#it feels like we've traded 'I hate my husband' for 'Here's the guy I let put his crusty dick in me' which is not a huge improvement!

[ballsballsbowls]

Slate recently published a relatively short interview with Holly Black and I just...

I cannot stress enough, here where you can see it, that I don't have strong feelings about Holly Black specifically. I've read just enough of one of her books to be pretty confident that it's not for me and I doubt I will read anything else. Holly Black just happens to be the person they interviewed and the person who said these things specifically. I have no quarrel with her.

What really drew my attention was this, which unfortunately I suspect is hardly unique to her.

Q: In The Prisoner’s Throne, there’s a scene early on that I thought was going to go in the way many romantasy books would go these days, but it didn’t. A lot of readers are here for the smut, but some authors, like yourself, will go the “behind closed doors” route, where the sex isn’t explicit or it’s assumed to have happened off the page. Are you at all interested in exploring the smuttier aspect of fantasy? 

A: I think that I certainly could push myself a bit more out of my comfort zone, but I don’t know how much I would want to explore it. Mostly because, as a reader, I find long sex scenes to be paced strangely—you’re moving through everything else at a certain pace, and then the pace just drops off, like, OK, now we’re spending, like, two chapters like this. I know there are people who enjoy it, obviously. I recognize that readers wish I could make the scenes a little longer. I had a reader ask me, with the Folk of the Air series, if my editor had made me cut down the scenes, and I said, “No, actually, my editor told me to expand the scene.” And she said, “Well, why didn’t you?” Friend, I did.

I also had somebody talk to me recently about how, in a certain kind of book, what you have is levels of physical intimacy being symbolic of the characters achieving a greater amount of emotional intimacy. That’s just not something I’ve ever thought of as being equivalent. I’ve been like, Oh, I have to get them closer here, but I never really thought that people often are using physical intimacy as a stand-in or as a way to communicate emotional intimacy. Building up into a greater and greater level of physical intimacy is doing work that I’m just not thinking about doing in that way.

~

Paragraph 1 of her answer is interesting in its own way. I'd always wondered why people feel compelled to write 2-paragraph sex scenes because they are my least favorite way to convey that information. I'd much rather a fully closed door OR a 2-page treatment with no in between, but you can't generalize her answer to authors generally.

But Paragraph 2 was actually kind of illuminating and, I think, is actually a notion that can be spun out and applied to other authors rather than being specific to her. I like category romance a lot (among other genres, the difference is that I never shut up about romance because nobody is spending a lot of energy being dismissive and shitty about fantasy or sci-fi as a genre anymore), but I have struggled with basically every new romance-esque genre out there that should be appealing! It's romance AND something else! But I didn't vibe with any of the rom-coms I read, which I forgave because 'rom-com' isn't a real genre, it's basically just a marketing thing.

But I also didn't like any why chooses/RH; I didn't like any 'romantasy' (despite liking both romance AND fantasy!) —even Paladin's Grace was pretty much a spite finish for me and that's the work of an immensely skilled tradpub author—not to mention, I have no idea whether she considers that series 'romantasy' or not (I doubt it). Hell, I'd dump shifter romance/urban fantasy romance in here too and it's been around longer than any of these upstart new romance-adjacent sub-genres.

But I think Paragraph 2 of Holly's answer maybe gets to some of it. She's either saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in general (which is all well and good but maybe romance-adjacent author is not the career for you?)

Or she's saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in romance writing, which was a lightbulb moment for me. At the risk of perhaps overgeneralizing:

A lot of these authors are writing romance-adjacent books because they think romance is a cool thing to have in a book but they don't understand why category romance does what it does, and what it signifies, and why it works, so they just...throw everything out because they are Too Cool For Category Romance because it's Grandma Porn or whatever, so they write something that's marketed as a romance that doesn't comprehend how to write or discuss emotional intimacy at all, and typically can't juggle it under the weight of the rest of the plot even if they do.

So you end up with between 2 and 7 leads with the emotional depth and chemistry of smooshing two barbies together to kiss because they don't have a clue what chemistry between leads should look like because they're Too Cool For Category Romance. And a lot of them that I have read have had sex scenes, so they're not afraid of smut, but they can't integrate emotional vulnerability or chemistry into it at all.

I think this is where her complaint about the 'pacing' of sex scenes comes in. This newer, ultra-lean writing style where everything is first person present and paced oddly and every dialogue is sparse and lacking dialogue tags and every two-page spread is mostly white space is here to stay, unfortunately, and in a world where you're trying to reduce word count and have an additional entire plot besides the romance, who has space for intimacy or whimsy or anything but maybe 2 crude indicators that they trust each other?

