I've been having such a blast at the Emerald City Writer's Conference http://gsrwa.org/ecwc/conference/ learning more about the craft and getting lots of nitty gritty/tasty tidbits on the industry.
But what really makes me smile is just how so very comfortable folks are with topics that I generally do not discuss to this degree in a typical day. As a matter of fact, if I did, I'm reasonably certain I'd get something written up (not in a good way) by my employer.
Take this evening at Cactus for example. Our dinner diva, Clare McKay http://claremckay.com had a rompin' great time with the hunky male model earlier in the day, even producing an exceptionally passionate up-close photo that could pass for a book cover right this minute! I made an executive decision and titled this nonexistent book "Teaching the Teacher". I think it's both risqué and sexy! But over dinner, we're all chitty-chatting about erotica and scenes, and the industry, etc.. Like, everything is fair game for human sexuality discussion -- both physical and emotional.
Same thing at the conference, everywhere you turn, folks are super comfy with themselves and human sexuality, as well as the depiction of said sexuality in various permutations of literature forms. One of the most vigorous debates I witnessed was "how do you define erotica versus high heat romance?" Well, there's a question I never really considered, but obviously someone totally cares about the answer.
Let it never be said that I cannot discuss private parts in public conversations. But typically, said conversations occur in a professional setting in the context of me asking gnarly questions like: "So that discharge your'e describing, was it greenish and did it smell like dead fish?" and "Just how many partners do you reckon the health department should contact for your chlamydia positive result?" or "You're right Mrs. Jones, things don't feel the same after a hysterectomy and full-on menopause. Perhaps we should talk about a…medical device…to help this out?" No offense, but 70-120 year old women who still want to get jiggy wit' it, at least in this particularly conservative area in which I live, are not open to the word "dildo." As a matter of fact, when I've brought it up as a viable way to improve vaginal dryness. (Dude, totally look it up, it's in either AMA or the ACOG journal, it's a real scientific conclusion and bless it all, it works.) I get some sassy seniors who are totally on the bus. Then I get some jiffy-pop hair-do ladies who go into supraventricular tachycardia when I gently define what indeed a "dildo" is an how one might consider using it. For vaginal health only, of course…. I totally cannot wait until DME (*durable medical equipment -- like wheelchairs and hospital beds and the ubiquitous ZIPPY or HOVEROUND) companies get hold of this recommendation. Sure, my paperwork will double, at least it'll be entertaining.
And the last thing that really makes me squiggly is not the content of all these conference conversations about hearts, parts, positions, and appliances. It's the fact that in my day job, these conversations come up within HIPPA protected conversations and so here I am walking from conversation to conversation, every so often one side of my face and body spasm and I say BLERK, MEERP, private stuff. Cannot. Know information. Cannot. Know. Conversants. Ignore. Ignore!
Maybe I >should< start writing erotica. It'll blow the top of those jiffy pops faster than you can say "safe word"!
Author, daydreamer, and practitioner of trying very hard to duct tape folks together and help when I can.
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