Two Good Films by Jacqueline George

Please welcome my guest today, the incomparable Jacqueline George!

~Cindy
p.s. I'm a huge fan of these films too!
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Two Good Films

After a hard day of achieving not much at all, I sat back with a favourite drink (butterscotch schnapps on ice) and flicked through the movie channels. Not much on offer except yet another re-run of Connie and Carla. I have seen it a dozen times before, but still - it was worth another showing.

Have you seen it? It stars a couple of ditsy female singers who accidentally witness a gangland murder. They are immediately on the run from the Boss and wash up in Los Angeles. Their only chance of a break in that notorious town is to audition as a club act - in a drag queen show.

I won’t spoil it for you. The film is a comedy, but a comedy with manners. The other performers in the drag act are men (of course!), but mostly a bunch of lost souls who club together for support. In spite of this being a main stream film, they are portrayed sympathetically. We never learn if they are gay. The film is about their singing, not their love lives. Introducing real women in disguise into the act gives all sorts of comic opportunities, but also plenty of thoughtful moments. They are probably why I like the film and am prepared to watch it again.

In fact, the film is a bit of a Hollywood cop-out. Why would you make a film about drag queens when you could go the whole hog and make it about transsexuals? Probably because that would be a step too far for a large part of the US audience. They can take men dressed as women for a laugh, but get serious and sensitive and you are asking gender questions that really, really upset some people. The film had to have a happy and guaranteed straight ending.

There was an Australian film, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, featuring drag queens. That was never going to get a full US release, so its producers did not have to hold back. It is tough and dramatic, a touring drag act in the Australian outback. Wonderful costumes and scenery, great music and dancing, and some serious questioning of stereotypes.

The setting and the plot are absolutely real, and I like real. I like to see the dust of the desert, and the long, empty roads. The lonely pub (that is the actual pub in the pic) run by a sad old Australian with his crazy Asian wife who has never stopped being a bar-girl. I loved the cheerful, uncritical aboriginals who turn up one night when the bus has broken down far from help. All of these people and places are out there in the dry centre, and it does not take much effort for travellers to find them.

I respect the balls of the film-makers who were prepared to show real people behind the fantasy costumes, and not make fun of them. I especially value the ending which might be happy or not, but is certainly very risky. If you have not seen this film already, put it on your must-do list. It is one you will remember.

Still, for all that, Priscilla is a little bit of a cop out. Even Australian films cannot question intersexuality too closely. I guess we can accept that there are gays around (preferably somewhere out of sight), but we don’t want to think about living in the space between the extremes. After all, too much of that and we might start asking exactly where we stand ourselves.

I don’t think I know any transsexual people here, but I did work with a fully transgender welder on the other side of the country. A really good welder, artistic and imaginative, and far stronger than me. I soon got to know her as a person, not a sexual statement, and we got on together just fine. I wonder what she thought of these two films.

In the end, I like both films and would be happy to see them again. Sad that the indelible Hollywood stamp is on Connie and Carla, but we should be used to that by now. If only Hollywood could divert a fraction of the energy they devote to extreme violence in the direction of serious sex...

Dream on. They play ignorant, and encourage ignorance. In a climactic scene, they even have the two singers proving they are ‘real’ women by flashing their boobs - this in Los Angeles where possessing a nice pair of breasts says absolutely nothing about what your panties might or might not contain.

Oh, stop whinging, Jacqueline. At least some-one is thinking out there, and we have two good films to enjoy.

Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com

Thrilled to announce...

I have a new contract with Ellora's Cave. Yes, my editor Jilly offered it to my last month, but I don't like to make the announcement until I get the signed copy from the EC contract department. It's official--BLACKEST NIGHTS will be published later this year. SQUEEEEEEEEE!

Here's a little sneaky peeky...unedited of course so please forgive my typos ;) Oh and if BDSM isn't your thing, you might not want to read on...you've been warned!

BLACKEST NIGHTS
copyright Cindy Jacks 2012

Excerpt:

For our first play session, I arrived early, reciting, “Scarlet, slow. Midnight, stop,” as I parked in his driveway. Once I’d inspected my makeup and smoothed my black skirt and spaghetti strap blouse, I propelled myself out of the car. The humid night air threatened to kink up my hair. A smile on my lips, I hoped my hair wouldn’t be the only thing kinked up that night. My stomach did flipflops at the thought of what Black had in store for me.

At 8:55, I knocked on his door. I heard him moving inside the house, but he didn’t answer.

A couple minutes passed and still I stood on his porch, the crickets chirping in the cooling night air. Maybe he hadn’t heard my knock. I rang the doorbell.