[ayanacam]

Stand Still

:02

Five months ago...

July 17th, 2022

The nursery was a pale mint blue, accents of gray, white, and yellow surrounding the walls. The furniture was a crisp white wood. A crib and dresser on opposites of the wall, fitting perfectly in the vision Christen had been wanting ever since she had graduated high school and had worked in her friend's mother's baby store. She knew yellow and pale blue was a neutral color, meant for any gender and she had perfectly executed it. Everything was perfect.

Christen's hands caressed her belly, her stomach protruding slightly since she was entering her second trimester. She had gotten around to finally picking a day to go and get checked. She had found out she was two months pregnant, realizing that the stress and "flu" symptoms were actually her pregnancy hormones all out of whack; however, she couldn't have been happier to find that she was expecting. Something she had been wanting with Dallas since their first year of marriage.

Thank god for miracles... Christen thought.

"Baby?" Dallas' voice sliced through her silence.

She turned, her eyes washing over her husband. Blue button down shirt and a simple sweater, pair of dark wash jeans and khaki Clark's covering his feet. He looked delectable and her libido sky rocketed with another glance.

Dallas smiled, knowing. Lately Christen had been insatiable, her hands and mouth everywhere over him within the last few weeks; especially with the fact of painting the nursery. He had been practically naked and what should've been a week paint job, turned into three.

"Alright Mrs. horny," Christen blushed. "Everyone is starting to arrive, come on."

Christen giggled, her hands covering her stomach before she moved towards her significant other.

"You ready to tell them?" Dallas gathered her hands into his.

She nodded, butterflies filling her stomach consistently at the thought of telling her family and friends that they were going to have a child. Everyone had expected them to come back from their honeymoon pregnant, but all that glowed was her tan skin from their vacation in Tahiti.

"Hey," Dallas pulled her into his chest, squeezing her gently. "This is a happy moment. Don't let the years of failed tests reign over the positive one."

He always knew what to say, Christen smiling as she looked down. Her button down baggy shirt covered what she knew was there and it made her happy. For awhile she lived with a baby without someone knowing. She got the bliss of knowing that the baby was just hers and Dallas' for a few months. No constant calls of checking in and overbearing parents, she wasn't quite ready to give it up.

"Alright, come on."

Dallas could see the gears turning inside of her head, eventually going to lead her into regression of the choice to let their closest family and friends know that they were soon to be parents. He placed his lips upon her forehead and interlaced their fingers together. He gently tugged at her, away from the nursery.

They descended the staircase, their family and friends all over the house. Some in the living space or in the kitchen attached. The house was buzzing.

"Hey! It's Christen." Logan yelled.

Everyone joined, a smile lighting her face.

"Hi Logan." She chuckled, walking over to him, embracing him shortly.

"What's going on? How are you?" Logan grinned.

"I'm great," she beamed. "You?"

He nodded, "I could be better but all's well that ends well."

She nodded, "Well if you need to talk, I'm here for you."

"I know." He had a small sad smile. "It's good to see you sis."

"Good to see you too baby bro." She punched his shoulder in playful manner.

Others eventually, one by one and groups, had said hello and began to eat the food Dallas had cooked. For about an hour and a half, everyone socialized, drinks were continuously poured and food consumed.

"Alright, alright, alright!" Dallas exclaimed.

Everyone's chatter had slowly quieted, Christen's nerves slowly building in anticipation.

"So I know you guys are all wondering why we have brought you here, even though we were all together about and week and a half ago for Fourth of July." Dallas chuckled.

Christen's eyes filled with tears as she took her next breath, "I know you guys were expecting us to be pregnant the moment we stepped off the plane from our honeymoon."

"Oh my god," Christen's mother Amelia gasped.

"We've brought you here today, to tell you guys that we are four months pregnant." Dallas smiled, looking down at her stomach, his hand gliding over the material covering it.

Everyone began to yell, cheerfully and loudly. Multiple group hugs and kisses were shared as everyone took in the news. Christen was crying and Dallas was beaming, so proud of what they had created and were now starting.

"Wait wait wait, you mean to tell me for four months I didn't know you were pregnant?" Amelia smacked Dallas' arm.

"Ow, Jesus woman." His hand soothingly rubbed the spot she had hit.

"Christen?" Amelia's gaze landed on her.

"We wanted to be sure we could make it past the first trimester. We didn't want you guys to get your hopes up." Christen guiltily shrugged.

"Well nevertheless, I'm happy for both of you. Congratulations son." Chris, Dallas' father, had clapped his shoulder.

