TheZot

Well, he wasn't supposed to strike in the first place! Now I've gotta figure out what exactly's going on... (Which, OK, is something of an exaggeration, but I really hadn't expected to have dead bodies in this)

[And the plot thickens. Or at least congeals, but good enough] Inside the apartment building things were busy. Detective Russell didn't need anyone to tell him where things had happened. The blood smears on the open door of unit 1-B and the forensic team inside it were more than enough. There was a uniformed officer just inside the door to the apartment. Jensen. Rookie. He was looking green, but doing his best to hold it together. "What happened?" Russell asked. "Three fatalities, sir," Officer Jensen said. His voice was a little wavery. Reciting the details seemed to help him compose himself. "Two children, one boy one girl, and an adult female. Neighbor called this in at 11:45 when she saw the blood on the door. Officer got here at 11:57. There was no answer, the manager opened the apartment for us at 12:05. The bodies were discovered in the living room." Russell nodded. "Any other occupants?" "We're not sure yet, sir. The manager fainted when they discovered the bodies. That was twenty five minutes ago. MEs think that there might be three children. We're checking with social services. The complex management company is sending someone over to check the records. Manager was the only one in today." Russell sighed. Civilians. Great. "What about the bodies?" The speed at which all the blood drained out of the rookie's face told Russell everything he needed to know. He was tempted to give the guy an out and ask the medical examiner, but he knew there wasn't any point. He was a cop, and this stuff happened. "Not good?" "The ME said something about

[Y'know, this wasn't here when I started the story. And Joe's probably going to get in so much trouble. Oh, yeah, I'm practicing cliff-hangers. They seem useful things.] Detective Russell pulled up into the apartment complex driveway. Like a lot of complexes in town, it was a collection of small buildings. These were brick, six apartments per three story building. There were twenty of the things lined up ten on a side. The complex itself was relatively new, maybe thirty years old at most, but the street was lined with trees and even in the summer sun the place was dark and a little chilly. It was one in the afternoon, and the complex was mostly quiet. That just made the ambulance and the squad cars around the fifth building on the left look all that more out of place. Joe hadn't said anything as they were careening through the streets, afraid to distract Detective Russell and have them crash. Now that they'd slowed he felt it might be safe to ask. "What's going on?" "Don't know yet," the detective said. He was distracted, eyes darting everywhere, looking for anyone unusual. He had no more information than what dispatch had given him, but that was enough