Another minute or so passed and every second that ticked by left me feeling foolish. Why was he making me wait? Finally out of patience, I fished my cell phone out of my purse and hit the auto-dial for his number.

As soon as Black jerked open the door, I knew I’d made a mistake. His lips down-turned, his eyes narrowed, he folded his arms over his chest.

The intensity of his stare unnerved me.

Fixing my gaze on the ground, I offered an explanation though he hadn’t demanded one, “I wanted to be sure I was on time.”

“But you aren’t on time, you’re early. Nine o’clock means nine o’clock.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Go into the dining room and sit.” He moved aside to let me pass. “To your left.”

Hurrying to do as instructed, I didn’t have much time to take in the decor of the house. Once I’d taken a seat, I studied the austerity of the mission style dining table, chairs and china cabinet. One massive photo―at least four feet by six feet―hung on an otherwise bare wall. It depicted a close up of a fig sliced in half. So suggestive was the imagery of female genitalia that I found myself averting my eyes, sneaking furtive glances. Every time I dared to look at it for more than a couple of seconds, my cheeks burned and butterflies flitted around my stomach.

The door clicked shut and I heard his footsteps head in the opposite direction. Then he returned, his cell phone in hand. Drawing his finger across the screen, he turned it so I could read. The glowing display showed his call log.

“Read the most recent entry,” he said.

“It says, ‘Red’.”

“And is it an incoming call or an outgoing one?”

“Incoming,” I mumbled. I knew exactly what I’d done wrong.

“I said never to call me.” He grabbed me by the hair and I flinched more out of surprise than pain. He wasn’t pulling all that hard…yet.

“I’m sorry.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, excited by the control he exerted over me.

Setting the phone aside, he moved behind me. Leaning down, he let his lips brush past my ear. I could feel his breath on my cheek and neck. Inhaling his cologne, I closed my eyes, my heartbeat quickening.

“You don’t listen.” He tightened his grasp, shaking me a little. I gasped, the pain sharper now, the throbbing of my pussy radiating throughout my body.

I didn’t reply, struggling to suppress a smile though I couldn’t figure out just why I felt like grinning.

“What’s funny?” He tugged at my hair.

The tug hurt so much my eyes watered. “Nothing.”

“Say it. Say, ‘I don’t listen’.” His held my head held back, forcing me to make eye contact.

“I―” My voice cracked, arousal and agony gripping my throat. “I don’t listen.”

“Do you need me to make you?”

“Yes…please.” My legs trembled, my pussy quivering at the thought of what he would do to punish me.

Bending me over the table, he pressed my cheek to the cool surface, hand still tangled in my hair, but he’d eased up on the agonizing hold.

The skirt I’d taken so much care to pick out wound up crumpled around my waist. He ripped off my panties then caressed the swell of my ass. I heard the jangle of his belt buckle and the woosh of it sliding out of his belt loops. Oh God, he was going to―

Crack!

I cried out and squirmed, the initial sting so intense I could hardly stand it, but he held me down.

Crack!

The belt smacked against my ass, heat spreading over the entire cheek. I yelped and whimpered. A sharp burning sensation ran along the junction of my buttock and my thigh and I was sure he’d given me a welt. The thought turned me on to no end. I was bare-assed, splayed out across a table and one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever met was punishing me. Oh yes, I wanted more.

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Like what you read? Discover more Cindy Jacks books at Ellora's Cave

https://www.ellorascave.com/index.php/authors/index/author/slug/cindy-jacks

2013--Going road warrior in my retro bikini

Now that I'm relatively caught up with all I fell behind on, I was reflecting on my goals for this year. I have to say, with last year's successes I'm feeling pretty ambitious. Not to mention I'm facing the big FOUR-OH this August. Keep moving forward, right?

1. Goal numero uno is to put out a book a month. What's that you say? That's crazy! Not really. I'm not talking twelve full-length novels. More like one novel, four novellas and seven shorter works. The wonderful thing about being part of the e-publishing world is I don't have arbitrary word counts imposed on me because an 85,000 plus word book looks better a display shelf than a 50,000. This gives me the freedom to exercise a whole range of storytelling skills--vignettes, short stories, novellas and, yes, the occasional novel.

Gone are the days when an author could put out one or two books every couple of years and rest on his/her laurels. It's truly publish or perish and I'm going road warrior this year! I've got some plans for several works with my main publisher, Ellora's Cave, plus an anthology of short stories with some wonderful authors (**Cindy waves to Jacqueline George**) and also I'm delving into self-pubbing some of my previously published work that I've recently reacquired the rights to. It's going to be an adventure, I'm sure.

