TheZot

I'd considered having a scene right after this where Alex is gone and Joe can't find any buttons, but that didn't seem to be worth the space, since it'd only be driving home Alex's unreality (so there wouldn't actually be any buttons to find) and we've already established that for the reader. If this was all third-person from Joe's POV it might be worth it as a clue, but we've already skipped out of that. (And minor not for me for later -- need some more Chris/Steve scenes about the investigation, and Steve nudging Chris about Alex...)

[Writing things like this on the train is a really surreal experience. I think I won't do that again -- it's tough enough to get past the puritan mores and write it in the first place. Luckily for me I was wearing a heavy jacket... (And yes, Joe gets laid, so be warned. Or encouraged. Whatever)] Joe should have gone out to the club. He knew he ought to. He could dance. He could laugh. He could see Alex. And that was why he didn't. Guilt had gnawed at him ever since he'd left Steve Russell's house. Not because he'd kissed Chris Gagnon. That was a surprise to both of them, and he'd done it to prove a point. But because Chris had kissed back. And Joe had liked it. Maybe better than when Alex did. He hadn't stopped for any good reason. Not self-control, not fidelity, not anything. The only reason he hadn't thrown Chris down and f**ked him stupid was the shame of knowing exactly how close he'd come to cheating on Alex. That thought was enough to keep him home. Instead of dancing, he was on the couch. Alone. In sweats. Wrapped in a blanket. With hot cocoa. It didn't help that he was near-insanely horny. At least the guilt was keeping that under control. Joe snorted as he contemplated the cup he was holding. It was July, and he was curled up with a comforter. He'd even turned the air conditioning up some just so it would be chilly. It was pathetic, but that didn't get him off the couch. Instead he held his cup a little tighter, and sipped from it until it was empty. He probably should have gone out, or at least gotten up. Instead he set the cup on the end table, pulled the blanket up, and went to sleep. It was 9:30. He hadn't been to bed that early in years. Maybe he was just getting old. He'd make it up to Alex later. Joe was woken up by a soft caress on his cheek. He was having the most amazing dream. The details were vague, but there was something in it about whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and pineapples. And sex. Lots and lots of sex. He was even more aroused than when he'd fallen asleep. "Hey," said someone softly. Joe looked up, barely able to see. The face in front of his eyes blurred in and out a little, as he tried to engage his brain. Strong nose. Good cheekbones. Tan. Black eyes. Longish hair. "Alex?" He smiled. "Who else would it be?" "Alex," Joe said, waking up. "Right here," Alex said. He was grinning. "Alex," Joe growled. He was fully awake. Fully aroused. "You already said that," Alex said. Joe grabbed Alex and kissed him hard, with a rumbling at the back of his throat. He felt Alex start to respond, bringing his arms up. That wasn't what Joe wanted. He grabbed onto Alex and launched himself off the couch. He landed flat out on top of Alex, in the middle of the living room carpet. Alex laughed softly. Joe didn't. Joe leaned down, putting his nose in the crook of Alex's neck. He breathed in deeply, smelling Alex. He smelled clean and light, and faintly of cologne. It was enough. He lunged in, kissing wildly at the base of Alex's throat while his hands scrabbled at Alex's chest, trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. Three seconds were enough for frustration to hit. Joe grabbed the shirt and ripped it open. Buttons popped and flew everywhere. "You're all worked

The weird thing is that this really isn't the way I usually write. It's kind of interesting, though, and while the story's rougher I'm still happy with it. Knowing that it's so rough helps. There's all sorts of stuff in here that'd normally drive me nuts, but I can leave it go since the thing right now is to get to the end, then go back and fix things up properly.

[you know it's not going to be this easy. Be honest. You know that. This was originally chapter 15, but I needed a flashback, so it isn't] Toby's scream brought Chris to his feet. The boy was lying on the ground on the other side of the pool, holding his knee and crying. Chris crossed the distance in four strides, almost falling himself as he ran on the hot concrete patio blocks that ringed the pool. He was there in seconds, cradling Toby as he cried. "Sh, sh, it's okay. Papa's here, Toby." He hugged the crying boy to him, stroking his hair and trying to take the pain away. It didn't work, it never did, but that never stopped Chris from trying. When Toby's crying faded to sniffles Chris gave him one last hug. "What happened, Toby?" "I slipped, papa," Toby mumbled into Chris' shoulder. Chris sat down carefully, still cradling Toby. With his feet dangling in the water he looked Toby over. One knee was bleeding, the skin abraded away. "I see. Looks like you landed pretty hard there, sport." Toby nodded. His eyes were bright, tears leaking down his cheeks. Chris pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. "We're going to need to get it washed out and make sure there's nothing in it. Can you be a big boy for papa?" "I c'n," Toby said. "Good boy. Hold on tight, okay?" Chris' voice was soft and reassuring. He hated this part, hated doing anything that might cause his son pain. But it had to be done. "Squeeze if it hurts. That's all right." Chris reached to his right and grabbed one of the pool toys that were scattered. It was a plastic cup in the shape of a fish. Not too big, but big enough. He scooped up some of the pool water and poured it over the scrape. Toby squeezed hard as the chlorinated water washed over the cut. It stung, but he tried to be strong, like his Papa. Even still, he whimpered a little. Chris kissed him again. "You're doing really well, sport." He took a look at the cleaned out scrape. It wasn't anything big, just a few layers of skin missing and some blood. "Looks okay," Chris said. "I think you're gonna live." "Really?" "Yep," Chris replied. "But

Well, I think I'm gonna leave it as it is for now -- I kind of like the aspect it gives to the story. Doesn't mean there wasn't an Alex at some point, and I've got a few thoughts on Chris' background that're just swirling around a bit that could come into play later. Things may be complex enough as it is. Or, y'know, not. Nothing wrong with a bit of extra complexity...

[This is a flashback. It needs a good transition into it, but it doesn't have one right now] Nine year old Chris Gagnon huddled under his blanket. It was partly because even in Arizona, April nights were cold. It was partly because he was a little afraid of his dad, who was drunker than normal. But it was mostly because it was 9:30 and past his bedtime, and he still had eight pages of the newest Alpha Flight comic to read. It wasn't the really newest issue, but it was the newest one he could get. Gary Preston's older brother Mike was going to college in Phoenix and had brought all his comic books home when he'd come back for spring break. Chris thought Gary was an asshole. He had his brother's comics, and that was enough to make him popular. He'd bought three issues. Gary had charged him a buck each, which just reinforced how much of an asshole he was. They weren't even in order

I need to make it clear, since it's actually relevant. (or part of it is) While she left at some vague point in the past, divorce papers were served four months ago, which is when Toby's spells started, Alex and Joe started dating, and Chris started having his dreams. There was another murder, which I just realized I'd forgotten to mention, dammit!

Well, it's still worth keeping in mind when I go back to redo this. If I'm going to rework it and release it as a serial novel then some amount of awareness of how it's read is in order. (Or hell, maybe I'll get nuts and if the rewrite works out well go shop it around for real. What the hell, everyone needs a collection of rejection letters. )

Erm... I did put a spoiler notice in the entry title. Really I did! Anyway, 'sokay. I'm going to make it clear in a day or two anyway, so it's not too much spoilage.

Chris does know Alex isn't real, though generally nobody else can see him. At the time the story's started, Chris hadn't seen Alex in something like fifteen years, and he'd more or less convinced himself that Alex was just a 'regular' imaginary friend. (Putting aside entirely the fact that he'd kissed Bobby Hernandez in the fourth grade, but we'll get to that soon) Alex mostly knows he's not real, though he doesn't like to think about it either. He's kind of what Chris would like to be (more or less) and Chris doesn't have any desires towards nonexistance, so... It's tempting to rewrite things so that Chris and Alex are unaware of the situation so as to draw things out, but that doesn't really work for me in any way other than just being a Clever Author. That strikes me as a sign that I shouldn't do it, so I won't. Alex isn't going to be much help with the killer, but Joe will be, so that's fine. Joe's got his own problems with the supernatural, which we'll get into relatively soon too. Alas, I'm thinking I just killed off one of Joe's sibs (or sister-in-law), a nephew and a niece. Which kinda sucks for Joe, but it'll probably bring a bit more into the story. I think. (If not, it goes in the rewrite)

