Jump to content

TheZot

Classic Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    565

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by TheZot

  1. TheZot
    I always forget that, especially when writing about Ben and William.
     
    One of the cardinal sins of writing in the first person is switching points of view. You need to pick one character and stick with him or her -- no changing in the middle. Yes, I know a lot of 'net fiction does this, but it just doesn't work. (If it did you'd see it in commercial fiction, something I had pointed out to me once. I've read exactly two books that have done this, and it didn't work well in either. And if Dianna Wynne Jones can't pull it off, what hope does J. Random NetAuthor have?)
     
    I'm used to writing first person, even though I actually don't -- Yankee was first person, but that's it.
     
    Doesn't mean I don't think in the first person, which gets me in trouble. When I plot out Ben and William's stories, it's always from William's perspective. (I expect anyone who knows me reasonably well could offer appropriate pithy comments on my character about that, but we'll not go there right now) Except, of course, the stories aren't told from William's POV, they're told from over his shoulder.
     
    Which means I can tell them from over Ben's shoulder, too. Even if he is kinda reluctant to say much. That makes dealing with some of the bits of Wild Life a whole lot easier. Including some of the bits that Dio, once upon a time, rightly poked at and noted didn't work.
     
    Yes, this was something of a revelation. Go figure.
  2. TheZot
    Chapter one of Wild Life is up for your reading pleasure. New chapters should come every two or three weeks, if all goes well.
     
    One thing that's new with this is some bonus prettiness. As I'm sure anyone who's read my stuff's noticed, the styling I use in the HTML-converted documents is... minimal. (Well, okay, nonexistent) That's been on purpose -- I've enough trouble making sure all the crap that Word stuffs into a document is stripped out, and I've never been good at making things look nice on my own, so I've left it be.
     
    With Wild Life (and hopefully Carpe Diem) getting released, though, it's about time I spiff things up. While completely unstyled HTML is better than a lot of what's out on the Web (I particularly hate the layouts that have small fixed width areas for their content -- you know the ones, where you get fewer words horizontally than a paperback book, but making the window bigger does nothing, and upping the font size just makes it worse, since the text area doesn't get bigger when the font does) but pretty is nice.
     
    So, after much head scratching, a bit 'o cash (I rather like O'Reilly's CSS, The Missing Manual), and some swearing at PHP's completely random naming conventions and deeply sucky documentation, I'm done. Woo!
     
    It's not really flashy -- that requires more art skills than I have -- but I have a layout I like. Sidebar menus, pleasant color scheme, automatic content generation (so I don't have to update old chapters, or re-validate all the pages when I twiddle the sidebar), and a Scrivener HTML stripper to generate the raw data to feed into the system. It's just attached to Wild Life right now, but I'll probably go back and redo Yankee, as well as the shorts. I only hope it looks okay in browsers I don't have. (Safari and Camino both like it, as does IE7, but I'm not sure about IE6. But, then, who is?)
     
    Even better, the layout's all relative sized, so if you're a fan of large browser windows (as I am), or larger text, or both, it scales right.
     
    It may lack Teh Shiny
  3. TheZot
    I've got the first chapter of Wild Life done, and it needs a quick read-through to make sure I haven't made any truly egregious grammar errors or used the word 'moment' more than eight times in a paragraph. Anyone up for frowning at it for a bit, and maybe the next chapter too if I finish it in the next few days? (I'm looking to have a backlog of both Wild Life and Carpe Diem chapters done before I start posting them)
  4. TheZot
    Since it's looking a little dated. 1993 dated, back when the best you could do with HTML was colors and text size. (Yeah, yeah, I remember building one of the original versions of Mosaic from source, and the NCSA http server. Hey, y'damn kids, get off of my lawn!) Given that tests the limits of my graphic arts prowess, it's not something I poke at much. That needs to change, though -- with Ben and William's first novel starting, plus Carpe Diem (finally!) starting up, and Busted getting shopped around as soon as it's finished I really need to get it spiffed up.
     
    This is where I always grumble at my geek aesthetic. I just don't have the style genes to make things look good, which is damned annoying. I mean, I know you can make web pages look nice (see, for example, the myriad different faces of the CSS Zen Garden to see what someone can do with just images and css) unfortunately I can't make 'em look nice. Or if I can I just don't have the patience or inclination to do it.
     
    I don't suppose anyone knows a web designer looking to reduce the amount of Ugly on the internet...
  5. TheZot
    The current Ben and William story I'm working on set this one off. I sent off the draft for their most recent story to a good friend of mine for a read through. He's straight, and while guys doing each other isn't his thing, neither does he much care. (Which is cool, though occasionally somewhat embarrassing for me)
     
    The boys, of course, are a couple, and more than willing to boink each other at the drop of a hat. (Ben keeps a bag of hats around, just in case) Regardless, in the few stories of theirs that are done, their relationship isn't obvious. It's important, certainly, and affects how they deal with each other, but if you didn't know they were going at it like rabid weasels it probably wouldn't occur to you. (Well, assuming you don't have a dirty mind and a penchant for guys having sex) The two stories so far could, assuming they were better written, show up in Fantasy and Science Fiction, or one of the other short story magazines kicking around and nobody'd bat an eye.
     
    Anyway, at the very beginning there are a pair of paragraphs that make it clear how William feels about Ben. This bit, actually, with the comment:

    William slumped in the seat next to the fireplace. The inn they were in was nice enough, as these things went, but it'd been a week, and he still hadn't gotten used to being in a city. Truth be told, he hadn't gotten used to wearing pants again. Being a barbarian prince had its advantages, not the least of which was the low maintenance wardrobe.
     
    And, he thought as he watched Ben stride across the common room, there was the easy accessibility. Pants were definitely troublesome.
     
