#navbar-iframe { display: none !important;} The Naked Page: May 2006

The Naked Page

Author Jamie Sobrato's Diary


Jaded Shaft: The Short Story

I know we all envisioned The Jaded Shaft as a movie, but maybe we should first come up with a short story that could be the inspiration for the movie. Sort of like Brokeback Mountain, but without the anal sex. Or, hey, maybe it could be that kind of movie. I give us full creative license to do whatever the hell we want to do.

After all, I don't write romance novels, according to certain uptight, undersexed, granny-panty-wearing Rita judges. So I can write any damn thing I want. And this is my blog, free of the rules of the romance genre. We can get down and dirty if we want to, and there aren't any disapproving Rita judges to purse their lips at us (or maybe there are, in which case, I'd just like to say: kiss my ass).

If you need a little refresher on The Jaded Shaft, please check out our previous discussion (you'll have to scroll almost to the bottom of the page to the Jaded Shaft entry).

So. We need to start brainstorming. Have we even figured out what or who The Jaded Shaft actually is? (I'm too lazy to go back and read those 130-something comments on the previous thread.) Talk amongst yourselves.


The Upside of Sex

I just realized I have a "round robin" short story up at Harlequin's website. It's called The Upside of Sex and it's a very quick read. If you are wondering what the hell a round robin is, basically, I wrote the first chapter of the story, and then anyone who wants to can try to write the next 4 chapters. They submit chapters and someone at Harlequin picks a winner every week to be the one that's actually used for the story. Then I write the final chapter based on what everyone else has written.

Clear as mud? It's actually kind of a fun creative writing exercise any of you Naked Page people could participate in. Please. Go participate. Do something fun with my characters, because I'm going to be pissed if they end up trying to rescue a secret baby from a renegade rancher or something. The hero is not a sheik. The heroine is not a virgin. It's a Blaze. They're supposed to be young and cool and having sex. Enough said.

Oh, and I just noticed there's a typo in the story. Don't email me about it. I don't want to be reminded.


Random Stupid Thoughts

So life is whipping my ass lately, and writer's block is a raging problem here in naked page land, where the pages really are, literally, naked. I have tried in vain to convince my editor that the blank page is a story in itself, a minimalist commentary on the utter futility of the story as an artform, but she's not buying it. Really just not buying it.


I saw a report over the weekend that Tommy Hilfiger bitch-slapped Axl Rose. This is the kind of news headline that makes me think for a moment that I need to stop drinking whatever it is I've been drinking, but no, it really happened. On an only loosely related note, I named the family dog after Axl Rose when I was a teenager. It was going to be either Axl, or Barry White, and I just couldn't do that to Barry.

So. Um. One way to know you are fucked as a writer is when you can't even think of random stupid thoughts to write on your blog. Somebody help me out here. Please post a random stupid thought or two of your own. Please. I'm on my knees--no, not doing THAT--begging you.


As Lewd As It Gets

I gotta love that As Hot As It Gets, my "not a romance" romance novel, continues to be at the center of a controversy.


If I were going to pick a book title to become the emblem of oversexed romance novels, I think As Hot As It Gets is perfect. I mean, it's just so ripe for lampooning, for one thing. And, hey, it just about sounds like a porn flick title, which makes every conversation about it that much more fun.


Stuff and More Stuff

I am feeling like a really uninspired blogger lately. I imagine this malaise strikes many a blogger who, upon having blogged for a year or so, realize that they have nothing of consequence to say.

So as long as we are in agreement that I am an utterly pointless voice in the universe, let's get down to business and decide who should be the next American Idol. I was rooting for rocker Chris for a while, but...eh, I guess the danger of having figured out one's signature sound is that you can start sounding really monotonous after a while.

I like Catherine's voice, but I think she's kind of Generic Pretty Singer. I am not dazzled by her hair extensions. Does the world need another Celine Dionne? NO! And let's don't even talk about the little Yamin guy. I mean, he's got a nice voice at times, but here again we must ask, does the world need another soulful but unoriginal R&B singer? Eh. The R&B world is pretty bereft of real talent, but it's proven of late to much more strongly value the pretty package rather than the voice.

And that leaves us with Taylor. Goofy, weird, earnest Taylor. I guess he gets my vote just because he's so joyful in his goofiness, so unafraid to look like a dork when he gets lost in a song, so, well...real.

And on an unrelated note, I just got the newest Victoria's Secret catalog, and dear God, please tell me the gaucho is not back. Please. On my ever-growing list of things the world does not need, gaucho pants are at the top of it. So if you see them in stores, or in your newest VS catalog, step away. Do not get lulled into thinking that their width at the bottom will balance the width of your hips and somehow make you look slim. They will not. They will simply make you look like a woman in some bad hybrid skirt-pants.

(And I realize as I post this that some of you East Coasters probably already know who got voted off AI this week. But this is a West Coast blog, people. I don't know yet, and I couldn't pass up an opportunity to make fun of that Yamin guy.)


Domination and Some Chicken

I hate to resort to old jokes or a Burger King ad to fill my blog, but I know there are at least a few of you out there who haven't yet experienced the perverse and idiotic pleasures of Subservient Chicken.

Go ahead, dominate him. He wants it.

I just told him to eat me, then I told him to get jiggy with it. He complied with both orders, sort of. (Okay, okay, "comply" might not be the right word for what he did.) If you find any particularly funny ways to order the chicken around, please post them here.