A couple of weeks ago, I was at a meeting of my writers group and we had a couple of poets in to speak. They were lovely, talented people who managed to confirm that I just don’t ‘get’ poetry (if it isn’t Shel Silverstein or the clue to a treasure, it’s not for me).
Aside from that, they discussed an interesting concept: food as imagery for sex. Ostensibly this arose from the idea that any of the emotions and senses associated with the enjoyment of food can also be applied quite easily to sex. They were talking about food AS sex, in a metaphorical sense, while I, as an erotic romance author, immediately thoughts of food AND sex.
We’ve all read scenes or seen scenes in movies… strawberries stroked lovingly over skin, chocolate licked off various body parts… I’m pretty sure I’ve even read about a popsicle. Lovers clean up stray bits of salsa or sauce with a tongue, or eat with suggestive inclusions of fingers. I believe there’s a well-known scene in 9½ Weeks that’s supposed to be a prime example of the sexual power of food. I wasn’t able to watch it. Yuck.
Am I the only one who thinks bringing food to bed is… less than hot? I’m perfectly happy when skin tastes like skin and chocolate tastes like chocolate. I don’t need your skin in my peanut butter and I don’t need my peanut butter on your skin. Sex is fabulous (and messy) on its own -- it doesn’t require additional condiments. Toys, on the other hand... but that's another blog post!
I have read scenes involving food that were hot… such scenes certainly won’t affect my enjoyment of a book, or make me stop reading. And I haven’t entirely dismissed or avoided writing about sex and food together. After all, my characters aren’t ALL carbon copies of me ;) with my likes, dislikes and neuroses, but food in bed will be a topic I avoid when I can, simply because I don’t find the combination particularly sexy. Strangely enough, sex on the kitchen table or counters? Totally hot! But keep the fridge door closed, ‘k?
Anyone with me? Or am I all alone with my neurotic weirdness?
KC Burn
Showing posts with label neuroses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neuroses. Show all posts
Jun 18, 2011
Mar 18, 2011
Stranger Danger
I’m a big bundle of neuroses, and one of my big ones is strangers. And yet, like the proverbial cat who only wants to hang out with the allergic person, strangers are drawn to me. Now, if these were normal strangers, that would be one thing, but on the whole, they tend to be, well, strange strangers.
I once heard a comedian say “You know you’re from Toronto if you consider making eye contact an invasion of personal space.” That pretty much sums up my interactions with strangers back home. On the subway, making eye contact was an invitation for the weirdos to strike up a conversation. Aside from the fact that my commute was great for getting a lot of reading done, the book acted as an additional shield against the prying eyes of those who wanted to -- TALK. I mean, I’m not great at small talk at the best of times, but it takes a special kind of crazy to start talking to a stranger on the subway who is already reading a book. Completely freaks me out.
It’s happened many times. One time, a guy interrupted my reading to show me pictures of his daughter. If it was a newborn… I could probably forgive that. But no, just a whole roll devoted to a teenaged kid standing in a yard. Being a perennially polite Canadian, I let him ramble on, made a few non-committal remarks and got out at the next convenient stop.
Ever been in a movie theatre and had a complete stranger sit in the seat right next to you? Of course you have. But what about in a theatre that’s only ¼ full, and the person comes in partway through the movie -- far too late to be able follow the plot? That’s happened to me THREE times. I kid you not. Three. Each time, I was tense and uncomfortable for the remainder of the movie, partly because I’m envisioning the bit in Scream 2 where the girl gets murdered in a movie theatre. The over-active imagination doesn’t help any, but I’m a strange stranger magnet.
After moving to Florida, the friendly greeting and eye contact when you pass someone on the street or in a hallway… was totally foreign to me. It’s a cultural difference I’m still in the process of hurdling, because every time it happens the first thought to flit through my brain is “What do they want? And is it going to creep me out?” Hey, at least I’m looking them in the eye now. Progress. And if nothing else, I can probably use my stranger magnet as inspiration somewhere. Because you know I’m just waiting for the perfect story to slot in a stranger sliding into a movie theatre partway through and… murder? Delivering a secret message? Kidnapping? Don’t know yet, but I will!
KC Burn
I once heard a comedian say “You know you’re from Toronto if you consider making eye contact an invasion of personal space.” That pretty much sums up my interactions with strangers back home. On the subway, making eye contact was an invitation for the weirdos to strike up a conversation. Aside from the fact that my commute was great for getting a lot of reading done, the book acted as an additional shield against the prying eyes of those who wanted to -- TALK. I mean, I’m not great at small talk at the best of times, but it takes a special kind of crazy to start talking to a stranger on the subway who is already reading a book. Completely freaks me out.
It’s happened many times. One time, a guy interrupted my reading to show me pictures of his daughter. If it was a newborn… I could probably forgive that. But no, just a whole roll devoted to a teenaged kid standing in a yard. Being a perennially polite Canadian, I let him ramble on, made a few non-committal remarks and got out at the next convenient stop.
Ever been in a movie theatre and had a complete stranger sit in the seat right next to you? Of course you have. But what about in a theatre that’s only ¼ full, and the person comes in partway through the movie -- far too late to be able follow the plot? That’s happened to me THREE times. I kid you not. Three. Each time, I was tense and uncomfortable for the remainder of the movie, partly because I’m envisioning the bit in Scream 2 where the girl gets murdered in a movie theatre. The over-active imagination doesn’t help any, but I’m a strange stranger magnet.
After moving to Florida, the friendly greeting and eye contact when you pass someone on the street or in a hallway… was totally foreign to me. It’s a cultural difference I’m still in the process of hurdling, because every time it happens the first thought to flit through my brain is “What do they want? And is it going to creep me out?” Hey, at least I’m looking them in the eye now. Progress. And if nothing else, I can probably use my stranger magnet as inspiration somewhere. Because you know I’m just waiting for the perfect story to slot in a stranger sliding into a movie theatre partway through and… murder? Delivering a secret message? Kidnapping? Don’t know yet, but I will!
KC Burn
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