    I jumped forward, but who is your ultimate audience? This is as blatant as you get, but I like a subtle romance/tension between the two. Not saying it
  6. TheZot

    Cheating is good

    By TheZot,

    I was going to spend some time here whining about opening scenes, 'cause I hate 'em. I really, really do; they're annoying, and hard to get right, and even when I do manage a paragraph or three that doesn't suck they never go anywhere. I mean, I get as far as:


    Harold took a sip of his coffee as he looked out over the deck railing at the lake in front of him. The soothing warmth of the drink flowed through him as the first rays of the rising sun bathed the lake's waters in rich orange light. The lilting notes of the early-rising birds danced through the trees behind him played counterpoint to the beauty in front of him as another beautiful day dawned. or something like that and I start getting the itch to have something explode, or a UFO crash into the lake, or marauding orcs start laying waste to the back garden. Or zombies, they're always good for a laugh.
     
    Anyway, after chopping William's lament about pants out of the current story I've been left without an intro. This is troublesome, as it's a story that really needs some good scene-setting to work right. (Not that what I had was perfect as a scene setter, but it wasn't bad)
     
    I was going to go on about it for a bit, but I think I've figured out how to cheat again. So I think I will, and maybe I'll put off the whining until later.
  7. TheZot

    So just die, already

    By TheZot,

    It's a grey and drizzly saturday, and I'm sitting here rewriting this goddamn fight scene. Again. This is its third go-round, and it's pissing me off. This is S&S stuff. It's supposed to be straightforward, "kill the monster, take its treasure, move on." I mean, there's formula. Possibly sacred formula, I'm not sure -- the genre both demands it and is antithetical to it, which might make it obligatory to acknowledge and ignore it -- but definitely formula. You'd think it was easy to follow, but noooo... I apparently insist on making things rather more complex than they need to be.
     
     
    Bah. I'm tempted to rip the whole damn thing out and replace it with some boinking, except I'm a little worried what'll happen if I do that.
  8. TheZot
    It's damned annoying, that's what it is.
     
     
    Not, in this case, a "what the heck was that moral, again?" but more a "damn, I had a moral and I lost track of it!"
     
     
     
    I mean, here I am, typing away, pretty much done with the story and I realize that the big end fight scene (c'mon, it's a sword'n'sorcery story, fight scenes are obligatory) is disconnected from the rest of the piece. I have what I think is a pretty nice setup, and I managed to let the banter side track me.
     
     
    Pesky characters, always trying to run away with the story. Sheesh. Some people.
     
     
    Which means I have fifteen hundred words that need reworking. Bah.
     
     
    This whole 'writing' thing looks so much easier on TV...
  9. TheZot
    So I've been beating up Busted, and I've been finding (as so many people do) that making it good takes a whole lot more work than just making it exist. I'd planned on having it done and shopping it around by the end of the year, assuming my HR department was OK with it. I'm not sure if that's going to happen now, unfortunately. It may, given that it's not yet Halloween, but I'm not holding my breath.
     
     
    Still, the work going into the rewrite is definitely worth it. Even if the book ultimately goes nowhere, the thought needed to get the damn thing in shape means that the next one, and there will be a next one, will be easier. Or conceptually larger. Not sure which, I have a tendency to over-reach my current skills, so it's even odds which way it goes.
     
     
    Courtesy of my tendency to get captivated by the oddest things (in this case the phrase "combat mathematician") there'll be another Ben and William short in a few weeks. Not time wasted, they're always fun for a romp and a good twist on old standards.
     
     
    (And if I've repeated myself, well... I blame it on switching blog clients and laziness, as those're always good excuses... )
  10. TheZot

    Rewrites, rewrites, rewrites

    By TheZot,

    And more rewrites.
     
    I'm not dead, but you'd never know it from the postings, would you? When Real Life hasn't been getting in the way, I've been beating up the draft of Busted, trying to get it in shape to shop around for publication.
     
    It's been a !@$! pain in the ass getting it ready, too.
     
    I thought the worst part about this would be throwing out scenes. I've already tossed 30K words, the last third of the book. Not that it isn't bad; some of the stuff I tossed I really, really like. I hate that bit.
     
    The worst part is going back, gutting, and reworking the stuff I I've already polished, stuff I thought was done.
     
    The only thing keeping me going at this is sheer bloody minded righteous indignation -- the first draft was better than some of the stuff I've paid money for, and dammit if that crap can get published so can my stuff. There's just no way in hell I'd let something in the shape Busted was go out with my name on it, even if it is a pseudonym.
     
    I should know better by now. Righteous indignation's gotten me in enough trouble over the years. (And no, not in the way you might expect) Oh well, ya gotta play with what you got, I guess.
     
    So one more plot thread gets thrown out, and another thousand words get to get rewritten again. At least poor Toby's not going to be getting sick, and Joe doesn't get stabbed. And I still get to knock Joe on his ass with the gun, even if I had to work at that. (As was pointed out by a friend who read part of the first draft, handguns just don't have enough kick to knock an adult off his feet, something I should've known. f=ma, and bullets just don't have that much mass)
     
    Start to finish this damn thing's going to end up taking a year. I hope it's worth it when it's all done.
  11. TheZot
    or semi-old standard, at least. Cliches always bother me, and I've been pestered the past week or so by some characters and a bit of plot. I'm not going to work on it now -- writing time's dedicated either to the rewrite of Busted (which is crawling along, dammit) or working on Wild Life, which I've put off for way too long -- but still, they interest me. Maybe they'll interest someone else, enough to do something with them.
     
    In this case it's the "kid shows up on the doorstep a decade or more later" one. It's not all that common in absolute terms, since there's not all that much 'adult' gay fiction out there in general (that is fiction with a real plot rather than an excuse for sex scenes with people well past college age doing, well... stuff. The stuff that you find in good mainstream fiction, only one or more of the characters is gay, and it in some reasonable way is actually meaningful, rather than stereotypical or just egregious) but this one pops up all the time.
     
    The kid, inevitably, is gay. Of course. Why else would he/she/it/they go tromping who knows how many miles to show up at a stranger's house? Angst and reconciliation happen and everyone lives happily ever after. Of course. It's a happy fantasy, and not a bad one as these things go, but it's kinda trite, and in some ways it's really cheap. Hence the thought... what if the kid isn't gay?
     
    Yeah, I know -- why else would someone be willing to almost toss their kid away? How could you possibly justify that? (And I'll stop for a moment and let everyone finish snickering, y'bunch of cynics)
     
    For reasons I don't understand, Dad's a 35 year old dentist, his partner's 27, swish, and does drag (yeah, I know, that leads into a whole annoying set of stereotypes -- sorry), and the kid's 14, hasn't seen dad in more than a decade, and is generally pissed off at the world.
     
    These guys just... interest me. Moving past at least some of the cliches, what sort of situation leads to a parent being willing to toss their kid away, or let him run without stopping him? How did things end up where there's that long separation, and how bad were things that the kid was willing to jump ship to someone who's essentially a total stranger?
     
    Then there's the culture shock issues. Dad's partner's a lot younger, so there's a bit of the trophy wife thing there. Dad and parter have been childless for years, suddenly they've got a surly teen in their midst, one who resents dad and really doesn't like his partner. Plus the kid dealing with having a gay parent, something that's presumably been a big negative for the kid up until then. If Dad knew about the kid, why has he kept his distance all these years?
     
    So the kid shows up, makes a splash, and the rest of the story is them ultimately working it out. I think they do, more or less. The characters are all flawed. Nobody irredeemably, but still... people, and messed up ones, in a situation that guarantees all sorts of conflict. I don't know that the story'd end up with a HEA, but I'm not sure it's the kind that should.
     
    Ah, well. Maybe some day, just not today.
  12. TheZot

    Rewrites suck

    By TheZot,

    It's always so much easier to write things in the first place. Not easy, exactly, but easier. Of course, the problem is that the ideas for the new stuff don't stop when I'm struggling to fix the old stuff. (I've only managed to get to the point where Joe's found Stephanie, dammit)
     
    So, while I struggle, have the last few pages of the thing that likely comes next. And all I need now is everything that comes before it. It's going to have to be pretty good, since there's definitely no happily ever after in this one.
     
    (And is naming the protagonist's main foil "Devon Xavier Machina" too un-subtle? I'm not sure)
     
    Michael sat, wincing with the discomfort and the reminder of the night before. He just stared, looking at his desk. Nice enough wood, though not impressive like the partners had, it had three piles of manila folders on one side, a nicely functional computer with a sleek black LCD screen on the other. A half-used yellow legal pad sat dead center, a Cross pen laying on top of it.
     
    He'd been at the firm for over six months, and the only trace of him he could see was the framed picture of Anne. He snorted, and pitched it in the trash, taking a small pleasure in the sounds of the glass shattering.
     
    They were through. She'd sold him out to Devon, without even thinking about it. The sell-out hadn't surprised him that much. The man was preternaturally charming. She hadn't even tried to resist. That was the kicker. Not even a little. He could forgive the betrayal. But not the eagerness.
     
    He was supposed to do whatever Devon asked. Richard had made it clear at the beginning, no doubt at Dev's prodding. The alternative was that he was fired, fired so hard that any law firm worth a damn wouldn't even take him on as a client, let alone hire him. Richard assumed that left him with no choice.
     
    Richard was wrong.
     
    The pen wasn't his, but he took it anyway. Spoils of war, or payment for services rendered, it didn't really matter. He stood, squared his shoulders and tugged his jacket. It was the end. Decorum seemed in order.
     
    The decision gave him more strength than he thought. The other junior lawyers had always given him a hard time about his reserve, but now he was anything but. Standing tall, he radiated purpose and confidence as he strode down the wood-paneled corridors and up the stairs that took him to the top floor of the suite. Up and into the realm of the partners.
     
    "Nora," he said with a nod. She was Richard's gatekeeper. He knew that now, recognized it on a level he'd never known existed. If she didn't want him to pass he wouldn't. He didn't have that much power.
     
    "Mister Wetherbie was asking after you, Mister Lexington," she said. There was acknowledgement in her voice. Just barely, but it was there. That surprised him. It was more than some of the other partners got from her.
     
    "Is he in? I only need a moment," Michael said.
     
    "He's in with Mister Machina."
     
    It was sheer force of will that kept Michael from reacting. "Good," he said. She didn't challenge him as he walked past, into Richard's office.
     
    He'd only been in there once, the day he was hired. The office was as richly appointed as he remembered. Bookshelves made of mahogany, stained a rich brown and polished to gleaming lined the walls. The carpeting was hunter green with a subtle pattern picked out in gold. A few overstuffed leather chairs were scattered around. At the far end of the room was Richard's desk, a huge antique thing that dominated the room. Behind it were plate glass windows facing uptown, the Empire State and Chrysler buildings clearly visible.
     
    The point of the room was to impress. He was that first time. He wasn't now.
     
    Richard and Dev were off to the left, Devon slouching against the bookshelves looking artlessly beautiful. Richard was beaming, and gave Michael the impression of a well-dressed pig.
     
    "Michael!" Richard said, as he entered. "We were just talking about you."
     
    "Sir," Michael said, nodding at Richard. "Mister Machina."
     
    "So formal," Devon said. A secret smile briefly flashed across his face. Richard missed it. Michael didn't.
     