"Thanks pops. Means a lot." Dallas smiled.

For the rest of the night, things had gone smoothly. Questions that were asked, had been answered and the nursery was shown to everyone. For the first time Christen's heart was content fully. As she looked around, everyone in her home was just as ecstatic as she had been when she found out.

Dallas and Christen had eventually ushered everyone out, the last wave and car leaving soon after they announced they had an early morning for a doctors appointment and a La Mas class.

"Thank you." Christen kissed her husbands chest.

"For what?" Dallas looked down at his wife.

"For giving me everything I could've ever possibly wanted." Christen played with the clear buttons.

A small grin graced Dallas' face as he looked at his wife being a slight mush. He knew she hated being one but had her small moments here and there.

He tilted her chin, "Thank you for being everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brimmed the sides of her eyes before Dallas pulled her into a sweet kiss. They stood on their porch, the lights a low glow. They were content and blithe.

Present Day...

January 16th, 2023

It was dimly lit in the interrogation room, a small overhead light swaying over the head of the table. Christen squinted, laying her head onto her forearms; the headache stronger than ever. The pain medication was doing nothing to subdue, her edginess more noticeable than ever as Andrew rubbed the small of her back.

"You okay?" He questioned.

It had been restless nights, ever since the unfortunate scene of events a week ago. It wasn't okay, but at this point she didn't know what that was.

"I'm fine." she responded quietly.

"You sure?" Andrew leaned, matching her eyesight.

"No, but if I'm here I must be." She admitted.

"You know Chris, we can do this another day. We don't need to rush anything. The trial isn't for a few months anyways." Andrew confirmed.

"I don't want to do this later. I don't want to get to a place where I am at least on the verge of being fine and reopen wounds." She fanned her hands around on the table. Her breaths had quickened. Her heart was racing uncontrollably, something she hadn't been able to confine the last few days.

"Christen." Andrew's voice broke.

"What?" Her eyes, filled with salty teardrops, were glassy.

"Do you want to do this another day?" Andrew asked, slowly.

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping forward; her weight resting against the middle of the cracked black table. It seemed like forever before the detective who was handling the case walked in, closing the door behind him. He nodded towards Andrew and opened his mouth as if to try and express his sympathy, but nothing came out. There was nothing that he could say that would make what he was about to say any easier.

"Ms. Collins."

Christen looked up, dried tear stains marking the redness of her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and besides her cheeks, the rest of her looked sickly and pale. He wasn't about to comment on that though, he knew better not to.

"I won't ask you what you're feeling. I know whatever it is, isn't good and we won't rehash that." A slight pause, a deep breath followed suit. "I came across some information about your late husband. Dallas Collins."

"What information would that be?" Andrew's brows furrowed.

"Dallas Collins had been money laundering for what seems to be like, the past four years. Documentation of the accounts we found offshore and in other banks suspects that he might've taken them over from a person in a higher position who had retired."

Christen's eyes had widened, her hands shaking slightly. Her mind raced as she wondered how she couldn't have known. She had always handled the bills, the taxes, anything that meant paying companies and government officials. Her mind wandered around into the small dark corners of her brain to see if she could scour anything she could remember about anything. If something had been off or if Dallas had ever shown fear about money or people.

"Apart from that, it seems like Dallas was also involving himself into the underground drug trade, selling millions worth of cocaine, heroine, and methamphetamine's. Dallas must have gotten himself into some nasty business with a guy named Grant Valente. Do you know that name by any chance?"

Andrew's mouth was dry. All those accounts he had been handling for Dallas, multiple cards and bank accounts. He should've known. As Andrew looked over to Christen, he realized that Christen was looking even worse than before. She was like a sheet of white, pale as ever and a small sweat had broken over her skin.

"Ms. Collins?"

"No, I don't." Christen blankly answered.

Her mind was reeling, all over again. Dallas showed no fear or concern for anything dangerous lurking around their lives. Everything was always, "I'll handle it" or "It's fine baby, nothing to worry about" with a kiss placed on her lips and something else filled her mind as she was whisked into something romantic. Nothing ever screamed at her, nothing but happiness in what was turning out to be fucked up a world.

"Nothing at all?" the detective questioned softly. "Anything that could be weird. Multiple bank accounts, prepaid cards, late night phone calls, reflection of questions when you asked anything?"

"We had multiple bank accounts. Something about savings and how it would help us with retirement since the health benefits from his job were apparently shit." Christen's head was pounding, her face stuck into a frown.

"Alright that's good, anything else?"

