Bethany, Befuddled

Pick up lines so totally befuddle me.

I remember once, in my confused twenties, heading out to a concert where I knew my crush was going to be. I took special care with my appearance that day; I spent all of 10 minutes applying some colored muck to my face, and adding a fancily-folded bandana to my head (yes, this was when fancy dress meant rockabilly to me). Then it was on to Thee Parkside, where I stood out like two-dollar hooker among the t-shirts and ripped jeans.

"Hey," the guy next to me at the bar (not my crush, he was off at the front of the crowd with a cute little girl in a Ramones t-shirt and a pixie haircut) said. "You look really good tonight. So, like, how long did that" - a muddled hand gesture in front of his face - "take you to do?"

Maybe it's just that the guys who try to pick me up don't have the best lines. I was also once complimented on my eyebrows.

"Really, they look great, all... natural. I admire a girl who doesn't mind letting things like that go."

Sometimes they are so bad that I actually wonder if the dude is trying to offend me. Which never works. It mostly just cracks me up.

"So I know your standards are usually higher, but, you know, it's been a while since (ex-boyfriend) left town, you must be, you know, and I just wanted to see if you wanted to hook up."

But these are depressing. So instead, I'll just share my favorite pick-up-line story, one that is not my own. This is borrowed from the husband of one of my best friends. When he was 10 or 11, his older brother took him out to the City to teach him how to pick up women. And you know what? When an adorable little kid yells at you from across the street, "Baby! Baby, you stepped on something! My HEART!" it sure as heck works.

(okay, works in that you're flattered and go, "awww," not works in that he actually succeeds in picking you up. I don't think pick-up linesever work that way.)

Bethany Herron is an urban fantasy writer, freight-train conductor, and RWA Board Member living in the Bay Area. She has the blessed fortune to be connected to the Pens by blood, and blogs at http://jujuwiz.wordpress.com.

Gigi's Inadvertent Sociological Experiment

Since I had the same long, curly hair for 20 years, from 16 to 36, I took for granted the responses I'd get about my hair. Compliments and pick-up lines, sure, but also nicknames like "Poof" because of how frizzy my curls could get.

In the past eight months I've tried out many different hairstyles, and it's been fascinating to see how people respond differently to me when I have different hair.

The biggest eye opener? There's a big difference between the hairstyles men and women respond to.

The Pens picked out this wig with red highlights for me (shown on the left), and it quickly became my favorite wig during chemo. When I was up for leaving the house, I'd don this wig, and on most trips at least woman would make a comment about cool it was. I'm used to people commenting on my hair, but not quite that frequently.

When I was healthy enough to go back to working out of my office in San Francisco, I got myself a real hair wig (shown on the right). I picked out one that's pretty close to what my hair would look like if it wasn't curly, since I thought it would be fun to try out straight near-black hair. On my way home from the beauty store that day, I stopped at the market, and a guy hit on me.

The pattern has continued. Women love the streaks of color and often comment on it. Men don't approach me as often in that cool wig, but with the more natural hair, I get hit on at least as often as I used to. What's the deal?

I never selected any of my wigs for their potential for being hit on, but it was nevertheless interesting to see how it played out.

When I wanted more variety, I got myself an even shorter wig with purple streaks cut at a cute angle (shown on the left). The response was very similar to the wig with red highlights. Women agree with me that it's very cool. But guys? I have no idea.

It's been a few months since I finished chemotherapy, so pretty soon I'll be sporting a short cut of my own hair. It'll be interesting to see what happens then.

—Gigi

Martha's Pickup Plea

There's this guy. He's called The Pickup-Artist. Or something similarly cheesy. He had a show for a while where he showcased his business technique of teaching men how to pick up on ladies.

He had copycats, and alas, some of them operated out of San Francisco. Specifically - Medjool Restaurant/Lounge/Nightclub/Whatever in San Francisco's Mission District.

The Pickup Artist teaches simple principles. Which start with -

1. Only approach women in pairs.

Why? Because one woman is desperate and a group of women isn't interested. Women in pairs are either on the prowl or waiting for a third member and amenable for conversation.

