TheZot

Heh. Sitting on my hard drive. It'll probably end up being two or three pieces -- I'm not sure how much can get slung into a blog post at once, I just know that 100K is too much. I'll probably post the next piece in a day or two.

The stuff I've actually written and released is at http://members.gayauthors.org/zot/, so far one multi-chapter story and one short piece. There should be some more coming reasonably soon, as time permits. (Hopefully within a week, but we'll see how that goes. I'm a programmer, time and deadlines are such fuzzy things... )

Yep, another partially finished draft that I think will go nowhere. This was the first real gay romance I wrote, done over the course of a month when I was coming out to myself and really working things out in my head. It was therapy of a sort, though it's always a tossup how well that worked. It's got all sorts of problems, the biggest being it switches first-person viewpoints and even throws itself into third person occasionally. Hey, what can I say, I was reading a good chunk of Nifty at the time and thought it was OK. I know better now. There are a lot of themes running through this that come out in a lot of the other stuff I've poked around at, including the martial arts competency of two of the characters. Yeah, yeah, I know, but I'm of the opinion that, while violence is usually the wrong answer, if you're in a situation where asses are being kicked you should be in a position to make sure that at least some of those asses aren't yours. The entire draft's almost 20K words, but that's too big according to the blog software, so here's part one of possibly no more. (Which, if so, would be a mild pity. I've always wanted to see "Why, feeling insecure in your homosexuality" in print...) The formatting is a little odd. I think I've confused the rich text editor. Sorry 'bout that. Strangest Places "So she just up and dumped me!" "Really? What'd you do, Tris?" "Nothing, that's what she said was the problem. She said I wasn't paying enough attention to her." "Well, you didn't notice the day she had her hair cut." "Yeah, well, it was only a haircut." "Dude, she'd cut it short, spiked it, and bleached it blond. You'd have to be blind to miss it." Scotty eyed his friend for a moment. "Or stupid, I suppose." "Thanks," replied Tristan sarcastically. "I knew I could count on you. Tell me again, why are we best friends?" "Because without me you'd have an ego the size of Montana. There's only room in this school for one ego that big, and I don't want any competition." Scotty gave his friend a playful punch in the shoulder. "Now, where did you say you parked again?" Tristan looked around the school parking lot for a minute. "Dunno. Around here somewhere." The lot was about half full of cars, with mounds of snow and bare trees scattered through it. There were a few other kids around, and a knot of leather-clad guys milling around the motorcycles. "Geez, how can you lose your own car in a half-empty parking lot? I was wrong, you are blind." "Well, there's all this snow. Maybe they buried it when they plowed the lot." "Your car's not that small. Well," said Scotty, "maybe it is. But still... Whuf!" Whatever he was going to say was thumped out of him as a leather-clad shape darted out from between two cars and ran right into him. They both fell to the pavement, backpacks and books flying everywhere. "Ow! Hey," said Scotty, "watch where you're going!" "Sorry," mumbled the stranger as he scrabbled around, gathering scattered magazines and books and shoving them into his backpack. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, torn jeans, and a pair of work boots. He looked sixteenish, about the same age as Scotty and Tristan. "Here," said Tristan helpfully, handing a few books over. The stranger snatched them from him, stuffed them in his pack, and ran off across the lot. "What was that all about?" asked Scotty as he grabbed the last of his stuff off the ground, brushing the damp sand off the book covers. "Beats me," replied Tristan. "Hey, look, there's my car!" "Hey, you!" A shout came from the next row over. The biker horde had made their way over. "You see a punk go by here?" "Yeah," said Tristan. "He went that way." He pointed down the row cars, the opposite way that the kid had run. [Tristan] It was four o'clock by the time I got out of school. I'd run late tutoring, so I was late to swim practice, which meant an extra twenty laps around the pool, so now I was really late. And it was pouring rain on top of it. It was cold and wet and nasty, like you'd expect from a January downpour. At least it'd melt some of the snow, though we'd end up with ice in trade. I stood by the parking lot exit under the canopy, looking out at the lot. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was kicking up a storm too. We had a real nor'easter going, though luckily for me the entrance faced away from the wind. At least it was keeping things a little dry. I had an umbrella, but I knew the wind would rip it to shreds if I tried to use it. There was another kid waiting under the canopy, smoking a cigarette. He looked kinda familiar, though I couldn't place him. He was looking at me looking at him, which was fair enough. "Hey," I said. "Hey," he said back. The voice sounded real familiar. That's when I realized who he was

As a little bit of trivia, of those 1668 users (1676 now), 1005 of them haven't ever posted anything. And, not counting Myr, Snowy's posted the most.

