Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Writing Wednesday – Writing Resolutions for 2010

Wednesday, January 6th, 2010

Once upon a time, when I had more time on my hands, I used to make a list at the beginning of every quarter of what I had accomplished the previous three months and what I wanted to do in the next three months. I also wrote up a detailed plan on how to do just that. I don't have that kind of free time any more, and besides, the detailed plans never really worked like I thought the would, nor did I accomplish everything I set out to do. But I still like to stop and take a look at least once a year at where I've been and where I'm going.

Last year, I hit over 100 stories written for the Heat Flash Erotica Podcast. Story 119 airs this Friday. That's a hell of a lot of stories to have written in 2 1/2 years. And that doesn't even include things I wrote that didn't air on the podcast. I think all in all, in the last 2 1/2 years I've written nearly 130, maybe 140 stories. That's a LOT of writing.

I started up the Cynical Woman cartoon back in 2008 and kept it going through 2009. Since the start of the school year, I've been able to get back into drawing one cartoon a week, and now have 50 cartoons under my belt. That's a lot of cartooning.

Also this past year, I released two short story collections - Future Perfect and Welcome to Mundania (see the sidebar on the right for buy links *hint, hint*). Again, more writing, and more publication credits to my name.

I had a handful of short stories published this year. One in Coming Together: Al Fresco, one in Wired Hard 4, one in Nerdvana... I'm sure there were others, but with so much writing going on, it's hard to keep track. Oh, and my first book, Demon By Day, finally got pirated. Nothings says "I've made it" in the writing business like having someone steal your book and distribute it to the masses without paying you a dime.

Fact is, I did a hell of a lot last year. Enough to make me think that I really have reached the next level of my career, the one where I'm past the unknown starving artist phase and am now just a starving artist. With that in mind, I now turn my attention to 2010 and the next stage of my career (i.e. not-so-starving artist). Here's what I'd like to do for 2010...

Resolution #1 - Continue to produce the Heat Flash Erotica Podcast for at least one more year... then do something new. I'm to the point where I've written so many stories for the podcast, I'm having a hard time keeping track of them all. That tells me that maybe it's time for a change. Come the end of September, I'll have reached the 3-year mark, and will probably have more than 150 episodes written and produced. That would be a good time to change gears, I think. Heat Flash won't go away entirely, but it may go on hiatus for a couple months and then come back as something a little different.

Resolution #2 - Continue to draw one Cynical Woman cartoon a week. I love the cartoon. It's a lot of work, an entire work day out of my week in fact, but I keep hoping that if I continue, I'll get faster and the work will get easier. Even if it doesn't, I still love doing the cartoon. Plus I think it's a great way to promote all my other work.

Resolution #3 - Start writing in the evenings after the girls have gone to bed. Sunday through Thursday evenings from 8-10PM are now officially designated as writing hours. I'm still getting into the habit so I haven't gotten very far with it yet, but I do plan to have those two hours set for nothing but writing by the end of the month. November's PerNoFiMo challenge showed me I could turn out quite a bit of writing in the evenings if I set my mind to it, and I have books I want to write. Speaking of which...

Resolution #4 - Finish the first draft of Whip It! by August 2010. I would like to have it done sooner, but I need to do a lot of research on this project. It's a contemporary erotica novel about a chef named Lucy who has serious self-esteem issues. Of course, she also fantasizes about being a dominatrix. Oh, and she's been framed for poisoning a food critic. I've written almost 80K words so far, and parts of it are hysterically funny. I really need to finish it, because then I can move onto...

Resolution #5 - Finish writing "The Little Death" or "The Cup Bearer" this year. Two more erotica novels I started but didn't finish. "The Little Death" is more sci-fi noir than erotica (think Blade Runner meets Wuthering Heights). "The Cup Bearer" is a retelling of the myth of Ganymede, the beautiful boy Zeus stole and made his personal servant in Olympus. I love both stories, and want to get to one of them some time this summer.

Resolution #6 - Send out to 4 review sites on the first Friday of every month. I've gotten a couple of good reviews recently, and need to put in for more, especially now that I have three books to my name. I try to do this weekly, but it never happens, so I'm just making that first Friday a promo day for the month and getting all my reviews sent out that day.

Resolution #7 - This is one I'm already working on. I've been asked to write a novella for an anthology, and am already in the reading/researching/planning stage. This is what I'll be spending my evenings working on for the next two months. I'm very excited about this, since this was a direct invitation to write for this project.

Resolution #8 - Write another short story for Coming Together. I'd like to submit at least one short story a year for Coming Together, because I think what Alessia Brio is doing is wonderful. I don't know of anyone else who does what she does. All proceeds for the Coming Together books go to charity. I have a special story in mind for one anthology, and it's so naughty I think Alessia will like it ;)

Resolution #9 - Promote where the readers are. I've said it before. I hate Yahoo groups for promotion. I'd rather find other forums to get involved in, where I can meet people, get to know them, let them get to know me, and maybe get them interested in my work. This kind of promotion is a serious investment of time. It means becoming an active part of a community. I've got one place in mind, Y! Gallery, which is a yaoi art forum. I can enjoy the artwork, make comments, talk to other artists and writers, etc. I see no bad in that. This would also give me a reason to do more artwork as well, and maybe indulge in some fun writing that has nothing to do with the drive to get published. Again, I see no bad in any of that. I'll see what happens with Y! Gallery this year (and yes, I'm limiting myself to just the one forum, because with 9 resolutions, I don't need to add anything more to my plate).

So there you have it. My New Year's writing resolutions. Quite a list, ain't it? But I think somehow it will get done.

So, does anyone have any writing resolutions they'd like to share? Let me know in the comments section!