[And at the end... plot sign! Yay, something besides romance, sexual tension, and hints of madcap farce. 'Cause, let's be honest, who wants to read about sex anyway? I know it bores you guys to tears...] They drove in silence for a few minutes, into one of the dingier sections of town. Detective Russell parallel parked in front of a ratty pizza restaurant and got out. Joe followed, feeling nervous and uncomfortable. He was very over-dressed for the neighborhood. There was no way Joe was going to let him know that, though. Head high, move forward, keep control, take no shit. "Taking me out to lunch, Detective?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes. "I thought you were married." "And she's built much better than you," Detective Russell replied, not missing a beat. "Your ass is too flat." Joe gave a little laugh. He hadn't expected the instant come-back. "A lot of people are very fond of this ass," he said, sliding into a booth. A little twinge reminded him exactly how fond Alex was of it. "No doubt," Russell replied. "That's what I want to talk to you about." The guard Joe had started to drop was immediately back up. "Alex." "Yeah. Alex." "What about him?" A waitress had come over to the table. She was as old and dingy as the restaurant itself, and looked as much of a fixture of the place as the torn vinyl booth cushions. "Hey, Doll," Russell said. "The regular, please." She nodded. "He ain't your regular. Breaking in a new guy?" "Something like that," Steve said with a grin. "What'dya have, sport?" she asked Joe. "Uh, a salad?" She looked at him like he was an alien. "Salad?" Russell asked, as the waitress walked away. "I wanted something without grease," Joe replied, sounding a little defensive. Detective Russell grinned. He'd made that mistake the first time he'd come here. He'd let Joe figure it out himself when the time came. "So what did you drag me out here for?" "I'm curious about last night," Russell said. Joe's eyes narrowed. "Last night was my own damn business," he said. He unconsciously shifted a little in the booth. It might not've been Russell's business, but Alex had been very affectionate, and he'd been having a problem sitting down all morning. "Maybe," Russell replied without heat. "Alex Gagnon, right?" Joe nodded. "He from around here?" "What do you think," Joe snapped. "You work with his brother." Russell had some reservations about that, but he kept them to himself just then. "Chris hasn't mentioned he had a brother," Russell said. He failed to say that Chris hadn't mentioned a brother for twenty years. Nor had Chris' grandmother, who Steve had known since he was three. And she'd talked about Chris, his good-for-nothing father, and her long-suffering almost daughter-in-law a lot in the years before they'd died and Chris had come to live with her. Joe snorted. "No surprise. Alex is gay. None of my family talks about me, either." "I want to be clear here, Joe. I don't have a problem with you, or who you date. That's not the issue." Joe looked at him with suspicion. "What is the issue, then?" "There isn't one." Joe frowned again at Russell. The man was lying, he could tell. "You're lying to me. Don't." Russell raised an eyebrow at Joe. He was an excellent liar, something that normally served him well. Chris was the only other person he knew of who could reliably catch him out. "Fine. Have you ever seen Alex's drivers license?" "What does that have to do with anything?" "Humor me." Joe tried to think. It wasn't the normal sort of question. Well, normal for him, at least. Maybe this was regular police small-talk or something. "Maybe," he said after a minute. "We got carded once or twice. Bernie thought it was funny." "What state was it from?" "It was a Connecticut license," he said. "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure," he snapped. "I run the damn HR department. I know what licenses look like." Detective Russell frowned. That only confirmed his suspicions. There was no record of an Alex Gagnon in the DMV's computers. That meant the license was fake or Joe was lying. While Russell'd be willing to put money on Joe being happy to tell him to go f**K himself, he couldn't see any reason Joe would lie about it. And there was only one other person who'd have a license to prove they weren't Chris Gagnon. The waitress interrupted with their food. She put a small pepperoni pizza in front of Russel, and, with a disgusted flourish, dropped a bowl full of lettuce in front of Joe. There was one, lone, albino tomato slice lying on top. Joe poked at it with a water-spotted fork, then lifted up one limp leaf. It was shiny in the light, and dripped with oil and vinegar dressing. "There's more grease on my salad than on your pizza," he said. "Yep," Russell said. He bit into a piece with enthusiasm. "You eat here often?" "Most days," Russell answered. "How come your arteries haven't turned to stone?" "The station-house coffee cleans 'em right out. Works pretty well on the drains, too." Joe shuddered. "Maybe I wasn't hungry after all." "Live a little," Russell said, handing him a slice of pizza. "Uh

For those folks not following along at home, everything through chapter 6 is up for your reading pleasure. And yep, we've got a title. Woo!

[Look, forward motion of what I think may possibly be a plot. Or a sub-plot. Something like that. And a title!] Detective Russell parked his car in one of the empty handicapped spots in front of the Maple Building. He wasn't sure what, past the sign labeling it, distinguished it from the Oak, Spruce, Chestnut, or Birch Buildings he'd passed, but he supposed the cookie-cutter office buildings required cookie cutter names. And they were all cookie-cutter, a half dozen buildings, three story glass boxes set at 'exciting' angles, with sections of grass, the occasional picnic table, and a few trees. He remembered when it had all been corn fields and cow pastures. He figured it was lucky it was nearly noon, since otherwise the reflections of the sun off the buildings was probably blinding. He got out of his car, straightened his tie, and strode up to the entrance. The whole building was the offices of Powell Enterprises. From what he'd found they provided payroll and human resources services for companies that didn't want to have their own departments. They were, so far as he could tell, completely legit. The receptionist at the front desk was well dressed, blonde, and aesthetically proportioned. She gave him an appraising look and a smile that made it clear she knew what she was doing, too. "Welcome to Powell Enterprises. How can I help you?" Steve showed his badge and smiled his own professional smile. "Detective Russell," he said. "I'd like to speak with Joe Hennesy, please." "Certainly, sir," she said. She picked up the phone and hesitated for a moment. "Should I call security first?" "I think that won't be necessary," he said. As he tucked his badge back inside his jacket pocket he made sure to flash his gun. Her eyes widened just a little. She dialed a number from memory. "Joan? Could you ask Mister Hennesy to come to the front desk? There's a police detective here to speak with him." She listened for a moment. "No, I don't think you should say. Just ask him to come down. Thanks, Joan." She hung up the phone. "He'll be right down, Detective Russell. Would you like to have a seat?" "No, thank you," he said. He only had to wait a minute before Joe rushed in. He was dressed well, in a tailored charcoal grey suit that accentuated his slender body. His hair was a little mussed, and he looked like he'd been running. "Carol, what's going on? Joan said