(Spoiler for busted -- beware!) Right, I've been poking at what's turned into a combination romance/supernatural thriller story. It's third person semi-omniscient, mostly but not exclusively following Joe through the story. There are four primary characters the story centers on: *) Joe (the protagonist, mostly) *) Alex (Joe's boyfriend) *) Chris, the detective who looks almost identical to Alex *) Steve, Chris' parner (that'd be work-type partner), best friend, and next door neighbor Alex is our big mystery. Joe meets Chris by accident on a traffic stop, thinks he's Alex, and goes from there. Some hijinks ensue, and you can go read the really rough draft on my blog to see where things go. The part I'm having trouble with is how much to reveal about Alex. Joe's dating him, and thinks he's Chris' twin. Steve's seen Joe with him, and thinks he's actually Chris pretending to be Alex Chris knows who Alex is, and is trying really, really hard to not think about it. In the background so far we've got someone going around and killing people with some contact with the supernatural in a gruesome and ritual way. Ewww and all that. Joe's the next target. Now, the real answer to the mystery of Alex is that he's actually Chris' imaginary friend, all grown up. The men in Chris' family have all had issues with the supernatural in one form or another -- it drove his father to drink heavily and ultimately kill both his parents in a nasty fire. (Important safety tip -- never throw mostly full bottles of vodka at lit gas stoves) Dad's heavy drinking and local predjudice (he's part native americana) are some of the reasons Chris retreated to having an imaginary friend in the first place. He's all the stuff that Chris can't face up to in one form or another (He's comfortably gay, happy, outgoing, actively affectionate, and kinda needy) projected out. When Alex actually manifests for real he needs to draw strength from somewhere. It usually wipes Chris out, but when Chris is drinking that can't happen -- this time around Alex ends up drawing on Toby, Chris' four year old son, and to some extent from places that something really horrible has happened. His fake apartment's at the scene of another really grisly murder that happened a few months before the story starts, and Toby really does have monsters under his bed. But that's not revealed for quite a while. Alex shows up as an actual character, other people see him and all that, just none of the leads see him and Chris at the same time. The question is... how long should I keep the reader in the dark about this? Joe finds out about two thirds of the way through the story, but I don't know how long I should draw it out for the reader. I want the suspense, but I'm not sure I want this thing to seem coy, since that's just annoying. I can see handing off the driving secret in the story from the "who's Alex" to "who's trying to kill Joe" which works out OK -- we trade one mystery for another, but I don't know for sure that'll work. Heck, maybe I ought to set it up with the rewrite so that the killer's the primary secret and the thing with Alex is the secret driving Chris and Joe to get together, so it can legitimately live only halfway through the book. Their romance and Joe's peril can drive the rest. So... opinions? Please? I'm getting to the point where I need to make a decision, I think.

Okay, I'm going to have to make some notes to make sure I fix this in the next draft. Chris was referring to the spell Toby had a few chapters ago. He's being way too oblique -- I think I'm going to have to add in some flashbacks to what life was like for Chris back when he was young, which should help explain things.

[Mmm, suspense! I think. I've been practicing some new things with all this. Short sentences. Characters thoughts. cliffhangers! All sorts of things. It's been interesting] Joe's head whipped around. Standing at the corner of the house was the last person he expected to see. "Alex?" Joe asked. A little thrill went down his spine, right to his crotch. It was a good thing he'd worn the speedos after all. They were snug enough to keep any reactions

Ah, what's to be terrifed about? Sure, I don't necesarily know which way this is going, but the nice thing is that it doesn't really matter, not right now. This is mostly setup, probably the first third or so of a novel. It needs to be clear that something is going on, and it needs to be internally consistent, but that's it. Unfortunately I think poor Joe got tagged to be he Heroine In Danger. I expect he's going to be pissed. (And the urge to have Steve make "you're in deep shit" jokes at Joe and Chris' expense is going to be tough to fight off...)

Y'know, I hadn't even considered the fact that Alex could've been killed in the past and the killer was stalking people in the present. I actually kinda like that, possibly better than the idea I have on what's up with Chris and Alex. Hrm....

I'm glad you liked it. I was going for hopelessly romantic without hitting sappy. I managed, I think, and I'm happy with the results. Maybe I ought to do that more often -- people seem to like it, and I do too.

Right, I think I've figured out what's going on. (Well, mostly. There are some details still to be worked out, like who dunnit and what exactly they did, but those are minor things) This is one part romance and one part supernatural thriller. The rewrite's got some challenges to it. I've never done suspense before, so I'm not entirely sure how the pacing should go. I think I'm going to stick with the lead-in I have, but I've got some foreshadowing that really needs to be added.

Heh. I'm trying to decide whether Mike's actually the serial killer or not. (I think there is one, at this point) I'm also trying to decide whether the girl Joe found a few chapters ago is actually his niece or not. (There's some dialog in the next chapter that ties in that may make that a possibility) I'm thinking this is going to end up half and half romance and suspense. Somewhere in there I think I'm gonna have to use the line "There aren't any monsters hiding in the shadows, Joe. The people have scared them all away." I can see either Steve or Chris saying that. (I can't imagine being a police detective in a large city or with the state police (I'm not sure which) would leave one with too many illusions about the depths to which people won't sink...)