Writing Wednesday – The Gift of the Magician

Wednesday, December 23rd, 2009
In light of the upcoming holiday, I thought I'd offer up a Christmas story this week. The Gift of the Magician originally ran on the Heat Flash Erotica Podcast in December 2007. For more info on the Heat Flash Erotica Podcast, visit www.heatflash.libsyn.com. Free erotica stories in MP3 format every week, folks! Don't say I never gave you anything ;) The Gift Of The Magician by Helen E. H. Madden "Merry Christmas, lover!" Backstage at the Mercury Theater, Trixie kissed Hocus-Pocus Henry. Her eyes shone brighter than the spangles on her threadbare costume as she handed the magician a long, flat box. Greta the Great lit a cigarette and groaned. "You actually bought that fraud a present?" Trixie ignored the grousing matron. "Open it!" she squealed to Henry. "Here? Now?" Sweating, Henry peeled back the wrapping and gasped. "Is that...?" "The Saw of Sergei the Severe!" Trixie exclaimed. "He used it to cut up Madam Splatvatsky! Do you like it?" Still stunned, he nodded. "It's wonderful! But how did you afford it?" "She sold her wardrobe," Greta answered, flicking cigarette ash in his direction. "Waste of money, if you ask me. **You'll** never get that thing to work." "He will too!" Trixie snapped. "Henry's worked real magic before!" Greta scoffed. "So he pulled a rabbit out of his ass." "Can you do it?" Trixie demanded of her. "No, but I can buy a present for my assistant." Smoke streamed from Greta's nostrils. "You get Trixie **anything** this year, Henry?" "Um, it's at home..." "Riiiiight." As Trixie rushed to his defense, Henry vanished from the theater. Outside, he checked his pockets. He found his wand, a deck of cards, and smelly rabbit's foot, but no money. "Well then," he said, gripping his wand. "I shall conjure up a present using this!" He hurried off to Prophetic Pawn. That evening, Trixie appeared on stage in a brand-new costume. The skimpy outfit dazzled the audience as she stepped into the magician's box. "You can do it!" she whispered to Henry as he closed the lid. With trembling hands, he shoved the saw through his lover, slicing her in half with the serrated edge. When he was done, he flung open the lid. Trixie waved from the box as her legs hopped out and paraded across the stage. The crowd roared with delight. Trixie stuck out her tongue at Greta as an elated Henry carried her offstage. "Told you he could do it!" she quipped. Greta sneered as Trixie's capered past. "Whatever!" Back in their dressing room, Henry set the bisected woman on the couch. "For my next trick, I will need my lovely assistant!" He knelt at Trixie's feet and pulled off her sequined panties. She giggled as he buried his face between her thighs, and then reached for Henry's erect cock to work a few magic tricks of her own. Two hours later, Greta banged on the door. "Henry! Are you two done in there? It's closing time! Quit fucking around and put that girl back together." "Certainly!" he called back, a grin plastered across his sticky face. "All it takes is a wave of my wand..." His smile faded as he patted the pockets of his tux. "My wand... my wand... oh shit." "What's wrong?" Trixie asked. She struggled to pull the panties back up her legs. "I need my wand to put you back together." "And?" "I, uh, pawned it to buy your costume." Henry dropped onto the couch and hit his head against the wall. "Shit, shit, shit." Trixie sighed. "Oh Henry." The Gift of the Magician, by Helen E. H. Madden, copyright 2007.

Writing Wednesday – The best gifts for writers

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

Today's topic is gifts for writers, but we're not talking about word processing software or fancy pens or Kindles or gift certificates to book stores or anything like that. The best gifts you can give a writer are the ones that don't cost a damn thing. What I'm talking about here is two things most writers never get enough of - feedback and support.

Is there a writer out there who's work you really enjoy? Send them an e-mail, or if you're so inclined, an actual letter letting them know. I can't tell you how many times I've had a lousy day turn into a good one just by getting a message from someone saying they enjoyed something I wrote. Feedback means a hell of a lot, especially to those of us writers who are still working in the minor leagues, who don't have the fame and fortune that go along with being a Stephen King or J. K. Rowling. To folks like us, the words "I really loved your book" are worth their weight in gold.

Do you personally know a writer? Then be prepared to give them your support. If they've got a book signing coming up, show up for it! And bring as many of your family and friends as possible. There's nothing more abysmal than having a book signing and then no one shows up. Unless it's writer's block. If the writer in your life is having problems with a nasty case of writer's block, sit and listen to them hash out their story lines. Even if nothing they say makes any sense to you, the act of talking about what they're writing may help them get through that block. Hell, the Hubster usually has no idea what I'm babbling on about, but he always listens when I'm trying to figure out how to make a story work.

Other things you can do - recommend your favorite writers to other folks. Don't pirate their books, but if you've got a copy of a book to loan or give away, then go ahead and do that. No, we don't make any money that way, at least not at first. But maybe the person who reads that borrowed or second-hand book will then go out and buy the rest of our books, and bingo! We've got a little financial love coming our way.

Pass on links to blogs, retweet announcements, post honest reviews of a writer's work. These are all things you can do for the writers you love, and they don't cost you a thing. Heck, if you love me, send folks over to the Heat Flash Erotica Podcast, or get them to listen to the Good Parts podcast. Both are free for download, so your friends get no-cost entertainment, I get new listeners, and you get brownie points for spreading the love. Win all around!

Seriously, this holiday season, think about the writers you love and find a way to let them know. We'd all really, truly appreciate it ;)

Free Read – Torch This!