2. Goal number two...okay, this might sound a wee bit silly, but given my recent weight loss (45 pounds and counting!) it occurred to me that I might, for the first time in decades, have a shot at wearing a bikini this summer. I'm not talking about the two pasties and some dental floss kind of bikini, but something classic and retro...something Marilyn would've worn. With that in mind, I started my customized Nike+ training today on the Xbox. Okay, so day one was really, really hard. Yep...it kicked my ass, but I think a new fitness regime is in order to keep challenged and motivated. I'll keep y'all updated as I keep things fit and slim in 2013.


So I'd love to hear what y'all have planned for the new year, please share! Happy 2013, may it bring you luck and happiness...or at least if life gives you lemons, make whiskey sours ;)

Cheers,
Cindy

Birth of a Novel: It's my manuscript and I'll cry if I want to

So, you've written enough words to call your book a novel. You've given it form and purpose, fleshed out characters, not to mention all the blood, sweat and tears. You're finished, right? Not even close.

Now the hard work really begins. It's time to edit. ARGH! That dastardly word (my apologies to my own editor. You do know I love you, Jilly). I'd have to say edits are my least favorite part of writing, but a very necessary one. While Mozart may have been able to dash off music with nary a correction, no writer on the planet can produce a flawless first draft. I assure you, mistakes have been made and the fact of the matter is you will not be able to find them all on your own. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The author is always the first reader of his or her work therefore the first edit belongs to you, the so-called self-edit. Carefully read through your manuscript--I often do this aloud because it helps point out unnatural sentence structure and typos. This will help you find where you lost your way. What are you looking for? Plot holes, actions that are out of character, scenes you skimped on because you were feeling lazy that day (we all do it), scenes in which you fell in love with the sound of your own voice but were really writing to hear yourself type. Again, we all do that as well. I have a penchant for getting overly descriptive with food and meals. Could be because I love cooking but am perpetually dieting? Methinks yes. Anyhoo, now is the time to slash, burn and rebuild. Cry if you need to...I often do.

Once the alpha reader is satisfied (remember, that's you), it's time to pass your baby along to someone who does not love it nearly so much. And someone who does not love you too much either. By this, I mean your mom or best friend or number one fan just won't do. What you need is a veteran reader, grammar ninja and psychoanalyst all rolled into one--your beta reader.

Ahhhh, a good beta reader is hard to find and a hard beta reader is good to find. No, I'm not being naughty. The best thing you can do for your novel now is find someone to beat the crap out of it. Find the nitpicky-est, persnickety-est, lover of books and the English language you can find (Love you, Stacey!). Your beta reader should question everything that sounds even remotely inaccurate or contrived. When you receive your manuscript file back from your beta reader, it should be all marked up. It will sting but remember, pain is just weakness leaving your novel. Again, feel free to cry...I often do. But the fact of the matter is you cannot fully edit your own work because you're too close to it. I guarantee your beta reader will find at least one flaw that will make you smack your forehead and go, "How did I not catch that?" A fresh, critical pair of eyes is essential to the finishing process. That being said, you don't want someone who's just plain mean or unprofessional. We're going for constructive criticism not snarkiness.

Also, remember--no matter what changes someone else recommends, it is still YOUR VISION and you can accept or reject changes as you see fit. It may take a couple rounds of beta reader edits and some brainstorming to get the flow, plot and characters spit polished.

Now that you've read it and loved it, now that someone else has read it and given you constructive criticism, it doesn't hurt to pass your manuscript by a couple additional people, more for proofreading purposes than anything else. This time, you can use your mom or your best friend or anyone else willing to give it a looksee. You just need even fresher eyes to catch little typos you and your beta reader missed because you've read the darn thing so many times and you both know how it's supposed to read, but you actually wrote 'to' instead of 'too' or 'weather' instead of 'whether'. Again, you do want to use folks who are good at grammar and spelling...oh and that reminds me--don't forget to do one final pass with spell check. Sounds like a no brainer, but you'd be surprised how many writers ignore that most basic of tools.

After all that back and forth, you've finally got a manuscript you can send out into the world, whether you choose an e-publisher, self-pubbing or a more traditional route, you've gone through all the essential steps. It's time to put your best foot forward and let your work shine for all the world to see.

Good luck, my fellow writers! I hope my little series of articles on the birth of a novel has been informative and entertaining. I've just hit send and PINCH OF THIS is on its way to my editor. I'll let you guys know if it's contracted (fingers crossed!)

Cheers,
Cindy