TheZot

[Yeah, I've got through chapter 5 done, if you can call these mini-things 'chapters'. This is me working through writer's block, so I make no promises as to anything ] "What am I here for?" Joe demanded as Gagnon dragged him into an interrogation room. "Am I under arrest? Do I get a lawyer? This your idea of a joke?" "Sit," thundered the detective. "Great," grumbled Joe. "I'm getting locked up for giving bad head." He got a glare for that. "Everything said in here is recorded, so I suggest you watch what you say." "Then what am I here for?" Joe snapped. "Suspected driving under the influence," replied Gagnon. "Influence of what?" Joe demanded. "You know I don't do drugs. And there wasn't anything stronger than champagne at that premiere, and it was hours ago." "I know nothing of the sort," Gagnon said. "And I don't know you. You're potentially in a lot of trouble Mister Hennesy. Driving under the influence, assaulting a police officer, threatening an officer." "What do you mean you don't know? Dammit, Alex, this has gone way past far enough. We had this talk months ago. I don't do drugs!" "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Just before you f**ked me for the first time. Bastard! I think it's your last time, Alex," Joe shouted. "I don't know you, and my name is. Not. ALEX!" Gagnon shouted back. "Don't give me that," snapped Joe. "You're Alex f**king Gagnon! We've been dating for almost four months. I've left clothes at your goddamn apartment, you've got three moles in a straight line on your ass," Joe shouted. By now the two were standing inches apart. "Your dick's uncut and bends a little to the right, you don't like peppermint, and sometimes you sleep with a beat-up brown teddy bear named Snuffles!" When Joe said that Gagnon went pale and sat down hard. Joe stopped abruptly. Furious or not, Gagnon's change of demeanor took him off guard and had him a little worried. The door to the interrogation room opened, and another man came in. He was dressed more casually, in jeans and a button-up white shirt, but his body language still screamed 'cop'. "Detective Russell," Gagnon said, his voice a little weak. "Chris, can I talk to you a minute?" he asked. "Don't go anywhere," Gagnon said to Joe, as he got up. "f**K you," Joe spat back. When the door to the room had closed behind them, Steve Russell turned on his partner "What the f**K kind of game are you playing, Chris? They're gonna have your ass for this!" "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. "Listen, I don't give a damn who you want to screw, but playing f**king mind games with your boyfriend at the station's going to get you tossed off the force!" "He's not my goddamn

I kinda like "Busted", but I'm gonna hold off deciding for a while. (The thing's mis-titled anyway -- while I am desperately in need of a title I wasn't explicitly trolling for one, it was a badly done joke for a label. Having said that, I think you guys'll come up with something better than I will) I'm pretty sure I know what kind of a story this is going to be, but I'm gonna hold off on saying what until it hits the point of no return. And once it's clear. No need to spoil anyone's fun, least of all mine.