Thursday, December 10th, 2009
I could swear I posted this story before to the blog, but for the life of me I can't find it now. So here it is again, the only fan fic I ever wrote, Torch This! I'm posting this in conjunction with my post on Oh Get A Grip tomorrow, about sequels, prequels, and fan fiction. Enjoy the tale! Disclaimer: I am not a fan-fic writer, nor am I the creator of any of the characters who appear or are mentioned in this story. Not even Mary Sue. Any resemblance between this story and actual fan-fiction is purely coincidental and highly unlikely. I've got nothing but love for fan-fic writers -- only a very dedicated and talented group of writers could create some of the tales I've read -- but I've also got an evil, twisted imagination and I cannot resist a joke. To paraphrase Senator Mon Mothma from 'Star Wars - A New Hope': "Many plot bunnies died to bring us this tale." 'Nuff said. Torch This! by Helen E. H. Madden It was a dark and stormy night... Thunder crashed as Mary Sue typed the words into her laptop. Though a real storm raged and bellowed outside her living room window, she paid it no heed. Wrapped up as she was in her favorite terry cloth bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers, she was perfectly cozy and content. What's more, she was in the zone. The fan-fic writing zone, that is. Tippy tap, tippy tap, her fingers danced over the keyboard, bringing her favorite characters to life. Lured by the sound of a writer hard at work, plot bunnies scurried out from under the couch to array themselves at Mary Sue's feet. They looked more like little bits of fluff than actual bunnies, but they were very cute and enticing. One jumped onto Mary Sue's lap. "Oooh! You look like fun!" She scratched the plot bunny's fluffy little chin. "You know, those big blue eyes of yours remind me of... Frodo Baggins! Oh, and Samwise Gamgee!" At that very moment, a crackle of electricity shot out of the laptop's screen and coiled around the plot bunny. As it pulled the squealing creature into the computer, Mary Sue gave a wicked smile. "Oooooooooooh," the other plot bunnies murmured, and they huddled closer to each other. "I think Frodo and Sam deserve a very special story tonight, don't you?" Mary Sue said to the bunnies, and she began to type even faster, her eyes alight with glee. It was a dark and stormy night. Frodo and Sam huddled together for warmth in a cave outside Minas Morgul. They desperately wished they could be back at Bag End in Hobbiton, curled up beneath a mountain of blankets before a warm and toasty fire. "Mr. Frodo, do you think we'll ever see home again?" Sam whispered in the gloom of the cave. "I don't know if we'll ever see it again for real, Sam. But when you hold me, I feel like I am home." Frodo shivered. "I'm so cold. Don't let go of me, Sam." Sam squeezed his fellow hobbit tighter. He opened his shirt and pressed Frodo's hands against his bare chest to warm them. "I promise, I won't ever let g--" "This is Torchwood! Open up!" At that very moment, the front door to Mary Sue's condo burst open. The writer looked up, blinking in surprise. The plot bunnies dove for cover as a tall, dark-haired stud of a man in a long RAF greatcoat strode through the splintered remains of the door. He was followed by scrumptious-looking younger fellow with puppy-dog eyes, dressed a dapper three-piece suit. The tall man in the great coat drew out a very large revolver and pointed it at Mary Sue. "Mary Sue Smith, you're under arrest for possession of alien technology and infringement of copyright laws. Put the laptop down and step away from the plot bunnies. Now!" "Oh... my... gawd!" Mary Sue squealed and clapped her hands. "You're Captain Jack Harkness! And that's Ianto Jones! I was just thinking about you guys. But wait, where's the rest of your team?" Before either man could answer her, another plot bunny jumped into her lap and was promptly devoured by the computer. Mary Sue giggled. "Hold on a sec. I've got to get this down!" Captain Jack drew back the hammer on his gun. "Lady, I told you to step away from that laptop--" "Jack, wait!" Gwen Cooper, Torchwood 3's sultry second-in-command, rushed into the room, followed by teammates Toshiko Sato and Dr. Owen Harper. Toshiko and Owen were holding hands. "You can't shoot Mary Sue!" Gwen exclaimed. Her thick Welsh accent held a hysterical edge. "If you hurt her or damage that computer, it could blow the temporal rift in Cardiff wide open!" "That's right!" Toshiko said, squeezing Owen's hand. "I've run the calculations. One wrong move and we could destroy the whole world. Again." Jack and Ianto stared gape-mouthed at the trio. Mary Sue pecked away happily at her computer. Another plot bunny jumped into her lap to be zapped into the screen. "Wait a second!" Jack pushed past Gwen to scrutinize Tosh and Owen. "I'm not surprised to see Gwen here, even though she's supposed to be on honeymoon with Rhys who's only just escaped from the clutches of the Daleks and is in bad need of some comfort, but aren't you two supposed to be dead? And why are you holding hands like a couple of love-sick teenagers? You guys never managed to get your romantic relationship off the ground!" "It's okay," Mary Sue piped up. "They're from an alternate universe. In their world, they lived, but you and Gwen died fighting a gang of weevils over a radioactive can of spam. That tragedy brought Tosh and Owen closer together and they finally admitted their love. I wrote that as a three-part story last week for a fan-fic challenge. So they're boyfriend and girlfriend now." "Actually, it's more like we're a Dominatrix and her adoring submissive," the slender Asian woman said with a sly smile. Jack gawped. "What?" "Tosh!" Owen said. "You said you wouldn't tell!" Ianto raised his hand. "Um, what happened to me in that story?" he asked. Mary Sue sighed. "Oh, it was sad really. You became a Dalek love slave." "I what?!" But Jack cut Mary Sue off before she could say anymore. "Enough of this! This woman has somehow acquired a piece of alien technology that fell through the time-space rift, and she's using it right now to manipulate our minds and violate international copyright laws by perverting other people's intellectual property!" He stalked over to Mary Sue, scattering plot bunnies in his wake. "I know what you're doing," he growled. "You think you can take over the world by transforming people into mindless sex-addicts with your so-called slash fiction. Well it's going to stop now!" Mary Sue rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. This--" she held up her computer, "--is nothing but a laptop. I bought it from Bob's Techno-Mart down at the mall. And as for the whole copyright law thing, get real. All I'm doing writing a bit of harmless fan-fic. I'm not hurting anybody." "Oh really?" Jack scowled. "Spread out," he told his team. "Search the entire condo. Pull out every drawer, go through every closet. Turn this place inside out. If she's got any other alien tech hidden away in this place, I want it found and destroyed." "Oh no you don't! Hold on a second..." Mary Sue began to type furiously. The sound of her clacking keys lured another plot bunny into her lap, where it was then promptly zapped into the computer. The moment it disappeared, a strange seductive sigh came from the next room. Ianto Jones perked up his ears. "Did you hear that?" he asked. "It sounded like..." The sound came again. "Yes, it was! A