    "The firm is quite happy with the service that you've rendered, and so are some of our
  13. TheZot
    As part of the forum revamp, it looks like the blog module now properly supports XML-RPC access. (It used to claim to, but I never had any luck getting it to work) That means client blog editors (like, say, ecto, the one I rather like. It's well worth the cost) work. Which means I can blog from the train, with a text editor that doesn't suck, and that has built-in spelling checking. (Though I do see the latest version of Camino enables that in text widgets, which is kinda nice)
     
    Being able to do up entries while offline is a very nice thing indeed. I shall have to do that more often, I think, 'specially since Michael and Devon have officially caught my attention. (Sorry Lucy)
     
    Pardon me while I do the happy geek dance. Avert your eyes!
  14. TheZot
    I've been re-plotting Busted (yeah, I'm keeping that title for now, as it's better than the replacements I've managed) and I've come to the part of the process I really hate -- chopping out the good bits because they just don't work.
     
    Chopping the crap out's relatively easy. Embarrassing, yeah (I mean, I wrote it in the first place, and what was I thinking?), but easy. So that flashback scene to when Chris was a kid? Gone. Poof, and no worries.
     
    Unfortunately it also means that Steve's rant at the end of the interview with Stephanie's gone, the scene with Alex in the bar (where Alex's real nature comes out) and the scene in Chris' living room where Joe moves in is gone too. Dammit.
     
    Ah well, they're only words. There are plenty more where they came from, and better to cut something out and have to put it back later than not cut it out and have it get in the way. (Not that it makes it easier, but it's gotta be done)
  15. TheZot
    So much macho posturing nonsense. Bleah. I hate it when they start off all promising and go downhill too. (They're much like vampire stories that way. At least with vampire stories you know that they're going to suck...)
     
    I made the mistake of reading one the other day. I swear, at some point I'm going to sit down and write one myself, but until then I'll make do with this scene. (I'm not sure if it works without context, but it's funny in my head)
     
     
     
    Clay looked down at Max, lying in the hospital bed. He was haggard, almost emaciated, a far cry from the man Clay remembered. His anger drained away at the sight. No matter how hurt he was, he couldn't stay mad at Max, not when he looked like that.
     
    "God, you look like crap," Clay said. He just blurted it out, before he could think.
     
    In the bed Max gave him a weak smile. He put down the crossword puzzle he'd been doing.
     
    "Hello to you, too," he said.
     
    "So, um
  16. TheZot

    Toymaker, part 2

    By TheZot,

    [Hrm. Looks like my tendency to mushy background stuff is getting in the way. 1700 words and nothing's exploded! Have to fix that in the next piece...]
     
    William finished dressing himself a few minutes later. Gone was the barbarian prince, and in his place was an ordinary, unremarkable merchant. He was wearing a tunic and brown overshirt, belted at the waist, and a pair of dark green leggings. He'd exchanged his doeskin boots for a pair made of sturdy leather. He tugged at the collar of the shirt. It fit well enough, but he'd grown accustomed to wearing less, and it made him uncomfortable.
     
    "Eyes," Ben said, looking at William. "And the hair." He'd changed himself. The simple tunic and hose were nothing special, but they emphasized Ben's size, his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He'd kept his boots and slung his sword over his shoulder. He still wore his bracelets, though the charms around his neck were gone, into the pouches tied to his belt.
     
    "Do I have to?" William asked, tugging at his hair. It had taken him a few weeks to get used to it, and the constant weight pulling at his head, but he'd found he rather liked it. More importantly, so did Ben. Getting rid of it was problematic as well.
     
    "It's distinctive," Ben observed.
     
    "It's going to itch when it grows back out," he grumbled. The hair had come as part of the curse that had changed him and bound him to Ben those months ago, made him taller and fitter, leaving his hair long and white, his eyes pale lavender, and his skin clear and tan. The curse was still on him and he stayed that way, unless he fought it, and even then he could only hold it off temporarily.
     
    Normally he had no complaint, but it made changing his appearance troublesome. He'd tried cutting his hair a few weeks after he and Ben had met. It grew back, two and a half feet in ten minutes. It itched badly, left him ravenously hungry, and feeling like he had bugs on his head for days. It wasn't something he was looking forward to.
     
    Ben was right, though. Sighing, he let his eyes unfocus and his Sight slip in. The colored threads of mana that wove into spells had always been difficult for him to See, but now they almost sprang into focus unbidden. He wasn't sure why, a side effect of the curse, a gift from being bound to Ben, or a result of him finally accepting himself, but it didn't matter.
     
    He closed his eyes and wrapped his mind around the tendrils of the curse that wound through him. It was far past his ability to remove, if he'd ever want to, but he was talented enough to suppress it for a little while. Holding it in check, he nodded to Ben, who pulled out his sword and cut his hair short. William felt the curse react and pushed back. As his hair and eyes darkened to shades of brown, he spelled a knot around the curse, locking it in place. The spell was only temporary, but it would do for a while.
     
    "Something for you?" William asked as he opened his eyes.
     
    Ben shrugged. "I'm nondescript."
     
    Laughing, William mounted his horse.
     
    "You just hate being noticed," he said.
     
    "By anyone but you," Ben answered.
     
    That was true. William was the first person he'd been around in years, since his accident, that he was comfortable with. Ben had been a wizard himself, until the accident destroyed his Sight and left him unable to do magic. Even worse, Ben had been born seeing auras, being able to tell from a glance how people were feeling, but the accident had robbed him of that as well, even as it disintegrated his apartment building and killed Mel.
     
    It was just a single flash, one experiment gone horribly wrong. It stole the talent that gave his life meaning and the person who'd made it worth living, and thrust him into a world filled with people he could no longer feel. Despondent and terrified, he'd run, and kept running, until he ended up deep in the wilderness. That's where he'd stayed, until William had found him, and made things right again.
     
    He still hated being around people. William understood, and ran interference when Ben's gruff barbarian seeming didn't put someone off.
     