[More brain dump. Again, still rough, and while I'm looking for a title I figure I ought to know what's going on first. I'm only to part five and I'm not entirely sure yet] The cruiser was quiet for the ride to the police station. Detective Gagnon drove in silence after briefly radioing in, while Joe sat in the back of the car and fumed. He was pissed, and rightly so. His boyfriend had pulled him over and roughed him up. On top of that he'd not even acknowledged his existence. What annoyed him even more is that Alex had never let on that he was a cop. They'd met at one of the local gay bars almost four months ago, and had instantly clicked. They went from meeting at the bar to dating to spending whole weekends together in three weeks. They'd even spent a weekend not long ago camping in New Hampshire. And yet, here he was. In the back of his boyfriend's police cruiser. Apparently under arrest or something, though he'd not actually said. "He is so not getting any," Joe muttered to himself. He shifted around trying to get comfortable, but it was almost impossible with his arms handcuffed behind him. The handcuffs were cold and uncomfortable, and a sign that something was very wrong. Still, Joe mused, it was kind of exciting. And while Alex may have stopped the kiss he had definitely participated. And liked it, if the lump Joe had felt start swelling was any indication. They pulled into the police station, into some underground garage. Detective Gagnon opened the door before Joe could shift around, and he nearly fell out of the car. "Out," Alex said. "Sorry you fell, Joe," Joe said, his voice laden with sarcasm. "Here, let me help you up," he continued as he shifted around and got out of the car. Alex just glared at him. "Fine. I've got it," Joe said. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath. "Blue door," Alex said, indicating the heavy metal door at the far end of the garage. Joe stood up straight and marched to the door. He didn't know what was going on, but there was no way he was going to give Alex the satisfaction of seeing him at a disadvantage. Well, at more of a disadvantage than being handcuffed and in the basement of a police station, at least. Joe stopped when they got to the door. "Now what?" Alex flipped a switch on a panel on the wall next to him. There was a tinny buzz. "Detective Gagnon," Alex said. "I have a suspect. Buzz me in." "Detective?" Joe was incredulous. There was a loud click and an accompanying buzz as the door swung in. Alex pushed Joe in the small of the back and he stumbled forward, his balance off with his hands behind his back. The door opened into a brightly lit corridor, its cinderblock walls painted a light grey. At the end was a small room. There was an industrial strength desk with a battered chair in front of it. Behind the desk was a row of monitors showing grainy black and white images from security cameras scattered around the building. Joe stalked forward, absolutely furious. He stood in front of the desk and turned, glaring at Alex. "So when do these come off?" he spat. Alex didn't say anything, just walked around behind Joe and undid the cuffs. "Sit," he said. "Empty your pockets." Joe did, glaring the whole time. Wallet, keys, pen, change, spare condom, they all went onto the desk. "Watch, cufflinks, tie, and belt." "Jesus," Joe grumbled. "You want my underwear too?" He dropped the requested items onto the desk. Alex pulled out a large manila envelope and swept the things into it. He handed a receipt to Joe. "What, not worried I'm going to paper-cut myself to death?" Alex moved to take back the receipt, but Joe snatched it from his hands and stuffed it in his pocket. "Fingerprints," Alex said, opening up a stamp pad and grabbing Joe's wrist. The printing was rough as he mashed his fingers on the form. "Can I get something to wipe this crap off with?" "You have pants," Alex said, before he unceremoniously shoved Joe into the holding pen. "God damn you, Alex Gagnon! When I get out of here you are so f**king not getting any!" Joe yelled at the closed door. Then he kicked it, but it only bruised his foot. "No good, lousy, good for nothing, son of a bitch boyfriend," Joe grumbled as he turned and started to pace, limping just a little. The room he was in was maybe ten feet by five, with a low bench running along one wall. It was cinderblock like the rest of the building, the walls having enough grey paint on them to almost hide the seams between the blocks. "Hey man," came a cheerful but slightly slurred voice. "Bad date?" The other man in the room looked Joe over. He was in jeans and a ratty t-shirt, with a flannel shirt unbuttoned. Joe was still in his dress suit, though rumpled and damp from the rain. "Date. Hah! The bastard f**king pulled me over for speeding, then arrested me. And now he's pretending he doesn't even know who I am." The man nodded. "Cops," he said, as if the word summed it all up. Joe slumped down onto the bench. "Bastards," he said, agreeing. They sat in a companionable silence.

[This thing is dribbling out of my brain so, lucky everyone, you get to see it raw and unedited and un-rewritten, and barely written in the first place. But at least it's out!] Joe knew it was going to be a bad night when he saw the flashing lights in his rear-view mirror. Besides going way too fast, it was raining and he was driving a sporty little silver coupe, either of which was guaranteed to piss off any cop that pulled him over. The big rainbow squiggle decal on the bumper probably wasn't going to help. He pulled over as soon as he could, the car vibrating as he drove over the rumble strip. It was a grassy turn in the highway and the breakdown lane was wide so he pulled over as far as he could. He might be in trouble, but having the cop on edge because cars were buzzing by six inches past his ass couldn't do anything but make it worse. Joe turned off the car, flipped on his flashers, and opened his window, then leaned over to rummage for his registration and insurance cards. The rain pattered lightly on the windshield and the open window seemed to suck all the sound out of the car, leaving it oddly silent. Nervous and embarrassed at being caught doing something wrong, he managed to dump the contents of the glove box all over the floor. He hadn't heard the quiet sounds of gravel crunching under boots. "Sir, please put your hands where I can see them," came a deep voice from the other side of the window. Joe jumped hard enough to bruise his legs on the seatbelt. He looked around wildly, breathing heavily at the shock. "Oh, god, sorry officer, I was just looking for