[i'm not sure if this is filler, setup (since it's only ~1200 words), or an introduction of more characters. But at least we learn something important -- Steve drinks domestic beer. (oh, the horror. The horror! )] Joe pulled into the driveway of Steve's house at five minutes to two. The house was like all the others on the block. It was a neighborhood of older houses, middle class since the time they were built a century or more ago. They were all two-story buildings, old enough to have porches and dormer windows. A little wear around the edges, but solid and comfortable. Some of them, Joe was sure, had seen five or six generations of their residents. There were even people out on the streets, little kids and adults and senior citizens. It was comfortable and solid and anchored. Joe smiled, relaxed despite himself. It was a beautiful summer day, sunny, bright, and just hot enough to feel like summer without beating you down. He'd come prepared, with two six packs of a good German beer and a beach towel stuffed into his gym bag. He was wearing a snug sleeveless lemon yellow t-shirt, a pair of black nylon swim shorts, and sandals. He wasn't sure why, but he wore his Speedos under the shorts. There was another car in the driveway, an ancient VW Rabbit. It was green, though you'd be hard-pressed to see much paint. It was covered in more bumper stickers than he'd ever seen. Joe looked at them, amused. There was a good chance the owner was Wiccan, likely left wing, and definitely fond of stickers. Joe doubted it was Steve's. He walked up to the front door and hesitated. This seemed like a good idea in the morning when he'd gotten up. Steve had been pretty clear the day before. For the tenth time he wondered why the man had asked him over. The invitation had been sincere. After what they been through together the day before, Joe felt like they had a sort of connection. That wasn't the reason, though. Still, he had been invited, and he was there, so it was too late to back out now. He rang the bell. Moments later came the sound of running feet, then the front door was flung open by a boy who looked startlingly like Steve in miniature. "Hello?" Joe smiled. "Hi, I'm Joe. Your dad's expecting me." He got an appraising look. The boy opened the door. "Daaaaaaad! Mister Hennesy's here!" Joe winced. The kid may have been small, but he had a voice that was probably heard at the other end of the neighborhood. Joe stepped into the house. "Dad's out back," he said. "Thanks," Joe said. He followed the boy through the living room and kitchen, then out the back door. Behind the house was a wooden deck, and past that an inground pool. A girl and young boy were in the pool, the boy wearing bright green inflatable water wings. There were a few lounge chair scattered around the pool, white tubing with floral cushions on them. There was a woman in a one-piece bathing suit lying on one of them. She was watching the kids, but gave a look in Joe's direction as he stepped on the deck. The deck had a long wooden picnic table on it, a few chairs, and a gas grill with a blue cooler next to it. Steve was at the grill, and a man and a woman were sitting at the table. The sound of sizzling and the smell of cooking meat hit Joe. "Oh, please," said the man at the table. "I can't understand why you don't believe. Clearly there are things beyond what can be seen with the mortal eye. You're a detective, surely you've found things you can't explain." "Usually when I explain 'em, I get to lock 'em up after," Steve replied. "Oh, hey, Joe," Steve said as he noticed Joe. "Joe, this is my crazy brother-in-law Mike," Steve said, waving a spatula in the general direction of the man he'd been speaking with. Mike smiled and flipped Steve off. "And that's his lovely, but equally crazy wife Linda. Whatever you do," Steve whispered conspiratorially, "don't mention Roswell. Or Ho Hos." Joe was taken aback. "Um, okay. Are twinkies fit for conversation?" "Absolutely." "Pay no attention to my excessively skeptical brother-in-law," Mike said. "He wouldn't recognize a real mystery if one jumped out and bit him in the ass." "Yeah, right, Shaggy," Steve retorted. "Want a Scooby snack with your burger?" Mike leaned back with a smile and casually flipped Steve off. "Beer?" Joe asked, waving the bottles. "In the cooler with the rest of 'em," Steve said. Joe popped open the cooler and put the bottles of beer into it. There were already a dozen cans of Budweiser in it

Nah, I actually meant it in that order. Second draft isn't finished -- it's the step before finished. (And the first draft, which this pretty much is, is going to go to the end, no question)