The pickup pupils are easy to spot. For one, because they have the look of a racer at the start of a line, body tense, ready to pounce. For two, because they religiously operate on the next principles.

2. Only approach women as a pair.

Why? Because one guy is creepy but a group of guys is creepier.

Now the key to this approach is...pay attention....

3. Engage the women with an open-ended question.

Often the two guys will feign an argument. One will say, "You've got to be kidding me! No no! I disagree." They will then pretend to notice you for the first time with raised eyebrows and all, and say, "Oh, you, what do you think? Is Star Wars or Star Trek better?"

This is the part where the women respond. The answer doesn't really matter. Because the two guys will let you have, max, 3 minutes of conversation. Because the next principle is really important.

4. Be congenial, thank them, and walk away.

This is key. No one likes an overstayed welcome. The men are careful not to ask for personal details like your name. Besides, the guys really don't want to have a conversation with you about which franchise is better (incidentally, I feel its an unfair comparison given the mediums serve different purposes). What they want to do is bump and grind on you. Giving us the final principle.

5. Wait until you spot the women on the dance floor and dance near them, thus giving you the opportunity for recognition and scoring.

I've debated the merit of the pickup artist with my friends. Especially given that for every douchebag who joins, there is a guy just looking for a way to connect with someone else but is shackled by shyness.

But I constantly come back to the same problem:

This isn't a sincere exchange.

I've heard the argument that sincerity doesn't matter at the beginning of a relationship. That the start is just negotiation and navigation of societally accepted norms until you can reveal the "real" you.

But if we all know we are hiding the "real" person, if dating is just killing time until someone tolerates you enough to *really* tolerate you, then can we shed the tapdance?

Pleaaaaaaase?

Pick Up Lines for the Under Thirteen Set

I looked at this week's topic and was at a total loss as to what to write about.

It's been an eternity since I've been the recipient of a pick up line. To be exact: One husband and three babies, then toddlers, now teenagers ago.

I considered reminiscing about my summer in France.

"Avez-vous un feu?" (Because everyone had a Gauloise in hand.)

But that wouldn't get me very far.

I considered asking the College Boy what kind of lines he and his friends use but then decided I really, really don't want to know.

So I've been wracking my brain for some clever, funny, insightful wisdom to impart about Pick Up lines and coming up empty. Until last Saturday.

Princess and her friends went downtown to the local candy shop. She is still in the sweet stage of teenage-dom where there's a fifty/fifty chance her money will be spent on Laffy Taffy rather than Cover Girl Lash Blast.


They were acting appropriately goofy, as only fourteen year old girls can act, when into the store walk two not-quite-teenage boys. (Princess was pretty sure they were sixth graders.) And these smooth gentlemen attempted to try out their lines. So here you have it. Pick Up lines for the under-thirteen set.

"Wanna know why it's your lucky day? Because you met me."

 Image from animegalleries.net

One boy said, "Did it hurt?"

To which Princess replied, "When I fell from heaven?"

Boy responded, "Oh, I was hoping you didn't know that one."

And finally, my personal favorite:

"Did you just fart? Because you're blowin' me away." 

Pick up This Book Now

L.G.C. Smith

If anyone has ever spoken a pick-up line to me, I missed it. I came into the world with a filter feature than renders all spoken and eye contact flirtation null. I think it’s genetic.

Once during a three-week sojourn in Paris, I trailed through the streets, museums and gardens behind my tall, athletic brother and my lithe, Nordic-looking sister. I was stunned at how many women checked out my brother and how many men’s eyes followed my sister. Neither of them noticed any of it, and my brother, dubbed ‘Thor’ by one of my friends, frequently bemoaned the sad and sorry fact that women did not seem interested in him at all.

Pathetic. All of us.