Sometimes you realize that the world is just sort of bizarre if you look at it right. For example: The train I take into work in the morning carries more people on it in one go than the entire population of a town I lived next to. It's the 7th of January, and my son and I went into New York City today to see the cherry trees, which were in full bloom in the Brooklyn Botannical Gardens. We were both wearing t-shirts, and it was really too damn hot. Somewhere in Wales there's a guy who can say he plays electric guitar for a classical orchestra. There was a Japanese film crew at the gardens doing some what I can only presume were news show spots, and yeah I'm watching the Doctor Who music special right now. Still, that's not the point. This is important, at least to me, because I'm writing more sword and sorcery fantasy stuff. And let's be honest, the traditional version of it's been done to death -- it's possible that every "two guys with swords" story that's been told in the past fifty years is just a pale echo of Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser. And still... I'm writing them. Partly because I like 'em, and partly because my son read the first one I wrote and wants more. (Which is a hell of an encouragement to write) I don't even mind covering well-tread paths, since he's not read all the stuff that this could reasonably be considered derivative of. I could, I suppose, go all post-modern but, like Astro City, that'd require the background he doesn't have to really work well. This does leave me in an odd position, because while I want him to like them, I have to like them too, and I have to write them well. (Or at least as well as I can manage) I'm not feeling too up for writing complete retreads, though. That's where the perspective thing comes in. If the stories themselves are the same old thing, how can I look at them differently? What exactly about my characters lets me show something in the stories that nobody I know of has shown, or at least shown in the way I see it? What can they bring to the plots that's fresh, or different? Having the heroes be lovers as well as partners does put a slightly different spin on things, though one I can't use all that much. 'Cause, let's be real, he's 11 and it's going to be a long time (if ever!) until he reads In The Lair of the Serpent Queen. (You know the one -- what happens when the guy who falls into the archetypical Vallejo or Rowena painting (where the villainess is barely wearing something diaphanous that's only keeping her decent for cover art through sheer luck and a lot of double-sided sticky tape...) isn't directly affected by the evil queen's eldrich sex appeal because he wants to go boink his studly partner instead) So, using some of the relatively direct parts of their relationship is out. So I get to think instead. How would I look at the stories I loved as a kid? How would I tell them, what would the characters I've created (or discovered, for some of them) do in those situations, and how would it all turn out. What does perspective bring to things? I'm not sure I know the answer, really. But I'm pretty sure asking the question is important.

Just to add an alternate opinion -- I saw it with my son Friday night. He's 11, loved the book. Hated the movie. Not because it didn't follow the book (apparently it didn't, but I've not read it so I couldn't say) but because he thought it was a lousy movie. I, on the other hand, didn't think it was that bad. There are worse movies. Manos, Hand of Fate, for example. And like so many other fantasies (Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, for example) it's part of a series. A trilogy, in this case, the final movie finishing off what started with Dungeons and Dragons, then continued with League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Not totally horrible, certainly worth keeping in mind when you're looking to rent a movie and they're out of better stuff. Gotta watch something, and if they don't have Zardoz or Plan 9 From Outer Space in, this'll work as a not-too-disappointing standby...

Well, OK, I can see that. (Though I've gotta admit, I can't picture hello kitty being any sort of turnon for adolescent boys, no matter how horny they might be) I'm not sure it's any less disturbing, though...

Y'know, there's something about kids that mean you get introduced to all sorts of things that you never would've been introduced to before. Like, for example, Rainbow Hello Kitty thong underwear. No, I don't joke. I don't think I could make that up if I tried. I'm thankful it was just in adult sizes, for women. I think.

Heh. Settling down for a long winter's nap? Luckily nothing lasts forever. A story I'd been kind of poking at came together on the train tonight, and I think it's going to be much better for having sat and percolated. Woo!

And I don't really like it. Soulmate's done and out, and the first draft of Dirty Basement's off for reading, and now, two stories down in a couple of weeks and... I find I can't write. Not that I don't have things to write (yeah, yeah, I know, poor Rob's been stuck in an airport lounge for months, I have a new novel that's been brewing for a while, Ben and Wiliam would really like their origin story told, and they're also facing zombies. And caught in the middle of a murder mystery) but it's just not flowing right. I get a few words done here or there, or some outlining done, but that's about it. I hope this clears soon. I have things to work on, dammit!

Okay, not you personally (not that there isn't something horribly wrong with you or anything) but your characters. I've been thinking about that lately, as I've been doodling out the outlines for a new novel with new characters, and poking at existing characters in new stories. What's wrong with them? It may seem like a strange thing to wonder about, but I was reminded by ABG (Author of the most excellent, though not done, Torch Song) that a character's flaws are at least as interesting and certainly as important as their finer qualities. What are their problems, their issues, their demons, what things wake them up in the middle of the night screaming? What, basically, are the bad things driving them forward? Just about everyone's got something wrong with them, something less than good that affects them, gives them that mental limp or that little twitch in some circumstances. It's part of being human, I think, and if you want your characters to be human they have to have troubles too. I don't mean troubling circumstances -- those are external, and they can certainly make a story interesting, but actual troubles, which make the characters interesting and more real. For a short story this probably isn't a big deal. If you've got two or three thousand words you're likely concentrating on a few scenes and a small part of the characters behaviour, but in longer works (novellas, novels, and series) you've got time for the characters to express themselves. If they don't you end up with them feeling... plastic, and sort of a cariacature of real people, when you really do want them to be real people. And real people have problems. So, what're yours?

Ah, C, the language I love to hate, as I write more code in it than any other language. (Granted, mostly in support for languages that aren't C) At this point I'm ambivalent. On the one hand I think more programmers should know it because it gives a lot of low-level power that you don't have in most other languages that're in vogue today. (Forth's good for that too) On the other, an awful lot of the programmers I know who program in it ought not to, since they'd do a lot less damage in most other languages. It's a pity the Lisp guys, lo those many years ago, dove straight down to the depths of elegant, unreadable consistency. Had the syntax and presentation not sucked so very hard the computing world would likely have been a much, much better place. Continuations, tail calls, first class functions, closures, working garbage collection... the list of stuff that slowly comes to the surface thirty years after it was first done in Lisp is kind of depressing, really. Pretty much all of it basically insanely difficult to do in C, and damn tough to implement in C for other languages. 'Course, it may well have been that the general state of the art wasn't up for run of the mill programmers to handle stuff like that, so it wouldn't have mattered. Still, I can but hope for the death of C. (But just for other people, you understand )

I have got to learn to not leave cookies and saucers of milk out; whenever I do that I always wake up with a head full of ideas and not nearly enough time to do anything with them. It's even a werewolf story this time, which is really out of character for me, as I loathe most werewolf stories. (Night Howls excepted, which you should go out and read. Right now. It's OK, I'll wait) And most vampire stories. I'm not sure whether I'm going to hate this one, but I am going to write it. Should be interesting. The weird thing is that part of the inspiration for this has been Carniv

Heh. Nah, I don't think I've gotta make an offering to hang around. The two just coincide -- if I've got time and the inclination to hang around here, it means time and inclination to write, too. (Which feels really good to do, even if it does drive me nuts sometimes)

Yep, after altogether too long, I'm back. Woohoo! Or, y'know, something like that. Anyway, time now presents itself, at least a little, which is cool. And in bits and pieces on the train, but still... one takes what one can get. And yes, this does mean I've finished a first draft. Just need to get it properly savaged edited and it may well be good to go. It's kind of weird, but just having something done, even in draft, is kind of nice.

Ah, an ever so swell question. First off, it's important to note that sexual behavior is, in general terms, genetically encoded, like a number of other very primitive behaviours. The wiring for it is built into your genes. (This is true of all species, and for a number of different behaviors) You have, encoded way down deep in your DNA, the genes necessary to build the brain structures that make you go ping for the member of the appropriate sex. More importantly, you've got the genes to go ping for both sexes. This should be clear with very little thought -- guys, certainly, have all the genes that women have. The same can't be said for women, who generally don't have the genes expressed on the Y chromosome. On the other hand, the Y chromosome is relatively fragile, and quite small, so the odds of any behaviours being encoded on it are quite small. That means everyone could have developed the brain bits that makes women attractive, as well as the brain bits that make men attractive. The question really is "why did those particular bits express?" Currently the answer is a shrug and an "I dunno". Odds are it's potentially hormonal. And potentially environmental. And potentially genetic. And potentially thermal. (Yes, there are species where temperature affects the expression of genes) And potentially just random. It's a complex of behaviours after all, not just one. "Preventing" homosexuality and bisexuality just isn't going to happen. Like many things, there are just too many different ways it's likely to be expressed and, fundies and other nutjobs aside, it's just not worth bothering doing anything about. -Dan

And a much-belated thanks, guys. I've been away altogether too long, and I think it's about time I come back -- the word processor's been getting kinda cranky and needs a little attention. -Dan

Real Life's been kind of kicking my ass lately, and I've not been getting nearly the sort of writing done that I'd like. The rewrite of the last two chapters of Yankee, any of Carpe Diem (though at least I've got the background research I need done for that one), Wild Life, What Lies Beneath, any of the little interstitials with Justin and Rob... all just sitting there. Not that I've been un-busy -- it's been an eventful month, what with having my dog euthanized, the separation, landing a potential new job (awaiting paperwork) and looking for a potential new apartment (awaiting the aforementioned paperwork before leases are found and signed and all). Plus the current job's kicked into high gear as I make sure things are in a good state for me leaving, and there's the time and effort being spent to make time to spend with the kids and work on some sort of reconcilliation. Fun is. I'm not sure it's necessarily a good thing when the soundtrack to Mirrormask seems really appropriate. But it does, and most of it's been on repeat on the iPod for the past week or two making life all that much more surreal. Anyway (and yeah, it does feel good to just write, even if it is only a rambling blog entry) I've been managing to grab bits of time here and there to throw a couple hundred words at one particular story, Dirty Basement, that Ben and William have been in the middle of for a while. And as I've been working on that I've been finding one of those interesting little things that occasionally you run across when you're writing something that's not entirely standalone -- Important Side Things. You know these, or you've probably seen 'em in series fiction. They're people, places, or events that are Important, and will probably show up later on. They're not really foreshadowing, as such, since there's no real guarantee they'll mean anything, but... you just get that feeling they're more than just the standard setting stuff. I'm not talking here about things that you design in to be important or a regular occurrence. Those are different. Yeah, I've some threads running through all the Ben and William stories; some running jokes, common themes, an ongoing background plot, and places that they either refer to or go to regularly. Those are normal, and as a writer you think about them ahead of time and put them in where you need them for whatever need they satisfy. (Long standing enemies, home bases, allies, or whatever) What I am talking about are those things that you write in as the story progresses because they have an immediate and non-recurring function but as you write 'em in for some reason they don't turn out to be as ephemeral as you thought and instead actually have a life of their own. You don't mean for them to be much but as soon as the words hit the page, or your brain turns over the scene enough to nail that part of the plot, something is oddly... solid about that thing or person or place or event. As a for instance, in Dirty Basement there's an obligatory rescue scene (hey, it's adventure fiction!) and one of the people they rescue's a boy, maybe eight or ten. He wasn't supposed to be anything but window dressing, someone for the heroes to rescue and never show up again. But... he isn't. The kid muscled into the rest of the scene, and now instead of just some semi-random kid I've got a 10 year old who's hero-worshipping Ben, dislikes William a lot, and has enough solidity to him that he's bound to show up again. I have no idea why, or how, or even if, but he's got that feeling. His wife and sister are still shades, as is his father, though Dad at least will probably show up later, but this kid just... exists. Strange. Especially since the only reason the kid, and the whole rescue scene, is in the story is because I needed Ben knighted for something that takes place a year later. It was all supposed to be mostly throwaway. Go figure. Ah, well, three thousand words down, probably another four or five to go, and at least this thing will be done. Then it's off to the editors and other things. Woohoo!