    "Well, my good man," William said, letting a nasal whine into his voice as he slipped into character, "shall we see what this fair hamlet has to offer?"
  17. TheZot

    Toymaker chapter 01

    By TheZot,

    [i'm feeling the need for some good melodramatic monologuing and denoument (it's all Dio's fault!). Ben and William are always good for that, so while I'm sitting on Busted, and polishing up the last draft of Dirty Basement (the second complete Ben and William story) I give you... Toymaker! Or, rather, the first draft dump of it. That seemed to work pretty well with Busted. My son likes these, so this one's going to be PG, at worst]
     
    William reined in his horse as he crested the hill. The mid-morning sun was warm on his naked shoulders, turning his tanned skin a rich gold. A light breeze fanned his long white hair out behind him, near-blinding in the light. The dark leather straps that crossed his bare chest, his only garment beside the short kidskin wrap around his waist, soaked in the heat and gave contrast to the cool air. At his side was a rapier, its hilt and scabbard a matte black with silver tracery. He was tall, lithe, and regal, looking every inch the barbarian prince astride his coal-black mare.
     
    Beside him, on a horse as white as William's hair, sat Ben. He was dressed to match, though his skirting was fine green silk. His dark hair was tightly braided and nearly touched the back of his horse, and across his broad shoulders twined black lines and spiral tattoos that were impossible to look closely at. Around his neck were charms on leather thongs. At his wrists were wide bracelets of tooled leather set with small blood red garnets, wrapped around each bicep were strips of braided bronze. His sword was heavy, its menacing aura clear even sheathed.
     
    William sighed as he looked at the town below him. Five miles or so at the end of the road that wound lazily down the hillside and through the farmsteads in the valley, along a narrow river. The farms continued for miles on the other side, stopping abruptly at the foot of the mountain range that marked the other side of the valley. It was quiet and pastoral. Innocent even. Hardly what he'd expected.
     
    "This the place?" Ben asked. The question was rhetorical. He'd been there with William when they'd driven the bandits off and rescued the family, he'd heard the story as well as William had. It had started with strange noises in the night, then livestock had vanished, until finally their youngest son had been stolen in the night. By the Faerie, or so they'd said. They'd abandoned their farm and fled rather than risk their remaining two daughters.
     
    "Looks like it," William replied. He frowned. The family had been frightened, there was no doubt about it, so terrified that they'd left their farm. People just didn't do that, didn't just leave, not unless they were wizards or had the wanderlust. The ties to a realm were too strong, binding people to the land they were born to. It took something catastrophic to change that. That there was no outward sign of anything was worrisome. "It looks peaceful enough."
     
    "Yes," Ben said. "Except for the castle and storms."
     
    "What?" William looked over at him, puzzled. It was a beautiful day, and there were a scant few wispy clouds in the sky. "Where?"
     
    "Follow the road."
     
    He did, down the hill, into the town, and out the other side. It went through farms to the foothills, and up the side of a mountain until
  18. TheZot

    Busted end notes

    By TheZot,

    Right, some notes for the end of the story, and (hopefully) an entry to hang people's comments about things that need fixing or addressing. Yeah, it's quiz time -- please weigh in with the problems you had with the story. I've got my list, but I can't fix what I don't realize is wrong. (This is not the time to be nice)
     
    I need a title! I don't know that 'Busted' really fits all the way through. The folder on my hard drive's labelled "Ghost Cop" but that's not all that good either. You've got the whole thing now, so have at it.
     
    The Notes:
    The funny thing is that this all started because of a traffic stop on Route 8 I didn't get tagged by. (It was on the southbound side, I was going north. Around exit 25 as I remember, give or take a bit) Nobody else did either, there was this state cop sitting in one of the pull-offs, just waiting. Probably doing paperwork while he was looking for people going way, way too fast. The initial scene kind of showed up with the semi-cliche mistaken identity bit and it went from there.
     
    Unfortunately I know even less about state police proceedures than local police, so Chris turned from a state police officer to a local one, and that's going to require a bit of a rethink on the setting for the initial stop. While it would work just fine for a local officer in a lot of the country, the open, relatively high-speed roads out here ('here' being connecticut) are all state roads and the local cops don't police them.
     
    I need to work our murdering psychopath into the story earlier. Not very much, since I do actually like the opening and it sets up the romantic plotline, but a little mention. Maybe Joe'll get cut off by the guy's Jetta, or some mention of a murder or something between Chris and Joe in the station. (Just because I didn't realize anyone was going to die at the beginning of the first draft doesn't mean it shouldn't be there when it's done)
     
    The story started out being told from Joe's point of view -- he was the only character I really had a handle on from the beginning. Chris had a cardboard stand-in, and I didn't know about Steve at all, nor the kids and related hangers-on. It grew into a larger thing as the story went on.
     
    I need, I think, more of Chris and Steve's interaction. Since we've got multiple third-person POVs here, the story needs more balance, and it'll let us see a side of Chris that we wouldn't otherwise. He is actually good at what he does, reasonably articulate, and caring. It's just when he's around Joe that he turns into a total idiot. Showing more scenes without Joe will help make the contrast clear, as well as move the B storyline forward some.
     
    Just to get it out of the way... yes, I do need to set up things so Joe and Chris adopt Stephanie. I'm still not sure that's going to happen, but there is a reasonable chance, so it's worth leaving things open that way. (And her therapy bills are gonna be hell for years, I'm afraid)
     
    Dunno what happens to Steve's brother-in-law. He kind of fell off the map after he found the body. Granted he's a secondary character, but he probably shouldn't be just dropped. Maybe a scene between him and Mary after Joe pulls the runner.
     
    Yeah, the bad guy is possessed, but he doesn't actually mind. It's not until he runs across Joe before the story starts that he manifests in the first place (about the same time that Alex first manifests, and for about the same reason) then goes on his dark 'o the moon killing spree. Running across Joe a second time (at Stephanie's) gives him the strength to break the pattern. The host may also be the kid brother of the boy that Alex kissed when Chris was a kid. I'm not sure. If he was, then the brother's a Sherrif now, and I could set the sequel out in Arizona and have them meet back up again.
     