Books, on the other hand, whisper the most seductive pick-up lines imaginable, and I am a sucker for more of them than can be good for a body. They don't have to be grammatical or clever. Sometimes all it takes is a single word, and I’m lost—dragon, druid, artifact, disguise—or a well-used phrase—marriage of convenience, time-travel, history and romance.

Publishers work hard on crafting pick-up lines for readers via covers, titles, blurbs and back cover copy. I will admit that all too often romance covers don’t cut it for me, even though romance in its myriad iterations remains my favorite type of fiction. But I pulled a dozen books (by non-Pens because there is no book written by any of the Pens that doesn’t tempt me—even Sophie’s scary ones) I’ve read or re-read recently to analyze what it is about them that makes me want to pick them up.

The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley. Ancestral memory. Scotland. Past and present mystery and romance.

The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley. Cornwall. Time-travel. Smuggling.

Always a Temptress by Eileen Dreyer. Regency-era military hero who’s not a duke. Kidnap. Eileen Dreyer!

Dangerous in Diamonds by Madeline Hunter. It’s Madeline Hunter, people. That all I need to know . . . even if there is a duke.

The Smoke Thief by Shana Abé. Dragons—from Cumbria.

Spirit Dances by C.E. Murphy. A shaman in the Seattle PD. Joanne shapeshifts. Coyote. Morrison.

Tender Graces by Kathryn Magendie. A West Virginia holler. Childhood memories. Growing up takes forever sometimes.

Shadowfever by Karen Marie Moning. Fae. Dark. Dangerous. Kick-ass characters. Great cover.

The Landscape of Anglo-Saxon England by Della Hooke. The title says it all. Pure bliss.

The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society by John Blair. Seventh century monasteries!

Place-Names in the Landscape: The geographical roots of Britain’s place-names by Margaret Gelling. British place names = Magic.

Place-names, Language and the Anglo-Saxon Landscape edited by Nicholas J. Higham and Martin J. Ryan. Three of my favorite things in one book. Whisper the title again. Come on. Right in my ear. Shiver.

What books whisper “Pick me up now” to you?

Alpha Heroic Lines

Hey folks. This topic made me think about alpha heroes in urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and how easily they get chicks. That said, I think they're cheating. After all, they usually only get the chick because of the fact that they're the only one who can save the heroine from certain destruction at the hands of (insert villain here). In fact, when you think about it, most of our beloved alpha heroes are actually pretty lazy, passive love interests. They don't have to exert much effort to find or get the attention of their ladies. Mostly because a true alpha's love interest is literally hurled at him by evil henchmen, or she careens into the hero while running away from evil henchmen, or she swoons into his strong arms after he saves her from evil henchmen.....

In other words, except for the part where he has to kick some henchmen ass, our alpha heroes don't have to do a lot besides play "catch the panicking lady."

So let's make it a little more difficult for our alpha. Let's take him out of the dark alley and put him in the dark night club. Let's make him work for his, er, romantic dinner . . .

Here's some examples of pick-up lines I think an alpha hero in a UF or para-rom might say to a woman in a bar:

1) See this gun? That's not the only thing I've got that's hard like steel and ready to fire at your command.

2) I can kill a man in seven seconds, and make you come in five.

3) Wait till I show you my love karate.

4) Since I'm already covered in (insert whatever weird tribal tattoo-looking thing that is actually a mark of him being a demon/vampire/werewolf/etc.), I'll just have to ink your name on my heart.

5) These shitkickers were made for stomping . . . all over your bedside rug.

6) Is it hot in here or did you make my ________ powers ignite with passion?

7) You're so beautiful that if you were a super villain, I'd think twice before impaling you on my sword.

8) You could stake me any day, baby.

9) I no longer care that I'm condemned to walk in darkness, 'cuz you're my sunshine.

10) Thank the gods I'm immortal, or my heart would have stopped when I first saw you.

Now add your own! What would your favorite alpha hero say to his lady love?

(ps: Today you can also find me blogging about some books/movies I've liked recently, over at my site.)

No Game

--Adrienne Miller

Pick up lines have never been my thing. Pick up anything has never been my thing. Truth be told, I’m lousy at the whole flirting thing.