Ah, but remember the rule for group chat -- the probability that someone enters the chat goes up with the number of people in the chat. (I've yet to decide whether it's a fixed constant per person or not) The more people in it, the more likely someone new'll show up. That means if you want someone to chat with, even if the chat room's empty go pop in and hang around for a while -- there's a good chance that someone else who feels like maybe chatting will drop in because they see there's someone in already. The room speaks a "Welcome" when someone new shows up, so you can minimize the window and still know that there's someone else who's arrived, assuming you've got sound turned on in the chatroom (which is the default) and your computer's sound is enabled. -Dan

Yeah, well... me too. Apparently we were both wrong. I've gotten a number of pieces of criticism about the last two chapters of Yankee. They boil down to two main points: 1) I didn't like the ending 2) The ending was weakly written #1 is something to be coped with -- the plot's not going to change. #2, though... unfortunately that second point is a lot more valid than I wanted it to be. The ending of Yankee could have been really strong, but intsead it had Rob kind of wussing out and squeaking away very mouse-like. It just lacked any sort of impact, and it could have had a good one. Not sure I'm up to another chapter with the intensity of chapter 8, but the characters certainly deserve more than what they got. Yeah, this means the ending's getting rewritten. It'll probably be a little while, but it'll get done, possibly interspersed with chapters of the sequel. No promises on exactly when it'll get done -- I've a half-done piece I want to finish first, and a romance novel I have to write for work -- but it will happen.

There seem to be a few reasons for it. Like someone's already pointed out, a lot of straight women do get off on seeing two guys go at it, the same way that a lot of straight men get off on seeing two women go at it. (Though it's not just straight women -- I know one lesbian couple with quite a stash of gay male porn. Go figure) I think there's a generic "seeing two people of my preferred gender making out is hot" reflex in people. If you take a good look at the yaoi stuff, as well as some of the written stuff (though not generally the flat-out pr0n), there's usually a big difference between the stuff drawn/written by men and the stuff done by women. There's crossover (as the recent discussion here about underthehoodster's stuff has shown ) but the stuff done by women tends to be a lot more touchy/feely and the guy stuff is more action oriented. Not always, certainly, but often. The men in yaoi done by guys are a lot less effeminate, too, and in general the guys in stuff done by guys are more... guy-like. Anyway, often what you'll find in the yaoi stuff is guys who behave the way many women want guys to behave rather than the way they actually behave. The gender stereotypical behavior of the guys (one acting very much in a feminine role, the other in a kind of softened masculine role) is kind of interesting when you look at it that way too. Thirdly, and this one is a total hand-wave, I think there may be some escapism in there too. Gender roles seem pretty strictly delineated, and some of the stuff I've seen falls into the "I want to do X, but only guys can do X, therefore I'm there as a guy" category. I dunno, maybe not. Personally I think it's mostly just "watching two guys go at it is hot". And who am I to disagree with that? -Dan

The tragedy's ultimately Bobby's, and Justin and Bobby's relationship. I'd had the first draft of the story mosty written before I started getting things edited, so I realized how things worked out by the time the first chapter went out. It wasn't meant to have a streak of tragedy running through it, but it ended up with one anyway. Yep, that's pretty common from what I can tell. I know how things are supposed to be, while the readers only know what I've written. It's the mismatch that causes the consternation. Those three are biggies -- the first two are problems in the plotting, the third is a problem in the execution. Justin's parents never figured into the story and they should have, and Melanie and Rick just faded away and they shouldn't have (or if they did it should've been made clearer why) Rob's breakdown was fully motivated, but the problem is that I didn't make the motivation clear -- even though Justin wouldn't understand it, he would've seen what was going on and that should've made it clear to the reader. Now I'm tempted to go back and rewrite the last three or four chapters, and the three or four chapters I should've written but didn't.