strange, seductive moan of pleasure. I think I'll go check it out." "Ianto wait!" Jack called out. "It could be a trap!" But the younger man was already through the doorway and gone. Jack turned back to the rest of the team just in time to see Owen pulling Tosh toward the stairs. "And where do you think you're going?" the captain demanded. "Well, you told us to check the place out," Owen replied. "And since Ianto seems to have that room covered, I thought, um, perhaps Tosh and I could search the bedroom." "Like hell you will!" Gwen shoved the slim man aside. "I haven't had a good spank since Tosh died last season. She's searching the bedroom with me!" Gwen grabbed Tosh by the arm and dragged her up the stairs. Owen and Jack stared after them. A moment later, Gwen's blouse came flying back down the steps, then her jeans... her bra... her panties. Strangely, her belt did not come down the stairs, but sounds of squealing and the slap of leather on a plump bare bottom quickly followed Gwen's clothes. Jack spun around and thrust an accusing finger at Mary Sue. "Did you do that? Did you write something to turn Gwen and Tosh into sexual deviants?" Mary Sue scoffed. "What makes you think they weren't sexual deviants to begin with?" "Because I know Gwen and Tosh, and unfortunately that kind of behavior is completely out of character for them!" "Yes, completely out of character!" Owen declared. "Gwen and Tosh are obviously under the influence of one of your kinky, perverted stories." He waved a hand at Mary Sue's laptop. "So I think I had better go up there right now and observe what they're doing. Strictly for medical purposes, of course," he added. He darted up the stairs before Jack could stop him. "Damn it!" The handsome captain scowled. "Why do we always split up like this in a moment of danger?" "What can I say?" Mary Sue shrugged. "It's a convenient plot device. The rest of the team goes off to do whatever, leaving poor Captain Jack all alone and in danger yet again. It's a situation which leads this writer to ask, 'What am I going to do with you now, you naughty boy?'" No sooner had she spoken the question than a dozen plot bunnies jumped into Mary Sue's lap to be zapped en masse into the laptop. Jack glowered and stalked toward the couch until he towered above her. "What you're going to do," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "is stop typing and return my team back to normal." Mary Sue gave a chuckle. "Oh sweetie, you still don't get it do you?" "Get what?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. "I'm the writer. You're a fictional character!" "I am not!" Jack straightened up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "Oh yes you are," Mary Sue sang. "I watch you and the rest of Torchwood 3 on BBC America every Friday night! I do so love British sci-fi. It's so much kinkier than American television." "I am not a character on TV!" "Uh, Jack?" Ianto appeared at the doorway to the living room. His face appeared strangely flushed. His belt and the fly of his trousers were undone. "I've... found something... in the dining room..." "What is it?" "Two small men with large hairy feet named Frodo and Sam," Ianto said. "At least those are the names they're calling each other." "You didn't ask them yourself?" Jack asked. "Well, they seem rather busy right now. And besides, they're rather... naked." Jack's eyebrows climbed up to his hair line. "Frodo and Sam?" he shouted at Mary Sue. "You wrote hobbit porn?!" Ianto gazed back into the dining room, obviously entranced. His hands strayed toward his open fly. "Jack, do you remember what you told me about big feet?" "Ianto, don't! Stop touching yourself and come away from the door!! There are things no man should ever see!" "I know, but feet aren't the only things large and hairy on a hobbit, Jack..." "They're fictional characters, Ianto! They're not real! J. R. R. Tolkien is dead and spinning in his grave right now, so for the love of Elrond get away from that door!" "I want to, I really do!" Ianto cried out. "But I can't!" He began tearing off his clothing at an astonishing rate of speed. "They're hobbits and they're all hot and sweaty and supple and Frodo has both ankles behind his ears, and Sam... Oh my god, Sam! I'm being sucked in, Jack. It's hypnotic. It's addictive. It's... it's..." "Hobbit forming?" Mary Sue suggested. With a wail, Ianto stepped back through the doorway to the dining room and vanished in a flash of light. Jack pointed his revolver at her again. "I ought to shoot you just for that line alone," he growled. But at that moment, Owen came stumbling downstairs. His face was pale and he was shaking. "Jack, help me!" "Owen, what's wrong?" "I was up in the bathroom watching Gwen give Tosh a long, lingering tongue bath, when I discovered something that will completely destroy the fan-fic universe as we know it!" He held up a copy of Entertainment magazine. "Harry Potter's all grown up, and he's developed a strange fascination with horses!" "Oh please god, no!" Jack snatched the magazine from Owen's hands and stared at the image on the cover. "How the hell did that poor, scrawny kid get so buff and furry?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't know Jack," Owen replied. "Modern medical science can't explain it. I... I think I need a lie down." He walked toward the dining room, oblivious to the pile of Ianto's discarded clothing. Jack lunged after him. "No, wait! Don't go in there--" But he was too late. Owen stepped through the same door through which Ianto had disappeared. "Oh my god, it's HOBBIT PORN!" he screamed. And then he too was gone. Mary Sue clapped her hands and cackled wildly. Jack spun around, brandishing the magazine. "First my team, and now hobbits and Harry Potter! Is there no limit to your depravity?" "Actually, the Harry Potter thing is real," she said, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. "The actor who plays him is on Broadway right now, doing nude scenes in 'Equus.'" "Really?" Jack straightened up and flipped through the magazine. "Does the article say where I could get tickets?" Then he slapped himself. "No, wait! What am I doing?" He dropped the magazine and aimed his revolver yet again at Mary Sue. "You're evil," he declared. "And it's my job to put a stop evil. You're going down, bitch!!" But then an astonishingly large plot bunny, about the size of a VW bug, jumped onto Mary Sue's lap, completely blocking Jack's shot. "No, I think you're the one who's going down, Jack. I just need to decide who you're going down on..." Somehow the writer managed to get her arms around the oversized bit of fluff in her lap and keep typing. "Let's see, who can I pair you with today?" "No," Jack said, gritting his perfect white teeth. "You got the others, but you're not getting me. Hand over that laptop or I swear I'll shoot." Several bolts of electricity snaked out of Mary Sue's laptop to ensnare the jumbo-sized plot bunny and drag it kicking and screaming into the screen. "Too late, Sweet Cheeks," she said. "I've just written your fate." Jack dropped to his knees and howled. "What have you done to me? I... I feel so strange." He pulled off his great coat and tossed it aside. "Man, is it hot in here, or is it just me? No, it's you, isn't it?" he demanded as he shrugged out of his suspenders. His shirt tore away from his muscular chest with a loud ripping sound. As he fumbled with his fly, he screamed. "Why are you doing this