I’m a writer of high heat LGBT Urban Fantasy, so you’d think I wouldn’t have a problem with either sex or violence. And I don’t—not exactly. I take issue with how the American culture accepts violence across genres and over a wide spectrum while sex is still taboo in comparison.
Our acceptance of violence goes back a long way. I was at the store yesterday and noticed this structure in the background, reminding me of one of the most vicious (albeit often hilarious) cartoons, Road Runner. I cannot think of one violent action that evil bird didn’t commit against the clearly deranged coyote.
During the same era, sex was so far “off the page” we were duped into not thinking about it. Lucy and Ricky, of the iconic series “I Love Lucy” didn’t even share a bed, leaving the audience to conclude that Little Ricky was conceived through something like Immaculate Conception.
Today’s entertainment mediums tolerate more sex and violence, but the progression has not been balanced. Modern horror “slasher” movies routinely show in detail stabbing, amputations, eye gouging and flayed skin—but an erect penis in an R-rated movie is still out of bounds.
In television, gore has become commonplace for comedic affect. The Sharknado series is infamous not only for it’s ridiculous (and ridiculously funny) concept, but tell me, who doesn’t watch SyFy movies for the prime-time money shot—the blood spurt? And just yesterday I flipped through the channels to arrive at the moment on Bones where the dead woman lay eviscerated on the table, with the absurd decency of towels covering her breasts and vagina.
This peculiar phenomenon has touched my own writing life. Although my book, HOUSE OF THE RISING SON has sexual content and violent scenes, my publisher warned me not to send out any excerpts with sex above a “mild PG rating”. There was no restriction regarding my fight scenes.
Not that I minded. My incubus Cheyenne would rather make love, anyway.
HOUSE OF THE RISING SON
Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a "low profile", but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.
Alexander's future is all set--finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.
As Cheyenne's musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can't let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander--who's not sure if he's falling for the incubus or the rocker.
Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what you truly want depends on being who you truly are.
Warning: Contains hot were-tiger sex, a Thanksgiving celebration that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus who'll rock your world.
Alexander stared at Cheyenne. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m about to tell you some stuff that you are not going to believe. But you can’t tell
“Whatever. It can’t be any weirder than seeing a monster movie play out in an alley.”
He dropped onto the sofa next to Alexander. “Like I said, those were Weres. My father’s henchmen. Stupid, but so far loyal enforcers. And usually deadly.” He studied Alexander’s face. “You really haven’t noticed that I’m different from other people?”
Alexander shrugged. “I don’t care that you’re a...that you like guys. But what’s that got to—”
“I’m not gay. Not exactly. I’m an incubus.” He looked for some indication of recognition in Alexander’s eyes. “A supernatural being?” Not a shred of comprehension. “A sexual demon?”
“A demon?” Alexander started to get up. “You are out of your mind.”
Cheyenne’s hand on his arm stilled him. “Not the ‘burn in the ever-after for all eternity, hellfire and brimstone, steal your soul’ sort of demon. A sexual demon. The crowd at Eddies? I feed on that energy. And you know how Prudence is sort of turned on by me but really, and I mean really, hates me? That feeds me too, all that emotion—”
“Not the point. And let’s not forget the Weres. Hello? Paranormal. As in not normal— for humans.”
Alexander stood and crossed the sunken living room to the kitchen. He opened another Corona and made his way back to the couch. “Is that why you aren’t hurt?”
“Yeah. The thing is, my father is, like, the head guy. He sent those assholes after me. He doesn’t want me to play music or do anything else he thinks will draw attention to us.”
“The Incubi Nation. We’ve been here, living in your world, for centuries. Us, the Weres, the mages, and a lot of other races. I’ll explain all that later. Your world is ours too. And my father thinks if humans found out about us, it would be the beginning of the end. Of the incubi for sure, but maybe everything.”
“Maybe your father’s right. My head is about to explode.”
You can find HOUSE OF THE RISING SON AT:
Barnes and Noble- http://bit.ly/1TZOHpv
Trevann Rogers writes urban fantasy and LGBT paranormal romances. Her stories incorporate an unquenchable addiction to music and her love for vampires, Weres, incubi and rock stars. Like these elusive creatures, Trevann learned long ago that sometimes being yourself means Living After Midnight. Learn more at: