Once in a while I hear of a book moving from conception to fruition with enviable rapidity and ease. The Erotic Mind has never been such a project. More than a dozen years have elapsed between the first realization that I had to write this book and its eventual completion. I only hope that the many phases of my work have ultimately added to its depth and usefulness. This much I know: without the encouragement, steadfast support, penetrating insights, and constructive criticisms of a remarkable group of people, I would never have persisted. So it’s especially gratifying to be able to thank them now.
I’ll forever be grateful to my clients who courageously examined their eroticism with me in psychotherapy. I also feel profound appreciation for the hundreds of people I don’t even know who responded to my anonymous survey about peak erotic experiences. The willingness of clients and respondents alike to reveal what most people keep hidden made it possible for me to develop a new way of understanding erotic life.
As my ideas crystallized I received sustenance from colleagues and friends who seemed to grasp immediately the implications of my viewpoint and pushed me to take it further—especially Toni Ayres, Joani Blank, and Michael Graves, all of whom also gave invaluable assistance in the development of the Sexual Excitement Survey. In addition, Michael focused his impressive analytical skills on at least two versions of the entire book and contributed greatly to its final structure.
I also benefited from frequent talks with Marty Klein about the intricacies of both writing and sexuality. Janice Epp, LouAnne Cole, and Gary Zinik probably don’t realize how much I’ve valued their ongoing resonance with my work. Gary also helped me work out some tricky aspects of thematic analysis. And Lonnie Barbach read much of the manuscript and offered many helpful suggestions.
I found a consistently challenging forum for presenting my ideas at meetings of the Society for the Scientific Study of Sex, an international association of sexologists. Questions, critiques, and long conversations with dozens of colleagues influenced my work more than they can possibly know. Their interest buoyed me, especially during several years of struggle with an unrelenting case of writer’s block. Had I been unable to articulate my thoughts and findings in these lively discussions, I might have given up.
It was Hal Bennett, a talented writer, editor, and book consultant, who helped me resolve my blockage with his gentle wisdom. He also showed me how to shape complex material into a cohesive, accessible whole. When I ran into snags, he always knew how to nudge me back on track. Then Hal introduced me to Fred Hill, who became my agent. He was another find, a fact I realized when I overheard him describing the book far more succinctly than I could have done myself.
Fred thought he knew exactly who would want to publish the book: HarperCollins’s editor-in-chief, Susan Moldow. Indeed she did and proceeded to perform editorial magic with uncommon understanding and respect for an author’s sensitivities. She also selected Nancy Nicholas, a gifted line editor from whom I learned so much about unnecessary words. As we were nearing the final round of revisions, Susan left HarperCollins and entrusted the book to Gladys Carr and Cynthia Barrett, both of whom made an eleventh-hour transition that could easily have been a nightmare into an opportunity. Their suggested refinements were right on the mark.
Throughout it all I was blessed with cherished friends and family who, miraculously, maintained enthusiasm for my work in spite of the fact that I was often unavailable or preoccupied. My dearest friend, Scott Madover, both gave and endured the most. I doubt I can ever repay him adequately.
Jack Morin, Ph.D.
San Francisco