    The dialog patterns need some work. Chris is generally articulate and thinks before he speaks. He rarely (if ever) swears. Steve is more open in how he talks, is mostly happy, almost always under control, and swears a bit but not much. Joe's more frenetic, tends to let his temper get away with him in non-professional settings, and swears like a sailor. You should be able to tell the three of them apart from a stretch of dialog, but I'm not sure that's consistent.
     
    Physically, Joe is Irish. Curly red hair, pale skin, freckles, gets crispy in the sun. He's also thin, though with some muscle on him. about 5'9", give or take a bit. His height is never specified since it's not a big deal, but he is shorter by a few inches than either Steve or Chris.
     
    Steve's more triangular, and while he's padded he's also got a good solid layer of muscle. He's a natural blonde who's gone brown as he's gotten older, fair skinned, about 6' tall, definitely imposing and not someone you'd particularly want in your face if things got unpleasant. Which is partly why he looks like he does, as it's useful when intimidating people. Probably old-stock connecticut, which means mostly english and welsh if you really, really had to trace it back.
     
    Chris is half italian immigrant, half native american, likely Navajo as his mom is from rural Arizona. He's less inherently solid than Steve -- he'd be considered a bit rangy if he hadn't worked hard in high school to bulk up. (Overcompensating from a childhood where there were days he had a hard time getting out of bed) He heavily favors the native american side in skin and hair coloring, as well as body hair distribution. There was a bit in there where he felt kind of inadequate since he doesn't really meet the whole 'manly' stereotype in some ways but I may cut that, I'm not sure. It does get across that he's uncomfortable with his body image, which is something that would sensibly spill over from his childhood.
     
    I don't know right now whether Chris' maternal grandmother is still alive. I don't actually know who his maternal grandfather was, though I'm pretty sure he wasn't human. That may or may not make for a hook into a sequel, or it could just stay as one of those things.
     
    Megan, Chris' ex, needs to get worked in more, though indirectly.
     
    Homophobia is pretty much nonexistent as a motivator or issue in the story. Yes, Joe's excessively up front about his sexuality, and Chris and Steve's boss is an insulting ass, but it isn't generally a worry. Chris' flinching from Joe in public is because of his relationship issues, not that Joe's a guy.
     
    Character motivations
    Joe: Joe grew up lower class (I always think somewhere in Waterbury, but never actually place him) and wanted out in the worst way. He worked his ass off through high school to get into college on a combination of loans, grants, and work. He left home and never went back, mostly because his family life was hell. The drive that got him out also got in the way of any real social life. He didn't have time for anything past casual, and his upbringing didn't really equip him for healthy serious relationships. (He's done enough therapy to know that, and to have a general idea what's involved, but there's a difference between the abstract and the practical in these things) He's certainly not been a monk, and he has dated, some short, some medium term. Nothing serious, though, not much past friends with benefits. He does sometimes regret this.
     
    Joe has always wanted kids. He gave the idea up in high school when he figured he was gay, but that never stopped him from wanting them. He's never done much about it -- he has a fear that he'd be the same sort of parent that his parents were, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. He's relatively inexperienced with kids, and has, to date, only had to deal with them professionally (when people bring them into the office) or very casually. He's yet to have to be responsible in the face of a major meltdown.
     
    Being the flimsiest of the family he was on the receiving end of a lot of crap until he learned to fight back. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for in viciousness, quick wit, and manic energy. (He's got a tendency to go for the throat, then kick you in the nuts. After that he gets nasty) He's had to deal with some homophobia and some near-bashings, and as a result he's very in your face about his sexuality when it becomes an issue, though he's good about leaving it go in professional settings. He does not take crap from anyone.
     
    Chris: Chris was born in rural Arizona, on the edge of one one of the towns. His mother was full-blooded native american (though always thought she was half), his father was the grandson of italian immigrants, and both his parents were arguably insane -- at least they saw things that weren't there. They both drank heavily. His father comes from a long line of guys who were mad. His father probably committed suicide while posted in the Korean War (I expect seeing spirits would be a bad talent to have in the middle of a war), and it goes back paternally from there. His mother was something of a pariah, as her mother got pregnant by a mystery guy she'd never own up to. If the slang went back far enough I'd have him named coyote and leave it for everyone to think he smuggled illegal immigrants across the border while she thoguht she'd bedded a deity. (Or at least a force of nature, depending on how you like to categorize these things)
     
    Chris had Alex, his imaginary friend, since he was about five. He was an escape from his parents, unfortunately Alex took a toll and left him weak and in bed on and off for years. When he was eleven his parents died when their trailer caught on fire, and he moved in with his paternal grandmother. He lost Alex at that point, and it gave him a determination to lose the sickly body he had. He spent a lot of high school hitting the weight room. Chris is crap with relationships; what he saw growing up really didn't prepare him for anything. He was also attracted to boys, though he didn't think about it too much given there was more than enough other crap going on for him to deal with. He did date occasionally, though never too seriously.
     
    He got bagged by Megan about six years ago. He'd done something that had gotten him some recognition, she decided she wanted him, and she went and got him. He didn't fight too hard, and it wasn't too long after that they were married. That didn't work out at all well. She was looking for prestige, good sex, and someone to make her a princess -- what she got was a tepid bedroom, mostly ignored, and a serious lack of sympathy. She's very much not a nice person, but Chris bears a lot of responsibility for the marriage getting as bad as it did. As a result Chris is gun shy and very insecure about relationships. It the major component of what makes him flinch from Joe throughout the story -- not that he's confronting his issues with being gay, but that he's scared to death to let anyone get close enough to hurt him.
     