More's on the way. I'm in the middle of 9, and know what 10's going to be. I'm a little unsure as to where things go from there, since the story's taken a serious turn from where I had originally planned. This is a bit stream-of-consciousness, so I'm nearly as in the dark as everyone else is. (Possibly more, since I had a relatively solid idea where things were going, but that turns out not to be all that close to where they actually are...) I think I'll be flipping the switch on future installments as I write them, or every couple of days, whichever's longer. I figure I'm better off with a semi-regular release schedule of these mini-chapters than I am blasting out a whole wad of 'em at once then having a week or two delay because the train's too crowded to do any writing on.

[Another chunk 'o story, quite by surprise. I hadn't expected to get here quite this fast] Thursdays Joe went clubbing for fun. Not anything serious, and since he'd started dating Alex certainly not to get laid, but just fun. Drink some, dance some, be around people and have a good time. He enjoyed it, and what was wrong with that? He could lose himself in the music, let the last bits of the workday drain away, and just relax. It had been a kind of shitty day at work, but then last night had been kind of shitty too. When Detective Russell had dropped him back at his car he found the window still open, and the driver's seat was soaked. He got to drive home sitting in wet, and remembered he needed a towel in the morning only after he'd sat down. It'd been downhill from there. It didn't matter, though. The music washed over him as he stepped into the club and it took everything away with it. Joe smiled and started to move with the beat as he walked into the building, pushing his way through the small crowd towards the bar. "Joe!" The bartender waved and moved over to him. "Hey Tony." Joe gave him a smile. They'd dated briefly, years ago. It hadn't worked but they'd stayed friends. "The usual?" Tony didn't wait for the answer, filling a glass even as he spoke. "You bet," Joe said, draining half the drink. The ginger ale was fizzy. "When're you gonna move up to real drinks?" Tony asked. "When you stop needing alcohol to look good," Joe replied. They did this just about every night the club was quiet enough to joke around. In truth Joe didn't drink because he didn't like what he saw. He had never been sure if the monsters he saw when he was drunk were real or only in his mind, but either way it was more than enough to keep him sober. "Saw Alex in here earlier," Tony said. Joe perked up. Alex was exactly what he needed. "Thanks, man," he said, dropping a five on the bar. Tony cheerfully flipped him off as he swept the bill into the tip jar stuck back amongst the vodka bottles. Tony never let him pay for soda, so Joe always left a tip and ran before Tony could hand it back. Joe didn't care, his job paid more than well enough to afford a few bucks for drinks. Joe scanned the dance floor looking for Alex. He found him, the sole shirt in a clump of shirtless young men, his dancing wild and graceful. Joe smiled for a moment before he slid in behind him, wrapping his arms around Alex and kissing him on the shoulder. Alex moved his head obligingly to one side, giving Joe clear access to the side of his neck. The body under Joe's arms was well muscled with just a little bit of padding, the body of someone who worked, not worked out. Not perfect, not cut, but strong and a little yielding, and comfortable to be against. Joe nuzzled into Alex's neck, just enjoying being wrapped around the man he loved. And he did love Alex, deeply, though Joe hadn't yet come out and said it. Alex slowed his dancing but didn't stop. The two of them swayed together like that for a while, moving towards the edge of the floor as they did. Alex had his eyes closed, enjoying Joe's ministrations. When the song stopped, Alex turned in Joes' arms and the two kissed deeply. "I missed you, babe," Joe said as they came up for air. Alex smiled. "Tough day?" He worked Joe's shoulders, kneading out the tension that was in them. Joe sighed and purred. Joe pulled back abruptly and smacked Alex on the shoulder. "What was that for?" Alex asked. He smiled at his boyfriend anyway. The smack hadn't hurt, it was just Joe's way of getting his attention. "You never told me you had a twin brother." Alex's smile faltered. "Um, well

Twins? Maaaaaybe. Or... maybe not! As I write this I'm halfway through chapter 7, and the three leads are absolutely certain they know who Alex is. The three answers are, of course, mutually exclusive. As soon as I figure it out I'll be sure... well, I'll be sure to tease the hell out of people for a while as I make sure I've got the right answer.

