Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The world is shy one deer after this morning I've had. Dark, rainy roads...oncoming traffic. Difficult to see much, so I'm driving under the 55 mph speed limit (admittedly, not by much, but I WAS under it). A deer standing in the middle of the road. Just standing there. Looking at me. Of course, I had about three-quarters of a second to register this fact before the thud came and I saw it flying past my window.

Damn. Not even a year old, either...although in that shortened second between sight and impact it looked huge. I pulled over, the oncoming car pulled over...he got out and pulled the deer from the road and went on. I got out...several yards up the road and watched, pulling my cell phone out as I did so.

I'm fine. The deer has gone to Heaven (yes, I believe animals have souls). The accident has been reported to the police (thank goodness I had my laptop in the car while I waited for the officer to come make a report. Because there were no injuries to anyone except the deer, I wasn't a high priority as I sat in my car waiting for an hour before a member of the K-9 unit came to write it up for me. Got bored, so took out my next story and got to work editing it. Tease, tease!). I've gotten my estimate ($1500 to the front corner of my car...a Hyundai Elantra. Hood's okay...headlight's smashed. Front bumper is only crumpled a little and the side panel has a rip in it). Now I'm home and have decided work can do without me for the day.

I hate the fact that I just killed a deer...and one less than a year old, at that. Seems such a waste. The philosophical part of me keeps looking for the reason behind it, but the practical side of me just says, 'get over it. Accidents happen.' The practical side of me also says, 'Don't waste the day you were given....get writing!'

So I'm off to get a cup of hot chocolate and find a comfortable spot to curl up in. The house is strangely quiet...I'm not used to being home in the middle of the day. But something tells me, I will enjoy the unexpected time alone.

Play safe...and watch for deer!


Tuesday, October 03, 2006

I write romances with heavy bondage scenes. In my books, the man is sexually dominant and the woman is always submissive. Often they have issues...troubles...dealing with their sexual preferences. A man who doesn't want to give into the 'cave man' mentality of bossing a woman around...a woman who needs to reconcile her hard-won, feminist independence with a desire to just relax and give all that power to a man. The Dominant/submissive dynamic and the internal struggles that go along with it have always fascinated me.

But I go further than that in my romances. I add in some of the stronger elements of BDSM. She likes being tied..."forced" to do things she would never have dreamed of until meeting a man she calls "Master." Slavery. Sexual slavery that teases...excites...fulfills. I write of our deepest held secrets, of fantasies we only whisper to ourselves on dark nights when no one can hear. I write of snapping whips and chains that bind, of spankings that leave the skin pink, and of hot sex that leaves the reader breathless.

And then a man goes into a schoolroom and tells the boys to leave, keeping the teenagers he then makes sexual advances toward. He takes their freedom...and at least one life. And another man walks into another schoolroom, this one filled with children, and he keeps only the little girls, tying their ankles so they cannot walk. He plans to sexually assault them, but kills them instead.

These men are twisted and sick and they differ from my heroes only in the matter of degree. Bondage, male dominance, the sexual submission of women...these are themes that run through these crimes just as assuredly as they run through my books. Do I bear some of the responsibility for their heinous actions? I don't have an answer to that...and it torments me.

Consent is a big part of the heroes always obtain the consent of the woman they love. They do not push their sexual preferences on those who do not want them. My heroes respect women and love them for their independence, understanding that the power truly lies with the woman in a D/s relationship...for a woman has only to say the word, and the ropes are untied, the bondage gear put away, and the "play" ends.

"Play." Another key element, I suppose. Even among real people who truly live D/s lifestyles, the term "play" is used along with another word to describe the sexual act with all the trimmings: a "scene." Both these terms, derived from the theatre, denote a setting-apart...a definite movement of the action out of real life and into a realm of fantasy.

My husband tells me I cannot be responsible for other's mental illnesses. These men could not see the line between fantasy and reality...a line that is often blurred even by those of us society considers "normal." I understand that. I really do. And yet, a part of me will always wonder when these things happen...where does my responsibility begin? And where does it end.

Please...please...please....ALWAYS remember to
Play Safe.