Works fine for me, in both Camino and Safari under OS X. I'd make sure you've got a recent version of both firefox and java installed, though it's tough to say exactly what else you might need to do without knowing more about your system. There's no access to the chat except via the java chat client, for enough good reasons that I'll forestall the inevitable thread direction and say "Just don't go there".

Weddings are weddings, no matter what else is involved. Face it, guys, your mothers are involved, and any control you think you might have over the proceedings is entirely illusory.

Bah. Characters are a pain. I should be working on the rewrite of the last two chapters of Yankee, or on its sequel, or on Wild Life, or even (gasp!) actual Real Work. Instead... instead I'm cleaning out someone's basement. Metaphorically, at least. At least this thing should be shortish, probably about as long as Firegrass was. To tease, here's a bit of the beginning of this untitled thing: Untitled Story "William," Ben said, his voice thick with accusation. "What did you do?" "I didn't do anything," William protested. "Its just that there's a pocket dimension in our basement." "Really," Ben said. "Yes," William replied, nodding hard. "Where, exactly, was this pocket dimension?" William started to fidget uncomfortably. "You know that back corner where the stone in the walls was discolored, the one you didn't like so you put extra wards over it and moved the traveling trunk on top of it for safe keeping?" Ben just nodded. "Well," William said brightly, "you need a new trunk."

Yeah, my first real cliffhanger ever! I'm so proud... Like everyone else, I'm curious to see how it all ends up. And I'm curious to see how the next suckerauthor continues things. (As long as it's not me -- I have no idea how the heck to continue on from where I left it)

I got tapped to write a chapter of Collision, the round-robin murder mystery thing that a bunch of authors are working on. Chapter 14, "Running to Stand Still", is up on AwesomeDude, DeweyWriter, and CRVBOY. Enjoy. (Amusingly, there's been exactly one piece of mail about it so far, asking when chapter 15's coming out, and that showed up about an hour after chapter 14 went live...)

I'm not entirely sure which is the worse thing, the fact that iTunes has an unnatural fondness for the KMFDM in my music library, or that I find it fits my mood. One or the other's probably worrisome. At least it's interspersing Evanescence occasionally, just for a change of pace.

Yesterday was, on the whole, a crap day. Which was kind of strange, because it was also weirdly productive. The crap part was entirely personal, as we took my dog to the vets and had her euthanized last night. This wasn't something that was unexpected -- she was 16 and had a slowly progressing neurodegenerative problem that was destroying the myelin sheathing around her nerves, and over the weekend we hit the point where she had no control in her hind end and only spotty bladder and bowel control. She was happy and all, but... it was just time. That doesn't make it any better, but she'd already cheated death more often than a hero in a horror movie. You only get to do that so many times. The productive part was what surprised me -- I did most of the editing of Firegrass, which I finished up and posted this afternoon. That story stars Ben and William, a pair I've posted snippets from here, and will probably post more of at some point later. (And big thanks to Dio and Jason (who'll probably never see he's been thanked here ) for editing) It's easier to rewrite when half your brain's not working, or so it seems. Go figure. The other productive part was the plotting out of a whole series of short stories, in the tradition of the old pulp fiction action/science hero -- guys like Flash Gordon or Doc Savage. It's a genre that's desperately homoerotic (come on, you can't say otherwise. Strapping muscular action hero who always gets captured, tied up, and 'tortured' by the bad guy, and who's in an unconsumated relationship with his virginal girlfriend? That just screams... well, you can fill in the blanks) and I'd been batting around an idea or two for a while, courtesy of Snowy and Jonathan Coulton, whose song "Skullcrusher Mountain" is an absolute classic. It all pretty much fell into place, though, what with all the turnoil and all. Dunno if it'll go anywhere, as it's not like I've got much time to write what I've already started, let alone more stuff, but... Oh, and if anyone's got any ideas for appropriately, erm, double entendre-suggesting names for pulp fiction heroes or villains, I'm definitely interested.