Oh sure, I can talk a good game. I write books filled with the cutest meets you’ve ever read.  In private, surrounded by nothing but friends I can talk about hot guys like they were personal trophies. But out in public, it’s a different story.

Most of the Pens already know this, but I can’t even look attractive men in the eye. Nope, can’t do it. And the more attractive I find them, the worse it gets.

I don’t mean that the only people I talk to all day are hideous troll creatures hiding under bridges. There’s lots of handsome men I talk to all day long. Hotness, that undefinable quality that makes you feel pulled toward another person, seems to be the thing that makes me stare at my toes.

It’s because I show everything on my face. The second I feel that little flip in my tummy my face starts to burn as bright as a lantern. I grin. I giggle, for crying out loud. I do all the things that a reasonable adult woman shouldn’t do when faced with a hottie.

I’ve always been this way. Even when I met my husband. I don’t think I spoke to him for a good three months beyond a few mumbled good mornings and the like. I figured if I couldn’t muster up the resolve to tell him I was interested with my face, I would have to find another way to let him know. So every day that we worked together I wore my shirt with one extra button undone. Years later, I asked him if he noticed. Hells yeah, he did, he said. So I guess I have just a little game after all.

Have I died and gone to heaven? 'cause I think I see an author

by Juliet

Come on, admit it: you really, really want to date a writer, right?

I mean really, who wouldn’t? Unless, of course, you trust the likes of Chuck Wendig to tell you exactly why and how we are absolutely insane.

Or, you could check in with Charles Warnke, a young man with an incredible take on the romantic lives of those who read. (btw, this man is young enough to be my son and yet I have *such* a fangirl crush on him. I might to have to start stalking him soon. Someone might want to warn him. Apparently, he lives in the next town over.)

But seriously, if you can look past the unwashed hair, the deadline funk, the desperate gleam in our eyes when we’ve been spending waaaay too much time with the imaginary voices in our heads...we’re awfully interesting. And how cool would it be to bring an author home and say no, he has no means of support but he’s in the Library of Congress! Or to bring an author to a crowded cocktail party and ask her, loudly, what's the best way to kill someone with a shrimp cocktail?

So I asked around, and came up with a short list of good lines to try if you’re trying to pick up an author...or at least to get the conversational ball rolling:

1) Personally, I don’t think genre fiction gets the respect it deserves.

2) I’m going to assign your books as required reading in my class of 500 students.

3) I may be old fashioned, but good spelling and grammar turns me on.

4) What’s your opinion of the semi colon versus the dash? (insert ellipses, etc.)

5) You need a new plot for your next book. Let me introduce you to it, right here.

6) I think reading glasses are sexy.

7) Did you hear about that mummified body in the locked room? How d'ya suppose it got there? (substitute any appropriately gruesome crime here)

8) How many synonyms can you think of for “walked”?

9) Want me to bring you food and drink and take care of all the housework and not let anyone talk to you for a week while you’re on deadline?

10) Good Lord. Joe Konrath. There are no words.

How about you all? Think of any good pick up lines for the next time you're in a bar crowded with authors? (read: just about any genre lit conference.) I'd love to hear them!

Maybe I'll collect them all and write a book.

Worst Pick-up Line Ever

I have a favorite hotel in Venice, a tiny place which bought the old Danieli furnishings when they renovated. It's hard to find, tucked into a corner of Cannaregio that you have to be really looking for, and opposite its front door is a little osteria. Mario runs it. He's a big guy--imagine Mario Batali meets James Gandolfini. If you become a semi-regular, he'll pour you shots of his homemade grappa which would melt the rubber off a steel-belted radial. His waiter-cum-busboy Franco only knows three words of English, and wanders around the five tiny tables singing "I luff you" to everyone as Mario puts things on your plate that you won't recognize as food and he won't tell you till you're done eating that it was a calf's hoof.

One Monday night, I was relaxing over a half-litre of red wine with a friend I'd made at the bookshop when Mario called me over to the bar and poured me another shot.

