Contributing Author: Nebula Awarding winning SCI-FI author James Patrick Kelly

It’s okay to use foreign words and neologisms in a story without defining them. As youngsters, we all learned how to navigate new linguistic territory.  Am I wrong to bet that those who now write consistently read above our grade levels growing up?  When we came across a word that we didn’t know, we would guess what it meant from its context.  And then, if we saw that word a second time, that guess would strengthen into a surmise.  And so on and so on until we began using the word ourselves without ever once having consulted a dictionary.  Of course, this skill is fundamental to enjoying science fiction and fantasy.  Have you ever looked up Jedi? Gravitas? Schadenfreude? Cyberpunk? In fact, this definition-on-the-fly habit becomes so ingrained that we’re no longer aware that we’re doing it. That is unless a clumsy writer piles the new word on new word or doesn’t give us enough context.

Not every story needs to be told in the same way.  In my experience, the gene for experimentation in a writer’s DNA is most frequently expressed in the short form.   While the straightforward craft of building upon the three-sided foundation of plot, character, and setting works best for most readers — and writers — other strategies can pay unique dividends.  Limiting narration to one point of view is not a law of nature, nor is sequential narrative required to earn a place on the table of contents.  What is important at the end of the day is whether the reader has a sense of a time and a place, whether she can appreciate the motivations of someone who takes action and whether she understands the importance of the matters under consideration by the writer.

Here are some dos and don’ts for writing about sex.

Don’t use euphemisms — do call parts what they are.  When writing about sex, language is important not only to help the reader understand what’s happening but also to set the tone.

Don’t abuse metaphor and simile and never venture into the produce section – do invoke all five senses.   Describing primary and secondary sexual characteristics as like fruits and vegetables is not — trust me on this – a good idea.  Transparent prose should be the default when it comes to writing about sex.  If you’re wondering how the writer holds her reader’s interest with one hand tied behind her back, remember –we’re talking about sex here!  A writer has to go out of her way to bore a reader on this subject.   Sensual details, especially those which invoke the off-senses of taste, touch, and smell, will bring a scene to life much more effectively than breasts heavy as ripe cantaloupes.

Don’t dwell on the hydraulics but do embrace the messiness.  Masters and Johnson spent their entire careers documenting the physiological changes that take place during arousal and orgasm — so writers don’t have to.  Yes, the blood pounds causing various blushings and swellings.  There can be sweat and at some point, precious bodily fluids may be exchanged.  But describing these things in detail in the cause of verisimilitude is a mistake, it says here.  If it’s realism you’re after, how about a nod toward how awkward sex can sometimes be?  The rocking and rolling and bumping against one another.  Or the classic struggle to get out of those pesky clothes.

Don’t describe orgasms — do concentrate on foreplay.  Your orgasm is your own; nobody knows what it’s like.  I’ve never read a description of one that wasn’t a) wrong or b) silly.  Or both!  All the interesting character stuff happens before the climactic moment.
But these don’ts and dos aside, the most important question for readers to ask when encountering sex in a story is this: Is the sex about something more than the sex?  I suppose it’s possible in real life to have meaningless sex, but not in fiction.  Every act, but especially this most characteristic of acts, needs to be filled with meaning – to overflowing, if possible.  Writers shouldn’t send characters into one another’s arms unless there is more going on than mutual lust.