to me?!" "Well..." Mary Sue ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "For starters, you're damned sexy and you look good paired with other men. Second, you're an immortal who's pretty much slept his way across the universe, which leads to all sorts of interesting story possibilities. I swear I get more plot bunnies for you alone than for all the other characters I write about combined. Third, in spite of all your lusty adventures on TV, it's my personal belief that you've never truly acted out your wildest, kinkiest desire." "And what would that be?" Jack said, on his knees and trembling with fear. Mary Sue folded her hands and smirked. "You, my dear Captain Jack, suffer from an unresolved daddy fetish." "Huh?" This time, the plot bunnies didn't even have to go anywhere near Mary Sue's lap. The lightning just leapt out of the laptop's screen and zapped a couple dozen of them in rapid succession. "Oh, my theory makes perfect sense to a fan-fic writer," she explained. "You're always hung up over the fact that your father died when you were young, and everyone knows that the real reason why you're such a bad boy is because you never had a male role model to look up to is. You did have the Doctor for a while, but he hasn't really looked the part of the sexy older man since John Pertwee played the role, and besides he seems more into buxom blonde pop stars these days, which is why I wrote that Doctor Who/Britney Spears piece last month..." "I'm not listening!" Jack shouted, clapping his hands over his ears. But Mary Sue plowed on. "Plus once you became immortal, you couldn't bear to watch anyone you cared about age and die. So you've always stuck to younger lovers, leaving them before you got too attached. Thus you've never allowed yourself the opportunity to satisfy your need for a stronger, older man to take you by the hand and put you over his knee. I, however, have devised a solution to your problem." Jack groaned. "I'm afraid to ask..." "It's Gandalf," Mary Sue declared. "Huh?" Jack looked up, perplexed. "It's Gandalf." "As in the wizard from 'Lord of the Rings?'" "That's the one." "This isn't more hobbit porn, is it?" Jack pleaded. "No, it's just a straight up gay 'Lord of the Rings'/'Torchwood' crossover. You see, Gandalf is really a Time Lord just like the Doctor, only his favorite planet to protect is Middle Earth. When you accidentally fall through a time-space rift one day, you meet up with him at the ruins of Isengard--" Jack held up a hand. "Wait, Gandalf is a Time Lord?" "Well, he's come back from the dead at least once that we know of," Mary Sue explained. "That could have been a Time Lord regeneration. And I'd be willing to bet that staff of his is really an over-sized sonic screw-driver." "Aw man, I've seen that thing!" Jack groaned. "I hope Gandalf's not overcompensating for something." "Now would I do that to you?" Mary Sue pouted. "Trust me. Gandalf is properly equipped for any adventures the two of you are going to have. Anyway, you guys team up to defeat the love child of Grima Wormtongue and Mr. Spock--" "What?" Mary Sue shook her head. "Long story, I'll explain it later. But after you defeat the bad guy, you get to go back to Rivendale for an extended session of Elvish spanking games." Jack cocked his head at her. "How did you know I liked to be..." "Spanked? I wrote about it last month. It was a Captain Jack/Captain John pairing, called 'Spanks for the Mammories.' When you were temporarily transformed into a woman by an alien virus, you turned to your former Time Agent partner for comfort and luuuuuv." She gave a lecherous grin as she dragged out the last word. "Oh my god, you know about that?" Jack's eyes went wide. "But how? I dosed John with enough Retcon that night to wipe out the memory of an elephant. And he was the only one who knew what we did. So there's no way you could have known, unless..." A very visible light bulb suddenly went on over his head. "Oh my god, you really are a writer!" "And you really are a character," Mary Sue added. Jack sat up. "If that's true, then..." Confusion, understanding and then overwhelming joy cycled across his rugged face. He broke out in a wide, toothy grin. "Then I don't have to worry about what's happened to Gwen or Ianto or the rest of the team, because they're not real. Hell, I don't even have to worry about the personal consequences of my own actions." He threw up his arms and shouted for joy. "I'm a fictional character, baby!" "Yes, Jack. Even when I write real-person-slash about John Barrowman, the actor who plays you on TV, you're still a fictional character." "Oh man! That's great!" Jack jumped to his feet and immediately stripped off the rest of his clothing, giving Mary Sue a delightful view of his tall, hunky, naked frame. "I can do anything! I can be anyone! I can do anyone!" "And who do you want to do right now, Jack?" Mary Sue sat with her fingers poised over the laptop's keyboard. "How about someone older, wiser, and who knows how to handle his staff," the naked captain said with a salicious leer. "You know who, Mary Sue." "Yes, I do." She banged wildly at the keyboard. Lightning, flames and sparks shot out of the screen. Hundreds, nay, thousands of plot bunnies would be sacrificed for this tale. Awash in the vivid glow of a slash story well-written, Mary Sue gave Jack the thumbs-up. "Okay, you're all set! There's a rift opening up right now at the backdoor. Gandalf is eagerly waiting for you on the other side!" Jack looked around. "Do I need to take anything?" "Just your gun, 'cause a naked man with a gun is just too damned sexy." "Got it!" He snatched up his revolver from his abandoned clothing and bounded naked toward the back door. Before he stepped through it, he hesitated. "You're certain that I'm a fictional character?" "Yes, Jack." "And this really is just a story?" "Yes, Jack." "And that laptop? It's not a piece of alien technology powered by the life essences of plot bunnies that lets you screw with people's minds and make them act out your perverted will?" "Jaaaack! Would you get going? Gandalf isn't going to wait forever!" He held up his hands. "Okay, okay! I'm just checking. I'm off to see the wizard!" He sang as he skipped through the door. There was a brilliant flash, and he was gone. Mary Sue leaned back on the couch and rolled her eyes. "Geez Louise. I'm glad that's over with. 'You're perverting other people's intellectual property,'" she said, mimicking the now departed Captain Jack. She snorted. "Please! I'll pervert him even more than he already is. Just as soon as I finish off this Frodo/Samwise story. Oh, make that a Frodo/Samwise/Ianto/Owen story. Gotta love that cross-over foursome thing." She began typing. "I better finish this thing before Jack comes back. He is going to be so pissed when he figures out he's not really a fictional character..." Lightning flashed outside her window. The plot bunnies at her feet quivered. "Oh don't worry," she reassured the little bits of fluff. "I'm sure with your help and the alien technology installed in my trusty laptop, I'll figure out a way to distract that bad boy again. And he really is such a bad boy. Hmmm... Maybe he needs some quality discipline from another strong male character. Albus Dumbledore, perhaps? Yes, I think a private session with the headmaster of Hogwarts would do Jack a world of good..." The plot bunnies nodded, sighed, and lined up to wait patiently for the inevitable. The End