    Steve: He's a secondary character, so he's not as immediately important, but he really wants his friend to be happy. He's known Chris since they were both eleven, and he's seen the misery Chris has been through, most recently with Megan. He doesn't give a damn about the whole gay thing -- Joe could be an alien or a sheep for all he cared, if he made Chris happy he'd be all for it. (Though he'd probably be disappointed with a sheep)
     
     
    I think that's pretty much it. I would, very much, appreciate honest commentary on things, most especially on things that were missing, didn't work, or were incomplete. Not that I don't mind a good ego stroke, but I think we can assume that the good bits will stay, so I'd like to concentrate on the bits that need fixing. I would very much appreciate folks taking the time to point things out that need work.
     
    It's been fun, that's for sure. 82K words, all because of a cop on a dark night and some writer's block I was procrastinating on. Go figure...
  19. TheZot
    [Ah, I can't wait, so instead I edit and re-release. I'm done. Yay!]
     
    Snuffles may have cleared Chris head, but he also broke the spell that hid Joe. The maniac stiffened as he realized they weren't alone any more.
     
    "You! How are you
  20. TheZot

    Busted chapter 73

    By TheZot,

    [Damn, this is slow going. Sorry...]
     
    From the kitchen to the upstairs took Joe all of seven seconds. He heard the nasty laughter as soon as he'd rounded the corner and hit the stairs, and it led him right to the master bedroom.
     
    He gave a strangled little cry as he stopped in the doorway. Chris was sprawled out on the floor next to the bed, his head against the nightstand. He looked dazed, his eyes a little unfocused. The lamp that stood on the nightstand was wobbling, throwing odd flashes of light around the room.
     
    Standing almost in the doorway was a man Joe didn't recognize, though he could only see his back. He was a little shorter than Joe, wearing a baseball hat and a faded blue work shirt. Bits of straight black hair stuck out from around the edges of the hat, and the skin Joe could see was a dark tan. His left arm was outstretched, palm open and pointing at Chris.
     
    His right arm was cradled around a smaller form, the small head of black hair barely showing around the man. Toby. The man's posture was familiar. He couldn't see it, but Joe was sure he was holding a knife near Toby's throat.
     
    Joe froze. He wasn't sure what to do. The charge up the stairs hadn't been planned, he'd just done it. And while he might have had a gun, the guy had a knife far too close to Toby to be safe. Fear had the upper hand, and Joe just didn't think he could shoot a man from behind.
     
    That didn't stop him from raising the gun and pointing it at the man.
     
    "Drop the knife," Joe said, in as deep a voice as he could muster. He hoped the quaver he felt didn't come out in his voice.
     
    His voice brought Chris out of his daze. When he'd hit his head the distraction had let the fog rush in for a moment. His eyes widened as he saw Joe in the doorway to the bedroom, Chris' service pistol in his hand, pointed straight at the head of the man holding Toby.
     
    Joe was a strange sight, standing there. The grey silk lining of his jacket shimmered, broken by seams and pockets. His left arm was half hidden under the coat, which was falling off Joe's shoulder a little, exposing the straps of the sling. Joe's face was pale with fear. The contrast with his bright red hair and the dark jacket made him look ashen.
     
    Chris was terrified that the maniac would hurt Toby. He was between Chris and Joe, a tenuous position at best. Toby was leverage, and Joe wasn't nearly a good enough shot to end the standoff safely. Even if he was, Chris wasn't sure he wanted Toby to have to deal with that, have the brains of the man holding him prisoner splattered all over him.
     
    The strange thing was that the man didn't react, like he hadn't heard Joe. He didn't turn until he saw Chris look behind him, and even then it was only a glance.
     
    "You keep trying that trick, Detective. It won't work."
     
    Chris struggled to keep his voice calm. "Can't blame me for trying," he said.
     
    "Oh, but I can. I can," he replied, his grin wide and feral.
     
    Joe was puzzled. He'd been loud enough that there was no way he hadn't been heard. The man clearly had heard Chris, so he wasn't deaf. And while he hadn't looked directly at Joe, there wasn't any way he could have missed seeing him in the doorway. That just didn't make any sense.
     
    He worried that it might be a trick, some way of luring him closer so he could attack. That appealed, in its own way. Joe knew what was going on, and was in a position to react in a way that Toby wasn't. He'd been stabbed once, and while it hurt like hell, he knew he'd survive. Chris could use the distraction to get Toby safe. Joe started edging around to the man's right, the gun wobbling but never losing its target.
     
    "You won't make it out of here," Chris said, defiance in his voice. He was just as puzzled as Joe was, over his 'grandfather's' apparent blindness to Joe.
     
    "I think I will, grandson," he said. "I think I will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
     
    'Grandson?' Joe mouthed. Chris shrugged and started to stand.
     
    "No, I think I like you down there," the man snapped. Chris sat back down, his legs bent and to his right. It was an uncomfortable position, but the best he could manage. It there was an opening he'd be able to move fast enough to grab Toby. There was something wedged between him and the nightstand, something fuzzy. He pulled it out. Snuffles.
     
    Holding the bear seemed to push the fog away, letting Chris' head clear.
  21. TheZot

    Busted chapter 72

    By TheZot,

    [Only one or two parts to go. Racing to the end now]
     
    That sent a chill down Chris' spine and left a lump in his stomach. 'Hungry' was always bad with the violently insane. Not that he had a whole lot of experience with those. He was a detective in a small city police department. He had to deal with drugs and gangs and the occasional psychopath. As deep as he'd dived into the case, the state guys were right. He hadn't ever dealt with this stuff. Not that they had, but that was a problem for another day.
     
    What he did have was a connection with this guy, whether he wanted it or not. He also had a reputation as being big and not too smart. That was an image he and Steve had gone out of their way to cultivate, and most people were more than happy to accept. People were sloppy around stupid people. They made mistakes, and Chris needed this guy to make a mistake.
     