[This should've been chapter six or thereabouts -- right before Steve visits Joe at work. Ah, well, something for the rewrite] Friday morning Chris Gagnon woke up feeling like he'd been run over by a truck. He was tired and achy and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died. He wasn't too surprised, he'd had beer last night. A lot of beer. He rolled out of bed, holding his throbbing head. The worst part of it was the dream. They'd stopped when he was eleven. After the fire, when he'd left Arizona. They came back again when he was in high school. It used to be that drinking made the dreams stop. Alcohol deadened his brain, kept the visions away. Kept Alex away. And they'd stayed away, since college. He'd thought they were gone for good. They'd started again, four months ago. This time everything had been a little fuzzy, like real dreams. He thought they were real dreams. He'd hoped they'd been real dreams. Not last night. He couldn't remember too much, but he remembered dancing, and sex, and Joe. He groaned a little as he thought of Joe. Until the traffic stop, the man in his dreams had been vague and faceless, almost generic. Now there was a face to go with the body. The face that had been there for months. He just hadn't wanted to accept its existence. Faceless was a dream. Faceless wasn't real. Chris stood. He was shaky, feeling weak as well as hung over. His t-shirt felt grubby and stuck to his body. His boxers were riding up. When he shifted them he felt an uncomfortable tug in his pubes. He'd had a wet dream. He was thirty two, and he had a wet dream. About Joe Hennesy. He stripped angrily, tossing his dirty clothes onto the heap by the closet door. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on. It was hot and pounding, just what he needed to feel better, to wash the night away. Chris was toweling himself off, feeling a little better after his shower, when he saw Toby standing in the doorway. Just seeing Toby made Chris's morning better. He'd had four years of hell with Megan, four years of constant abuse and nagging, and even then, no matter how badly he felt, just holding his son made everything good. She was gone, but Toby was there, his little man. He was a slight boy, his brown hair straight and shaggy, hanging over eyes as dark as his father's. He had his father's beak of a nose, his coloring somewhere between Chris' easy tan and Megan's fair skin. He was adorable, standing there in his Scooby-Doo pajamas. He held a red gingham rabbit and was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Papa? I don't feel so good." Chris was over in a heartbeat, on one knee in front of Toby. He did look uncommonly pale, and as wobbly as Chris still felt. He felt Toby's forehead, but the boy wasn't hot. "What's wrong, sport?" "Feel weak," Toby mumbled. "Your tummy hurt? Anything achy?" Toby shook his head no. Chris gathered him into a hug. He was worried, very worried. Toby had been feeling like this on and off for the past four months. They'd been to the doctor's, more than Chris wanted to think, but despite all the tests nobody had found anything wrong. "Do you need to see the doctor, Toby?" The boy shook his head, more vigorously this time. "Okay. Why don't you get dressed, then we'll get some breakfast and take you over to Aunt Mary and Uncle Steve's for the day." "Pop tarts?" Chris smiled. "Sure, Toby. And a big glass of orange juice, Okay?" "'kay, papa." Chris held the smile until Toby had turned into his room. When the boy was out of sight he slumped to the ground, holding his head in his hands. The dreams and the hangover were forgotten. There was something wrong with his son, and he was scared to death that Toby was going to die.

Well, he'll be happy eventually. It may just take a while for him to get there... As for the murders, I'm still not sure. Nor am I sure who the victims were. (I have a nagging idea, but it's kinda nasty to the characters. Something for a note in one of the later chapters ) This is actually kinda interesting -- this is more or less what I do when I write stuff, but I make more plans and would have rewritten the earlier chapters alreadt. I actually like it, in a way. With the understanding that it's going to change when I do a second draft (and at this point I'm pretty sure I am going to do a second draft, and then finish this) I'm OK with it being a little wobbly. I know a lot can get fixed properly once the end's been gotten to at least once.

[insert witty and self-deprecating comment here] Joe was still getting the blood off his hands when Steve pulled up in front of his apartment. He'd been trying to get it off since they left and it was still there, under his nails and between the ridges of his fingers. "Gah, this stuff gets everywhere," Joe said as he pitched the wipe, now a light pink, into the trash bag to join the two dozen others he'd used. "Yeah, it can be pretty bad," Steve said. "Listen, it was a little late to say anything, but next time

Apparently I am -- I just counted, and I'm at eleven thousand words as of the end of chapter 12. Not too bad for less than two weeks of spare-time writing. The story's still kind of mushy, which isn't much of a surprise as it's very much a first draft. I still need to find out if it's a murder mystery with some romance, or a romance with a murder mystery in the background. Maybe that'll be clear soon.

[Hey, Joe's good with kids. Go figure. Can't tell if this is the start or the end of a sub-plot...] Joe put his best comforting face on, and tried to project as much reassurance as he could. He didn't have much experience with kids, but in his years in HR he'd had to deal with hysterical employees, psychotic episodes, stalking ex-husbands, and once helped deliver a baby. He hoped he could handle this. "Hey there," he said quietly. The girl shrank back as far as she could, trapped between the building, the trunk of the rhododendron bush, and Joe. He saw her shivering. Her fear was palpable. "My name's Joe. What's your name?" The girl just looked at him mutely. "Are you hurt? I think I have some