Writing Wednesday – the scourge of e-mail!

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
I frikkin' hate e-mail. I get between 60-100 e-mails a day and it's driving me up the damned wal,l trying to keep up with all of it. About a third of what comes in is usually crap and it gets deleted right off the bat, and often labeled as spam so my e-mail program knows to not even bother me with it. But the rest of what I get has to be read, answered, filed... If I answer even just 10 of those e-mails, and take 5 minutes to answer each one, that's almost an hour of my day dedicated to e-mail right there. This does not include the aforementioned reading and filing that still has to be done afterwards. And you know what that means. Any time spent on dealing with e-mail is time not spent on writing! I've done my damnedest to cut down the flow of messages that flood my in-box daily.  I'm only subscribed to those Yahoo groups that I need to belong to for professional reasons. Unfortunately, all the organizations and publishers I work with have at least two Yahoo groups to their individual names, and sometimes more than that. Then there's the e-mails that go back and forth on individual projects. Those e-mails are all important and must be kept up with, but I'm getting so many right now. I'm starting to think maybe it's time to scale back on my work. I mean seriously, I'm spending 1-2 hours a day on e-mail related to my work. Yes, I said 1-2 hours a day, people. Right now, I'm getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to spend two hours every day on the podcast and I'd like to spend an hour and a half in the evenings writing stories and books, but I'm struggling so hard to keep up with the fucking e-mail I can't seem to make that schedule work. Ugh. It's enough to drive a person crazy. But there may be a solution. I've been limiting the amount of time I am allowed to spend on e-mail. I will only check and deal with e-mail during whatever hours I have free between 9 AM and 3PM during the week. By which I mean, unless I'm working out or drawing the Cynical Woman cartoon or having lunch, I'll deal with the fucking e-mail. But come 3 PM, the e-mail gets shut down, and I will not, under any circumstances, re-open my e-mail until the next morning at 9 AM. And that's during the week. On weekends, I will handle e-mail on Saturday for as long as I can stomach it, but on Sunday? Fuggedaboudit! No frikkin' way am I check e-mail on Sunday. So here's the deal. You need to get a hold of me in the evenings, or on Sunday? You just dying to tell me something, or request something, or chit chat? You'll have to catch me on Twitter. I'm on Twitter pretty much all day when I'm home. And I really like Twitter too. You know why? Because tweets are limited to 140 characters, baby! And that's a helluva lot easier to deal with the fuckin' e-mail! AUGH!!