"I never checked his wallet, but I always saw a lot of cards whenever he pulled it out, just from what I could see." Christen's shoulders moved.

"Anymore, can you think of a time he ever seemed to be secretive."

"If Dallas was secretive he had something sweet or romantic planned out. I don't think I've ever seen him being secretive about something like this." She murmured softly.

Her whole world, in which she thought was a good one, was turning out to be something completely different. She had no idea that her late husband was apart of something so dangerous and sickening. Her stomach was turning, bile rising up her throat as she continued to ponder about his late night activities.

"Also, Ms. Collins," the detective knew he was about to officially break her.

"Yes?" Christen looked up, the light too much for her migraine to handle.

"From looking into Dallas's bank accounts, we found some activity we feel you should know about. Dallas, it seems, was leading a double life from the payments we've looked over. Dallas had a wife in New York, Manhattan to be more specific. They had two kids."

Andrew's eyes grew, "Bullshit!"

The detective grew, opening the file that was laid out on the old beaten up table. His fingers skimmed through a few pieces and packets of paper before pulling out a few pictures, Dallas laced within each and every one of them. Andrew had snatched the file, looking over the woman and two kids pictured with Dallas, smiling and happy. Christen broke, officially sobbing into her hands. Andrew was yelling, while officers had made their way into the room to get Andrew off of the detective.

Christen was tapped, her head not registering anything she was hearing in reality. Her mind wasn't set on what was going on now.

"Ms. Collins, can you hear me?" A cop, dressed in blue and black.

She nodded slowly, her eyes resting on the blue ones that crouched in front of her.

She looked around, the room completely destroyed. The table had been flipped and papers were scattered. The small space was wrecked to the fullest. Andrew was being restrained in the corner, Christen finally coming into her senses and hearing his wails to defend her cheating husband. She stood, pushing past the cops holding Andrew gently aside. She stood and looked at her friend of years, her hands softly grasping his face into them.

"It's okay, Andrew. It's okay. You're okay." Christen consoled.

"It's not true Chris, he loved you. Everything in him screamed love for you." Andrew cried.

"I know." Christen lied.

He didn't love her, Christen knew this. If that was the case, he wouldn't have had a double life. He wouldn't have lied and cheated. Wouldn't have given another woman kids before her. Wouldn't have even had another woman. Did the woman know about her? Did she know about her and Angela or what Dallas had been doing for the past few years? Christen sank to the ground with Andrew as he held his head between his hands.

"I can't do this Chris. I didn't know he-"

"I believe you." Her voice broke, there was nothing she could do.

"I'm so sorry." Andrew stared blankly at the cold ground.

Christen shrugged, sitting beside him leaning on his shoulder. She didn't have any fight over her, but something was brewing beneath her skin. Rage, dangerous and threatening. She wanted to know so many unanswered questions. She didn't know if she was strong enough to have them answered or to meet the other woman.

"Ms. Collins, it would be best for you both to leave." Christen looked up, the detective a little disheveled as she saw the pity in his eyes.

She nodded, her hand closing around the width of Andrew's arm. Pulling him out of his small trance of disbelief, he realized he needed to be moving. He saw the detective, his pride coming into play before knocking some sense into his self.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get physical." Andrew hung his head in shame.

"Understandable, you guys led a life that was normal, stable and ordinary. It's a lot to take in in such a short period of time." The detective placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do me a favor," Andrew looked up, "This is the address to Caroline Davis' house in Manhattan. Give her a visit. Or talk to Christen about it and get her to visit. They're pretty broken as well."

"Did they know about her and Angela?" Andrew interrogated.

The detective's facial expression was all he needed to see to answer the simple question, that yes they did know about her. Andrew sighed and took the slip of paper before he walked over to Christen sitting in the waiting room of the police station. From what Andrew could see, Chris was broken in every sense of the word. Not only had she lost her husband and baby in an ugly fight that was only meant for Dallas. She just found out that her whole life was a lie, yet she was supporting him.

"You ready to go?" Andrew fingering the small piece of paper in his pocket.

She nodded, her throat constricting as she tried to hold herself in the station. She didn't want to be perceived as weak. Of course the situation at hand warranted emotions and breakdowns but that wasn't her, not in the slightest. Andrew escorted her out of the lobby, multiple cameramen and microphones thrust into their face, together and separately.

"Is it true that your husband was apart of a major drug ring?"

Apparently so.

"Are you going to testify against Monica Stratford and Grant Valente?"

With everything in me.

"Is it true your husband had an affair?"

Fuck him.

"Ms. Collins, are you pregnant with your husband's baby?"

No comment.

"Will Angela get justice?"

She hoped.