix4spam]

[spam/advertising prohibited per our forum guidelines]

 

[slyc_willie]

Quizzical Bump

. . . anyone?

 

[hmmnmm]

Well it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I've just started the first sketchy paragraphs of the next episode in a series.
Let me mess with it a day or two and if nobody's stopped in maybe I'll offer a few.

 

[mjl2010]

Redundancy, especially in erotic writing, is a pit often fallen into. As you put, just how many ways can you describe a pair of wet panties? Sticky? Swampy? Moist? And then you start looking for more 'flowery' prose:

"He slipped his hand beneath her skirt, finding a damp, clingy barrier to her sex. Her juices were like melted butter on his fingers . . . ."

After a while, descriptions like that make you snicker.

I have often found myself using the same devices or dialog over and over. Characters say things, whatever. Now it's to the point where I need to look at what I've got up and make sure I don't repeat something I've got one character saying or doing or whatever when I post a new story.

Some of my stuff, posted here or not, comes from developing a character many times over and going in different directions to finally come up with something that works. I've actually got a sub-folder of a sub-folder in my fiction folder that's named "pure crap". I never thrown anything away that I've written. I go back and read that stuff. Then I might go in a different direction and find it works.

Does it matter if you find it redundant as long as your readers don't?

MJL

 

[hmmnmm]

I have often found myself using the same devices or dialog over and over. Characters say things, whatever. Now it's to the point where I need to look at what I've got up and make sure I don't repeat something I've got one character saying or doing or whatever when I post a new story.

Some of my stuff, posted here or not, comes from developing a character many times over and going in different directions to finally come up with something that works. I've actually got a sub-folder of a sub-folder in my fiction folder that's named "pure crap". I never thrown anything away that I've written. I go back and read that stuff. Then I might go in a different direction and find it works.

Does it matter if you find it redundant as long as your readers don't?

MJL

Well, i suppose if you've got readers who don't mind, then your readers don't mind. If too many readers minded, you'd have far fewer readers.

On the one hand you have the reader who may notice "okay, her panties are wet, I get the point - for the twentieth time."

On the other hand, some sort of rhythmic repetition may plant the feel and image of wet panties into someone's mind so they drift in pleasant dreams when they go to sleep. Or, "those must be some mighty wet panties."

Then there's the fantasy/reality consideration.
I don't know of too many people who go about their daily life searching for clever words every other sentence they speak - but sometimes they do - we speak the same words and phrases because they work and convey.

I suppose some minds have a preference for the true to life and others for that which stretches or takes liberties with true life reflections.

For my own reading pleasure, I lean towards a preference for that which I know is fiction, but as I read it I begin to believe that it did or could happen. And with sex being such a universal basic human urge, yet a multiplicity of variation from one person and experience to the next, I think anyone would be hard-pressed to say of a passage that seemed slightly implausible, "it doesn't really happen that way" because maybe to someone somewhere it did.

What was the discussion?

 

[hmmnmm]

Or, to use the above paragraphs as an example for this thread idea, the entire jist could be summed up in the following sentence:

In periods of sexual excitation I do not feel inclined to reach for a thesaurus.

 

[mjl2010]

....And with sex being such a universal basic human urge, yet a multiplicity of variation from one person and experience to the next, I think anyone would be hard-pressed to say of a passage that seemed slightly implausible, "it doesn't really happen that way" because maybe to someone somewhere it did.

What was the discussion?

Excuse me for rambling, but it's how I think sometimes.

I've been conversing with someone online and one of their issues with RL and their writing is that, for them, sex is and always has been, the same dull repetition of the same old same old. They therefore have trouble putting into words anything but what they have known. When they read what others have written, they find it difficult to imagine it could be that way.

For myself on the other hand, what I read often gives me ideas to put into play in my own life sexually. Some of it works, some doesn't.

One love making I scene I wrote, the story as yet unfinished, seemed so real to me I just had to try it. She was like, "Where did you come up with that idea? That's a definite do often please."

I guess my point is, different people have different views on what is real and what isn't. Didn't most of us start out writing from a familiar point of reference? I did anyway, and often, I am still there. I struggle with, "Is this believable? Or will the reader scoff and laugh at me?" Especially when it comes to writing sex. There is for me also, the problem I'm sure others have had, is how does the woman actually feel. Writing as a "sexually experienced" male, how do I put into words what she feels? When a woman reads my work, can she achieve that suspension of reality that lets her become totally involved in the piece.

I realize that perhaps this moves beyond or to off to one side what's already been discussed.

Sorry if I went too far with it.

MJL

 

[hmmnmm]

Excuse me for rambling, but it's how I think sometimes.

I've been conversing with someone online and one of their issues with RL and their writing is that, for them, sex is and always has been, the same dull repetition of the same old same old. They therefore have trouble putting into words anything but what they have known. When they read what others have written, they find it difficult to imagine it could be that way.

For myself on the other hand, what I read often gives me ideas to put into play in my own life sexually. Some of it works, some doesn't.

One love making I scene I wrote, the story as yet unfinished, seemed so real to me I just had to try it. She was like, "Where did you come up with that idea? That's a definite do often please."

I guess my point is, different people have different views on what is real and what isn't. Didn't most of us start out writing from a familiar point of reference? I did anyway, and often, I am still there. I struggle with, "Is this believable? Or will the reader scoff and laugh at me?" Especially when it comes to writing sex. There is for me also, the problem I'm sure others have had, is how does the woman actually feel. Writing as a "sexually experienced" male, how do I put into words what she feels? When a woman reads my work, can she achieve that suspension of reality that lets her become totally involved in the piece.

I realize that perhaps this moves beyond or to off to one side what's already been discussed.

Sorry if I went too far with it.

MJL

The parameters are quite loose and flexible.

I understand every single point you mention. And finding women's sexuality far more fascinating than my own, I've always been attracted to erotic works written by women, which seems like a good way to get an idea of how to treat female excitation and climax - though, like you, I feel nervous and unsure when trying it.

Just for the sake of experimentaion, I once wrote a short piece as a woman, going to the gynecologist, the gynecologist also a woman.

The reactions were - as expected - mixed. On the one side: "no no no! gynecologist visits are not like that... implausible... unbelievable" The other side: "Wow, I wish my gynecologist would do that"

Again, it seems to come back to just trying different ideas and some may fly and some may crash - then try again. Reminds me of an old joke...