    If he didn't want food, what did he want? He was clearly insane. He'd killed seventeen people that they knew about, and probably had a trail of bodies left behind him in Arizona. Much as he hated to think about it, if this guy had preyed mainly on gang members and drug dealers, he wouldn't have been too high a priority to track down.
     
    The way he talked made it sound like he was looking for something exotic, or less tangible. Hernandez and his girlfriend had been killed normally enough. The hiker out in Woodstock had been in the woods for too long to tell if there was much special about her death. Mike's professor friend had been expertly gutted, and had part of his liver missing. The gang in Harford had their throats slit, though the palm reader that had been killed with them had been partly flayed and had her eyes removed. Chris shuddered to think what would've happened to Joe if he hadn't gotten free. What was likely to happen to him.
     
    There had been an element of ritual, of something supernatural, in all the murders but the first. That could mean a lot of things, none of them good. It chilled Chris' blood to think maybe something truly supernatural was involved. He shouldn't think it, it ought to be nonsense. But there was Alex. Alex changed everything, and maybe this was real.
     
    Flashes of horror movies ran through Chris' mind, and he regretted every single one he'd ever seen. They never ended well, and he feared this wouldn't, as the monster ate his soul, or something equally nasty. Which might well be what this
  22. TheZot

    Busted chapter 69

    By TheZot,

    It took Joe seven minutes to make the drive, and they were the longest seven minutes of his life. A half block away from Chris' house he threw his car in neutral, cut the engine, and coasted into Steve's driveway. It was probably pointless, but he didn't want any noise to give away his presence.
     
    There was a car in Chris' driveway, a blue Jetta he didn't recognize. It had New Mexico plates, and seemed vaguely familiar.
     
    Joe grabbed his keys and eased himself out of the car. He left the door open
  23. TheZot

    Busted chapter 68

    By TheZot,

    [This one's a bit more ragged than I'd like. The shouty bits don't hang together as well as I want 'em to. Damn this 'no sleep' thing anyway...]
     
    Joe was trying to bring himself to eat dinner when his cell rang. He'd picked up Chinese on the way back to the hotel, but his stomach just wasn't up to it. The food sat, cloyingly sweet sauces congealing as it cooled. The suite was filled with the smell of overcooked pineapple and garlic.
     
    The day had been pretty much a total loss
  24. TheZot

    Busted chapter 67

    By TheZot,

    [Mmmm, remorse!]
     
    Chris took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent the whole day Friday either on the phone or digging into police databases. He hadn't anything to show for it but a headache and some vague offers for people to call him back. It wasn't enough
  25. TheZot

    Busted chapter 33

    By TheZot,

    [Joe almost used the word 'execrable'. Correctly, too. But oh, boy, that man's got a temper. Things have gotten about as bad as they can reasonably get, so since this isn't a tragedy that must mean it's all up-hill from here!]
     
    Chris woke up with a headache so bad he wondered if he might be dead. Probably not, he decided after a few agonizing minutes. If he were dead it wouldn't hurt so bad.
     
    He felt like crap. Besides the pain in his head, he was pretty sure something had crawled into his mouth and died. There was a faint, lingering smell of mustard and vomit, and he felt grubby.
     
    His first attempt to get out of bed was a failure and left him lying on the ground in a pool of sunlight. That hurt almost as much as the light, and the twittering birds outside his window.
     
    The second attempt was better. He managed to get to his feet, though the floor was still less stable than he'd like.
     
    Staggering to the hall, he was hit with twin revelations: he was still a little drunk, and there was someone besides Toby in Toby's bed. The first scared him a little. He knew he'd had far too much to drink the day before. He didn't actually remember anything past about noon, and what he did remember was really fuzzy.
     
    The second scared him in an entirely different way. There was someone else in the house. In Toby's room. And he'd been so drunk he hadn't noticed.
     
    Chris shuffled into the room as quietly as he could. He was tempted to go back to his room and get his gun, but he didn't want to take the chance of waking whoever it was in the bed. He wasn't sure he could use it right either.
     
    Blinking to try and clear his eyes, he moved closer to the bed. He was only a few feet away before his addled brain finally figured out who it was.
     
    Joe.
     
    Chris wasn't sure whether to be happy it wasn't some sick burglar, or mad that Joe was in bed with his son, when he couldn't. Toby made a contented little sound in his sleep and snuggled into Joe. That made the decision.
     
    Angry won.
     
    Chris reached over and poked Joe in the shoulder. He would've hauled Joe out if Toby hadn't been wrapped around him. He almost did anyway.
     
    The poke was enough to wake Joe. It was still early, but the sun had been up for a while and there was some light coming through the bedroom windows. Toby was still sound asleep, dead to the world. So was Joe, more or less. The first few minutes after he woke were always fuzzy for him, as his brain tried to get used to reality again.
     
    He looked over to see who had poked him. Looming over him was a very hung over Chris.
     
    "Get out of his bed," Chris hissed. His breath was foul, and Joe winced.
     
    With Chris glowering at him, Joe carefully extricated himself from around Toby. It wasn't easy. Toby kept trying to hold on, but the boy was asleep and Joe was mostly awake. It took him a minute, but he got free.
     
    As soon as he got out of bed Chris grabbed his arm and hauled him out into the hall. Chris was leaning on him as much as dragging. It was clear he was still a little drunk.
     
    When they got to the hall, Chris turned on Joe.
     
    "What the f**K do you think you were doing?"
     
    Joe glared at Chris. He reached over and closed Toby's door. He was going to start shouting, he knew it, but he didn't want to wake Toby if he could help it.
     
    "You're still drunk." Joe said flatly.
     
    "What does that have to do
×
×
  • Create New...