By
Spencer Dryden (Guest Blogger)
In
planning for this blog, I decided to turn the tables on my friend and
mentor, Lisabet Sarai. All the usual blog prompts have grown stale. I
wanted to do something different.
Lisabet
has read most of my stories and even some articles I have written for
a mainstream media site, The Goodmen Project. I briefly participated
as a blogger on her site, Oh Get a Grip, where she was periodically
forced to blot out the stains I made upon the fabric of the English
language. More than anyone else in the field, I was comfortable
asking her what she would like to know about me, or my writing, that
would inspire/entertain/enlighten her readership. Here was her reply:
I've
been thinking about your question. One of the things that has always
struck me about your stories is that despite (mostly) being narrated
by male characters, the female is always the one in focus. Your
heroes are deeply appreciative of the heroines, showing them a lot of
respect and rarely trying to boss them around. And to a large extent,
the women drive the plot.
In a word, they're exactly the opposite of the "alpha" heroes of traditional romance.
So you might write a post talking about this aspect of your work, why you write this sort of female-centered story.
In a word, they're exactly the opposite of the "alpha" heroes of traditional romance.
So you might write a post talking about this aspect of your work, why you write this sort of female-centered story.
I
don't know who discovered water, but it probably wasn't fish. I'd
never thought about my writing in the way Lisabet observed it. What a
blessing. We writers stumble blindly through life wondering how our
work is perceived in its totality. Her observation is accurate and
flattering. My brand of male-centric erotic romance is different from
the standard trope.
When I say male-centric, I mean that the story is from the male main character's point of view. Yes, the women are central, but the only way the reader learns about what's in the woman's mind is through her actions and dialogue. My heroes are typically ordinary guys who fall into the orbit of empowered women—not wicked women like film noir—just women who know what they want and aren't afraid to go for it. Who couldn't love women like that? It pretty well encapsulates every woman I've loved or lusted for.
When I say male-centric, I mean that the story is from the male main character's point of view. Yes, the women are central, but the only way the reader learns about what's in the woman's mind is through her actions and dialogue. My heroes are typically ordinary guys who fall into the orbit of empowered women—not wicked women like film noir—just women who know what they want and aren't afraid to go for it. Who couldn't love women like that? It pretty well encapsulates every woman I've loved or lusted for.
My
latest book, Plumbers and Other Lovers, features an AC technician, a
plumber, furnace repair technician and a beach bum/handyman. There
are no alpha males, no billionaire bad boys, no self- destructive ego
maniacs— just simple guys trying to get through life and find their
way to the bedroom. That's the trope, but Lisabet is asking where it
comes from. Hmmmm. Igor, open the crypt.
I
just turned sixty-six. My sexual prowess is slipping away. I first
noticed the decline at age sixty-three. I've been mourning in a
sense, watching a part of my life pass away. It's a bitter sweet
transition. Sometimes the view in twilight is better than under the
harsh noon sun. Sex has been a great source of joy and pain for me.
It's a cruel trick of nature that a man's sexual prowess is greatest
when he has the least ability to use it properly. Sexually satisfying
a woman is on the top of the guy list.
It's
not just my age doing me in. The medicine I've recently been
prescribed for longstanding prostate problems reduces testosterone
and …ahem ...performance. This side effect might be treatable with
the magic 'blue pill' that would let me lift bathtubs. However, there
is a second more damaging effect of the medication, it drains the
libido. The fantasy screen is going dark. It's a big change, and
admittedly frightening.
I
have been enchanted by female allure since the first time I felt that
stirring in my pants at the sight of a naked woman—well over a half
century ago. In guy terms I'm pussy whipped. The sight, sound, scent
and touch of a woman—even if only imagined—has been a way of
knowing I'm alive. It's been a mysterious, irresistible siren song.
Losing that lifelong yearning has me asking who I will be— just
another shriveled old man? Time will tell. None of us gets out of
this alive. Heck maybe it will be like the episode of Seinfeld
where George gives up sex and becomes a genius. I could use some of
that.
For
those of you who haven't arrived yet, the sixties can be wonderfully
liberating. For me, old taboos started falling away like so much dead
skin. At that first warning bell, I gave myself permission to explore
my sexual fantasies, while I still had them. I thought it would be
easiest if I did it via fiction. Prior to age sixty-three the only
fiction I had written was sales reports for my managers. I'm poorly
trained in the English language (as Lisabet will surly attest), I
can't spell (that's a really long story) and I have the attention
span of a fly. (Which is why I like short works.) Yet, I was drawn to
trying to articulate my fantasies via fiction rather journaling,
which I've done for over thirty years. Fiction allows much more
freedom and a sense of detachment. (The devil made me do it.) In
fiction I can make love to any woman I want, my wife could care less,
and the woman enjoys it.
Despite
my liberation, I felt no need to put my new found outlet in the face
of others. If my friends, family and associates learned of my
interest in erotica, they would drop dead in horror. I adopted a pen
name (another story) and began scratching ideas. The trope which
developed emerged out of my sexual inexperience, awkwardness with
intimacy, and fear of rejection. In my limited sex life I have never
been the initiator. All of the sexual relations I've enjoyed came
from wives or lovers who led me to the bedroom like a lamb to the
slaughter, and subtly taught me how to please them. Women are so
skillful at seduction. Without the standing of a social scientist, I
think I can safely state that if a guy becomes proficient at sex,
it's because his women partners taught him how. We sure don't learn
it in the guy world. Almost all of my stories incorporate both subtle
and direct teaching of technique by the female characters. One of my
hopes was I might reach a male readership and pass along some of what
I have learned.
In
real life, I am a handyman for hire, so the tradesman theme is a
natural vehicle for me. My stories usually have some grounding in
home repair, which I hope adds to the sense of reality. The sex part
is pure fantasy. In twenty plus years of handyman work, I have never
had even an inkling of the transgressive situations my heroes
encounter.
These
little tales have been fun to write, but this collection will
probably be my last. As I mentioned, the light is dimming. I'm still
writing, but shifting my focus to longer works with more plot and
less sex. Maybe, if my IQ shoots up, I'll complete one of my WIPs.
If
you're looking for a different flavor of M/F vanilla, you might enjoy
Plumbers and Other Lovers. They are all short, perfect for
passing the time while you are waiting for the cable guy to arrive.
Blurb
Plumbers
and Other Lovers is a collection of four short stories about
skilled tradesmen who stumble into romantic encounters in the course
of their everyday, blue-collar lives. There is a tale for each
season, beginning in summer with "Summer Heat"; on to fall
for "Love Above See Level"; into the cold of winter with
"Then, One Frozen Christmas Eve"; and finally, spring's
"The Accidental Gigolo". It's four seasons of love and lust
among leaky pipes. You won't find alpha males, billionaire bad boys,
or self-destructive egomaniacs among Spencer Dryden's leading
men--just ordinary guys who are drawn into the orbit of some enticing
women. When the lights are out, the heat is off, or the pipes are
leaking, these are the kind of guys a woman wants to see at her door:
real men with tools and talent--and some smoldering sexuality.
About
Spencer Dryden
Spencer
Dryden is a new writer but an old guy on the threshold of draining
Medicare and Social Security.
In
real life he is a handyman, an at-home dad, inventor and web
videographer living a quiet life in the frozen tundra of Minnesota
(USA).
Like
all writers he has a cat but they don’t get along well. He can be
found at the usual writer hangouts:
Amazon
Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Spencer-Dryden/e/B00QZ6KU4O/
Twitter:
@SpencerDryden
Email:
fictionbyspencer [at] gmail [dot] com