Writing Wednesday – PerNoFiMo wrap up

Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009

Thank god it's over. I finished work on PerNoFiMo - Personal Novel Finishing Month - on Sunday night. By that point, I had hit just over 40K words, doubling the amount I had written in that particular writing project to date. The work-in-progress, Whip It!, is still nowhere near done. I estimate the final story will be around 120K. But for now, I'm letting the story sit while I focus on other projects.

So, what did I learn from PerNoFiMo? Well, let's see...

  • I can actually turn out 40K words in under 30 days.
  • About half of those words, if not more, are going to be pretty crappy.
  • But crappy writing can be edited, while no writing is still no writing.
  • Evenings after the kids have gone to bed make excellent time for writing. I loved curling up with the laptop in bed every night and just banging out words for two or more hours straight. This is one habit I hope to keep up.
  • I cannot write and handle e-mail in the same time period. I can either write, or check e-mail, but doing one negates the possibility of doing the other. I lost an entire evening of writing to tackling a response to just one e-mail. Yeah, three hours on one message. I was not happy about that.
  • Speaking of e-mail, I get too much of the damn stuff. It's currently eating up at least 2 hours of my work day, and I still can't keep up with the shit. Which probably means...
  • I need to cut back on a few things, to cut down on the amount of e-mail, or else free up time to handle it more. Or possibly both.
  • Final lesson - I cannot write a mystery without an outline. I must have the story blocked out first; not so much that I'll lose all interest in the actual writing of the story, but enough to know what clues need to be set up and how to get from the crime to the solution without wanting to shoot myself along the way.

So, there ya go. PerNoFiMo - 40K words in 30 days, story still unfinished and half of what I wrote is complete donkey dung, but it's progress none-the-less.

Where to go from here? Like I mentioned above, I intend to let Whip It! sit for a bit, possibly 2-3 months, before I return to it. On my to-do list, I have three stories for three different anthologies to write, and I need to get these done. That means I will once again be curling up in the evenings with the laptop to write for two hours before going to bed. Unlike PerNoFiMo, however, I intend to work at a more comfortable pace. I ended up writing just about every night for 2-3 hours, including weekends, and I started to burn out before the last week. Honestly, I like taking weekends off, and so I plan to not write on Friday and Saturday evenings just so I can curl up with the Hubster instead of the laptop and maybe watch some crappy TV. Or hey, even go out to a movie, or dinner, or have sex! Wouldn't that be novel (as opposed to being a novel, in progress, every night of the week).

I took Monday and Tuesday nights off, so I plan to sit down again tonight and pull out that first story I need to write. Actually, it's already written, but I really want to take another whack at it and make sure it's good. Then I'll get my other two stories written and go back to Whip It! I promise, I will get this story done.

Next week, I'll try to post a snippet of what I wrote for PerNoFiMo, but for right now, I've got all that damned e-mail waiting for me to take care of it. Ciao, babies!

Nerdvana is Out!

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009
I don't have the official press release yet, but the m/m erotica anthology Nerdvana is out and available on Amazon.com!  Yours truly has a short story in it entitled, "Bully on the Playground."  This is one of my more hardcore stories (and it's never been published anywhere else!), so if that's what you're looking for, go get it! And yes, I do think the guy on the cover looks like a naughty cross between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter };D

Welcome to Mundania is available now at ARe!

Wednesday, November 25th, 2009
My short story collection, Welcome To Mundania, is available for purchase at All Romance e-Books.  You can buy the collection of  all four stories here for just $4.99, or get the individual stories for $1.99 each at the following links. A Man In A Kilt - When Jimmy, a strong-willed Scott, meets a dominatrix named Nan, he's in for the sexual experience of his life. But what will he do when Nan insists on meeting his family? And how will they decide who wears the kilt and who wears the pants in their relationship? Rapacious Mrs. Horner - Diane Horner is divorced, outraged, and addicted to gay porn.  She wants what she shouldn't want.  When her son's best friend confesses his attraction to her, she knows she should walk away.  But how do you walk away from what's right there in your own bedroom? Diablo -Randall is rich and spoiled and used to getting what he wants.  He has his eye on Ty, the hired hand at Polk's Stables, but Ty only cares for Diablo, Randall's horse.  Can Randall win over the object of his desire with kindness and friendship, or will he resort to more sinister methods to get what he wants? A Room With A View -Darcy Daniels is out of work, out of her apartment and out of luck entirely.  When the economy tanks, she's forced to move back in with her parents and take a lousy job at a burger joint to make ends meet.  Things are looking pretty glum until the day she meets Bobby Kritken, the boy next door.  He's strictly off-limits due to a feud between his father and hers, but then Darcy discovers she can see Bobby's room from her bedroom window, and suddenly she has a whole new outlook on life! You can get these stories and more at All Romance eBooks.  And remember, e-books make lovely Christmas presents, and the price won't break the bank!

Writing Wednesday – The home stretch for PerNoFiMo

Wednesday, November 25th, 2009

Only six days left in November and I'm still working hard on PerNoFiMo - Personal Novel Finishing Month. At this point, I've written over 31000 words for my work in progress, tentatively titled "Whip It!" That's well past the minimum goal of 20K words, and nearing the ultimate goal of 40K for the month. I'm doing good, right?

Eh, not so much. I've hit a snag at this point, you see. I started writing "Whip It!" almost three years ago. Back then, it was fresh in my mind and I had lots of ideas. Fortunately, I did put many of those ideas down in various documents. Unfortunately, I jumped right into PerNoFiMo without really digging through those notes first. That wasn't a problem for the first two weeks, but for the last few days, I've been struggling to get through the story because I don't know where to go with it. I'm the kind of person who prefers to have a story roughly mapped out before I begin to write. I don't have to have every detail firmly in place, but I do need to know a general direction, and I mean I really need to know it. I need to have a good solid feel for a story, and quite frankly, I don't have that with "Whip It!" right now.

Nor do I have the research I really need to make this work. The main character in "Whip It!" is a chef trying to start her own catering business. I know jack about catering. I spent a good part of last night searching the web for info on health regulations and food service permits and other such stuff. There are things I'm not sure my characters can do. For example, can you have a naked man in a kitchen during a health inspection? And how does one get a permit to run a catering business? Since much of the plot revolves around the heroine proving to her jerk ex-boyfriend that she can indeed stand on her own two feet and start up her own business, I actually need to show her standing on her own feet and starting up her own business. So I've got a lot of research I need to do before I can write certain parts of the story.