"Wednesday night," he said. "You come back. You can meet my wife. Private party here, family only. My wife is cooking."

"Me?" I said, delighted to my toes. "You want me to come to your family's party?"

"My wife cooks good. Better than me."

I thought of the calf's hoof and decided that yes, this would be wonderful. A true Venetian experience.

All day Wednesday, I could only think about the evening to come--what I'd wear, what I'd say. I brushed up on my Idiot's Guide to Italian.

I put on makeup and a pretty dress, pulled on my high boots. I walked through the lobby, chatting with Santina at the desk as if I wasn't nervous, but my heart was racing. I crossed the narrow alley (so narrow if I turned sideways, I could touch both walls) and pushed open the door of the darkened restaurant.

Mario was behind the bar. Instead of his kitchen whites, he wore a dark, well-fitting suit.

There was no one else in the room.

"Where's the party?" I asked, confused, thinking perhaps I'd gotten the time wrong.

"Here," he said, holding out his arms.

"But your family?"

"Is just me."

I couldn't quite wrap my brain around it. "But your wife?"

"Just me."

"I wanted to meet your wife! I wanted to taste her cooking!" I'd been duped, and I hadn't seen it coming.

"Andiamo," he said, offering me his arm.

I went. He bought spritz and polpette at another osteria, and we chatted, awkwardly. He tried to kiss me, and I didn't let him, pleading tiredness. I practically sprinted back to the hotel.

It wasn't that he'd tricked me. It wasn't even really that he was married. It was that I'd been so excited to meet his wife, to taste her cooking, to sit in a room with a Venetian family and be welcomed as a guest, not a tourist.

Also, it has to be the worst pick-up line that's ever been used on me. You can meet my wife. Please.

(When you read this, I'll be in Venice again, staying in an apartment on the Zattere. I'm not really that eager to see Mario, but I'll pop by to see if Franco still luffs me.)

How to be Irresistible, Gents

by Sophie

PICK-UP LINES

Let's skip the lines and go straight to the pick-up, shall we?

Juliet and I have an ongoing conversation about how a man can make himself irresistible. It's not really all that complicated, and we've even shared it with a few gents, but it must be the sort of thing that you can't fake because we haven't exactly noticed a huge uptick in the number of men using these foolproof methods.

I should note that this may not work with beginners...these are power tools for grown-up men, *not* boys. And they're guaranteed to attract grown-up women...not girls still figuring out who they are and how things work.

1. Notice babies and children. This one trumps every other trick, I swear it. Go to an airport sometime and find the gate for a nonstop to JFK. There will be lots of interesting men sitting around, waiting. Now find the gal flying solo with a baby and a toddler. Take note of all the men casting her irritated looks and making comments to strangers about if that was his kid, he'd damn well shut it the hell up. I WOULD NOT DATE THAT MAN IN A THOUSAND YEARS. Now find the man - it may take a few minutes - who can't help grinning 'cause the kid reminds him of his own or a nephew or even himself at that age, or because, aw, hell, they just don't stay little long enough. If he compliments the little tyke or picks up his dropped binky or helps untangle a blanky from a stroller wheel, well, I'm a goner.

2. Tip extravagantly. Seriously, guy, how much is [fill in your favorite amorous activity] worth to you? More than ten bucks, surely? Drop a ten for the coffee shop waitress or the guy who brings your car around...see what it buys you. The right woman will notice.

3. Compliment someone who could use one. Not your date (although I suppose that can't hurt) - but tell an elderly woman that her blouse brings the blue out in her eyes, or an awkward teen that you like his tattoo.

4. Give up your seat, your place in line, your table, your cab...anything at all, to someone who needs it.

I probably don't need to go on....you get the gist. A generous man stirs passions in the right woman. A man who seeks to impress by intimidating, bullying, bribing, or powerbrokering gets exactly the woman he deserves.

...and just 'cause I feel like it, a few men we know in the biz who have all the right moves!