Like most people, I've had a lot of teachers in my life. Two, in particular, really stand out in my mind.
The first one I'll discuss, who actually came second into my educational life, was a philosophy professor at UAH. Craig Hanks. On the advice of a friend, I took his Ethics class. I learned a lot—even though I didn't always do the work. When it came time to do a presentation on an ethical dilemma, somehow I thought it was a good idea to do a paper on the ethics of S&M lifestyle, given that S&M was (is?) still categorized as a mental illness in the DSM-R. Ultimately I read the paper to the class... but only because he wouldn't let me present the video montage I felt best illustrated my position. (Innuendo not intentional, though it makes me laugh.)
Honestly, Craig Hanks was just sexy. There was no getting around it. He was only a little older than his students, articulate and gently-spoken even when excited. And he had these piercing eyes that looked straight into your soul the entire time he spoke with you. It was unnerving but completely riveting. More impressive, though, was his hair. Long, dark curls that were always pulled back into a ponytail, until the last day of class when he would unleash them. I think he had to know that his students—both male and female, alike—would be distracted by that gorgeous hair. With those eyes and that hair, he looked like Eddie Vedder and Chris Isaak's love child, in the absolute best way possible.
Before him, though, there was a teacher in high school, Jean Burnett. I had Mrs. Burnett for 10th-grade English Literature, then again the next year for AP Lit. I also had her for two years for Creative Writing. I was the assistant editor my junior year, and editor my senior, of the school's literary magazine, Counterpane.
It was a collection of student-produced poems and short stories and drawings and photographs. At the time, we all thought it was great. I can remember being so pleased at how many students we'd gotten to contribute that last year, how I'd actually left the next year's editor with money in the account to start the year. I had a dozen or so poems as a senior—and not just because I was the editor.
Now, of course, when I go back and read it, it's mostly bad teen angst and convoluted ramblings. (I know this surprises you.) I can remember many mornings in first period with Mrs. Burnett (assuming that I hadn't skipped class), sharing pieces for potential inclusion in that year's edition of Counterpane. She was always very patient, politely stressing the use of constructive critique. She was incredibly adept at steering heated discussions about whether or not So-and-so's poem was crap.
Originally I had intended two release two versions of Persona Non Grata simultaneously: one that was sexual but tame, and the other that was fully pornographic.
"Look," Absolem said to me, "women love sex and women love music. If you write the book where they get to bang the rock star, you'll sell a million copies."
When it came time to revise again and begin the sexualization of the story, I had to write the porn first, intending to go back and cull the tamer version from the graphic one. As I sent drafts to the inner circle, even the prudest of my readers said the sex was cogent:
"All the sex, surprisingly, was good for me! I feel like that gets across even more clearly the emotional states of the characters, no veil, nothing hidden. It's just all there, all laid out. I think you will get your characters' thought process out there better with all the explicit stuff. Nothing held back. Yes, the sex was exciting to read, which makes it better for the reader!"
"I blush easily, but that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it just the same."
"Hot damn!"
Their feedback was good, but I still questioned whether or not it was too much.
And then, I heard Jean Burnett's voice in my head, twenty-five years later, asking me whether or not it was gratuitous.
"Does this make sense for these characters? Does it fit this story?" I heard her ask patiently.
Yes, it does.
So the sex is there, but this is not a sex book. This is not erotica. (I know. I've written plenty of that and will likely do it again for another Junkture book.) But this is a story about a grown woman who is in love with two men, married to one and having a torrid affair with the other. She is awakening in her life and rediscovering her body. Sex is integral to her process of transformation.
I went back to erotic works I loved: Anne Rice's Belinda and Exit to Eden. Both books are full of beautiful passages and descriptions non-traditional sex, but those acts are part of larger love stories. That was what I wanted to do.
I looked at what Anais Nin and Pauline Reage had done, though the English translations could never do their works justice. I looked at Fifty Shades of Grey and knew Tierney would never use a phrase like "his considerable length". (And I still argue that Anne Rice's Sleeping beauty trilogy is the seminal work of love in the guise of S&M. Fuck E. L. James.)
So Tierney and I embraced her bawdy potty mouth and went for it. As one of the readers said, "Tierney would totally say cock and pussy. It's just who she is."
"Does this make sense for these characters? Does it fit this story?"
Yes, it does.
Persona Non Grata: A Story of Junkture is graphic. It is steamy and sometimes raunchy in ways that are exploratory for the adults in this story. They're wiser and more adventurous than any 20-year-old would be, and they are comfortable in their explorations. And those are exactly the kind of readers I hope will read this book.
For all of those reasons, Jean Burnett is the dedication for my first novel. I always said the first one would be for her, and there's no doubt in my mind that I made the right choice. I had the distinct pleasure a couple of weeks ago of speaking with her by phone and thanking her for her guidance and influence, even all these years later. I sent her a signed copy of the book, giving her fair warning of the content, and I hope to hear from her soon with her own constructive critique.
I promise not to drop an f-bomb when I talk to her again, even if it does fit my character.
And if anyone talks to Craig Hanks, let him know I have a signed copy for him, too.
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