In fact, I've got so much research and outlining I need to do at this point that actual writing has ground to a halt. I just can't keep plowing through the story until I take care of these matters. So what to do? Is there anyway I can hit my goal of 40K words?

I'm going to say "Yes!" Let's face it, PerNoFiMo is my game so I get to set the rules. And the rules say that if I can't write actual novel-type writing with plot, character, dialog, etc., then I can and should go ahead and play the game of "What happens next?" "What happens next?" is the question I always end up asking myself when the story grinds to a halt, like it has now with "Whip It." For instance...

Lucy Cheeks, chef and would-be caterer, is in the middle of a health inspection which she must pass prior to getting the go-ahead to run her catering business. However, her assistant chef, Eduardo Suave - a deeply spiritual but very odd man who looks like the love child of Antonia Banderas and Freddie Mercury - was in the yard behind her kitchen doing nude yoga and he comes back inside, still naked, much to the surprise of the health inspector. What happens next?

I don't have to write the story to answer it. I can just write notes to myself to keep the ideas flowing. So my answer might go something like this.

Eduardo and the health inspector, Imelda Blanc, have some history between them that Lucy doesn't know about. In fact, what Lucy doesn't know is that Imelda was one time Eduardo's lover and dominatrix. She knows all about his nude yoga habit, and is not surprised to seem him roaming around nude in the kitchen. However, Eduardo is a very hairy man, and as a health inspector, she is concerned that some of his body hair might fall into any food they make. For this reason, she insists that Eduardo cannot be naked in the kitchen. He protests, and Lucy fears she's going to lose her permit over this when her great aunt Bernice speaks up and says...

So that's how "What happens next?" works. I just keep plugging away at the ideas, throwing writerly style to the wind. Basically, I'm outlining right there in the body of the story. In fact, once I hit my final word count, I'll probably lift the entire "What happens next?" stuff out of the story document and save it as it's own file, then continue to work on it and get all my plot points settled and all my research handled before I go back to the actual writing.

See? Word count keeps growing and those pesky outline and research problems eventually get solved.

One more week left in PerNoFiMo. To everyone out there plugging away at NaNoWriMo, I wish you all the best during these final days!

Writing Wednesday – Should erotica writers hide?

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009

Meant to post this earlier today, but it's been one of those days, by which I mean crazy busy. In any event, a quick PerNoFiMo update. Last night I passed the 20K word mark on Whip It, which means at just a little over halfway through the month, I've already met my minimum goal. Now to see how much more I can write before November is out. If I can turn out 1500 words a night, every night, until the end of the month, I could hit 40K words. But I'd have to write at least 1500 words every night, and there in lies the challenge.

We'll see what happens. For now, I'm 20K words farther into this novel than I was two weeks ago, and that's an accomplishment as far as I'm concerned.

Now onto today's discussion topic. While reading through the Erotica Readers & Writers Association blog, I came across this post by M. Christian. The article is about the hazards of being an erotica writer and the need to protect oneself from the slings and arrows of the righteous, the intolerant, the uptight and the inhibited. Among other things, M. Christian urges the need for erotica writers to hide what they do. I can understand why he offers this advice. For erotica writers, the threats of being fired, stalked, harassed, arrested, of losing one's home or even one's children are all very real.

But...

Here's my problem with this. You can't ever hide completely, not if you want to write. You can't hide and get your stories published. You can't hide and promote your work online. You can't hide and go to signings or conventions. You can't hide and write. Because once you write those words, those awful filthy words about the most forbidden subject of sex, you've already revealed who and what you are. You have made your mark in the erotica genre. You have left evidence for others to see. Short of deleting the file and wiping the hard drive (or for you low-tech writers, burning the notebook and throwing away the pen), you can't get rid of that evidence. You did the deed. You dared to write the porn, the erotica, the smut, the whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-this-genre. You wrote it, and it's yours. Oh, you can use a pen name, you can promote only online, and you can demur when people ask what you write about, but still. If you write sexually explicit material, then you have already put yourself at risk for being fired, harassed, stalked, etc. Computers can be searched. Pen names can be revealed. You yourself might trip up and let slip some detail that would allow people to connect your story with your name. Even if you just write one erotica story, one steamy sexy scene, and hide it away in a dresser drawer, it's still there for someone to find and you're still going to be at risk. It's like trying to take a dip in the pool without getting wet. Even if all you do is just put your little toe in the water, you can't not get wet.

For my part, I have never hidden what it is I do. I have never used a pen name. And somehow I have never suffered any of these horror stories that I've heard about from other writers. Maybe it's because I'm not in as vulnerable a position as others are. I'm a stay-at-home mom; I can't get fired from that job! And I'm in a good, stable marriage. My husband knew from the start what I was writing. So did my parents. To this day, my mother introduces me as 'her daughter who writes porn.' My husband's family all know what I write. My friends know. Heck, even our pediatrician and my daughters' teachers know. I have never made a secret of this. And yet somehow, I'm doing okay. Maybe I've just been lucky. Maybe my own personal horror story of stalkings and obscenity charges and court cases are just around the corner waiting to happen. Who knows?

What I do know is that anyone who tells me to hide the fact that I am an erotica writer might as well just tell me to never write erotica in the first place. The consequences are dire, so don't even dare it. But telling me to not write erotica would be like telling the late Charlton Heston to not let anybody know he liked guns. To paraphrase the man himself, I will only stop writing porn when you can pry my keyboard from my cold, dead hands. Until then, risks be damned. I'm writing.