D'oh! Yes. Fixed. Thanks!

[Yeah, yeah, short. I'm trying to write every day, shooting for ~1k words. Haven't quite managed, but at least the story's moving forward. A new chunk every day I write one, keeping a few in the can as a buffer, in case I finally figure out what's going on and need to throw out stuff] Thursday morning Steve caught Chris at the coffee machine. True to stereotype there was a box of donuts, but since they were plastic, decorative, and someone's idea of a joke that was probably OK. The muffins, on the other hand were real. And far worse for you than the donuts were, but that's life. "Only two more days of traffic duty, man," Steve said as he poured himself some coffee. It was black, strong, and would melt pennies. It was just the way he liked it. Chris just grunted as he poured his own cup. He hated traffic duty with a passion. It meant too much driving, too much sitting on his ass, and too many people trying to lie about how fast they were going. It always gave him a headache. Especially the lying part. "It's your own fault," Steve said. "You shouldn't have told the Captain to go f**K off." Chris gave Steve an evil look. "I was sick. And he was being an ass." "And that's so rare around here," he replied, reaching for the last chocolate, chocolate chip, walnut muffin. Chris snatched the thing off the plate and took a bite, looking straight at Steve. "Bastard," he said, without heat. "Yeah. And?" "You never told me you had a twin brother," Steve said. "I don't." "But that picture

I've been trying to work past some writer's block lately -- I have this horrible habit of wanting to know how a story goes from beginning to end, with details, foreshadowing, and all sorts of fiddly bits before I actually write the thing. Which wouldn't be bad if I wrote novels for a living, I suppose, but since I don't I have a hell of a time going from 'sketching it out' to 'actually writing something'. And once the first draft is written I poke and fiddle and take forever to finish the editing. Being something of a perfectionist about this stuff doesn't help. So, in an attempt to just kick my ass in gear, I've been brain-dumping a story. I dunno for sure how it's going to end up or where it's going (got some ideas, but nothing solid) but I'm just going along for the ride and hoping for the best. Once it's done I may go back and flesh it out, but for now I'm happy putting the bones together in the right order. It's going up on my blog -- first chapter is here for those folks who want to follow along. (Figured I'd post since not everyone's up for reading blog blather under normal circumstances ) Feel free to ignore the title, or not. While I do need a title, I'm holding off until I'm sure what kind of story this is before I pick one. I think. That's the plan, at least.

[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.

Well, it does kind of assume at least a passing knowledge of New York City and its environs, or at the very least the kind of background you get if you've worked in an office in a city for a while. It was... regional, for non-geographic values of regional. I figured that was OK. -Dan

I think you called it exactly right. It had a clear meaning for those of us with no clue as to the background, but it was a little bonus for people who did know, and it was a reference that in the context of the story worked for dialog. I think you're good to go there. (And I do really want to see the longer version, as well as the follow-ons. I don't think anyone'll mind you posting the longer version to e-fiction, and now that you've mentioned that follow-on stories exist I think you may get pestered until you post those, too. )

I'm not worried about rights loss -- I've had to deal with enough intellectual property licensing issues other places that I'm comfortable there. Arguably Nifty, and pretty much any other story site on the 'net, is actually in a fairly tenuous legal position with regard to publishing anything from someone using an obvious pseudonym. (Doing anything without a signature on a piece of paper is dodgy enough. Doing something when all you've got is an e-mail from 'the_zot@hitmail.com', which is clearly a fake name, is into the realm of the absurd) Not that I want to get into a discussion of licensing, which is what this would be. (I hate licensing issues with a deep and abiding passion, and the rant would be rather long...) I think, though, that Ben and William will have to wait for their Nifty appearance until I get their origin novel written, as it's actually got some sex, and it seems to make sense to post that since I'm pretty sure that it's not gonna be something that Tor will put in print...

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!