I started Yankee in a fit of pique

Having watched all sorts of unpleasant dynamics and regrets in my own family, I'd have to say... go to the wedding, and if it doesn't make you horribly uncomfortable be the best man. Right now you're sounding really ambivalent, and as much worried about what others think as what you're feeling. No real surprise there. You also seem pretty ambivalent towards your dad in general. No surprise there either. (It's both fairly common at your age, and you're carrying around a good case of clinical depression) If you go through it, you may, at worst, feel a little uncomfortable right now. That's fine. The real question is how'll you feel next year, or next decade? You've got two potential things that could happen. He could be a manipulative bastard, at which point down the line you'll be able to say "I did what I thought was best, and you disappointed me." Hardly the end of the world, and you'll likely have a pile of other disappointments to throw that one on. Or, it could turn out that things get better with your dad, in which case going and being the best man would be a good thing. If, on the other hand, you pass... If he's a manipulative bastard, you'll still have a big pile of dissapointment, so there's no difference there. If he's not, then you're going to have a big regret for not having gone to the wedding. I can't say for you, but looking back for me, I can say that I've regretted not doing something far, far more often than I have doing something. I'd go, and stand for him. Feeling bad for not going when you should have will linger a lot longer and feel a lot worse than feeling annoyed that you went and it turned out to be a bad idea. -Dan

This is so very true. Arguably silly web quiz things like Who's Your Happy Bunny are at least as accurate, if not moreso...

Huh. I'm an INFP, I want to be an INFP, and I'm looking for an ENFP. Questing for a Journalist, or so it seems. Maybe I better start buying the local paper again...

You're very welcome. There hasn't been a huge amount of feedback, as the last part's only been up for a while and just now making its way across the nifty mirrors, most people seem OK with the way things have ended, even if it's not what they were hoping for. We'll see if that trend continues, and how well the sequel goes.

No, not the poor helpless puppy! You wouldn't! You cad! But yeah, stories have a beginning, middle, and end, and it's important to know that. I always knew how Yankee was going to end, more or less. More stuff's on the way, including Yankee's sequel (which I need a title for), though some heroic fantasy stuff's going to come first. With, possibly, the odd short story thrown in, just 'cause. -Dan

Chapter 16 is off to Nifty and Myr, though both folks have plenty to do, and it's 10 AM so I wouldn't expect anything before the morning. Still, I've finished, and feel the need to dance the geeky author dance of completion. This would be a good time to avert your eyes. Now it's time to dig into other things. Ben and William await, as do a number of other characters who've been grumbling at me lately.

While it's definitely true that some of the virulent homophobes are themselves gay and their homophobia is their (rather poor) way of dealing with it, unfortunately it's not the case with all of them. A lot of the 'phobes are just haters of one sort or another -- no hidden sexual issues or deep-seated attractions, I'm afraid. Scratch the surface and you don't find any gay, you just find slime. Most of the racists you'll find aren't secretly black (or whichever group they rant about) any more than the people who decry papists as evil are secretly Catholic. Some of them are, certainly, and there's a lot of black, vicious irony there, but the plain fact is that an awful lot of people are just... scum.

The easiest way is to go to the efiction section of the site at https://www.gayauthors.org/eficiton/index.php, go to the account info section (from the blue box on the left) and go from there.

Heh. It's just a Simple Matter of Typing -- how hard can it be?

That's interesting. Freeimagehosting seems OK serving up the images if you ask for 'em directly, but not when they're part of the page on GA. Hrm...

Oh, it's definitely worth it, and not only does it tend to make the story flow better (except when I have to make a side-trip to another file to jot down a bunch of notes and sketch out some background) it makes other stories flow better. Not, in this case, that I need much help there -- looking at my drafts folder for this particular setting and these characters, I think sometimes I could use a little less inspiration... Ah, well, it's just me whining. I'll get over it.

it's one of those iceberg things. (Or one of those "I need to install this one little package on my Debian Linux system" things...) I've got a simple exchange between two characters, which looks like: "What do you think, Ben," the white haired man asked. "One of the Great Cities?" Ben frowned and held his spyglass up to look again. "No," he said after another survey of the city. "I don't think so. It's not from the First Age, either. Second, I think. It's definitely big, but it doesn't match anything I've heard of the Great Cities, and it doesn't look right for anything from the First Age. Too primitive." Simple, right? No big deal, though there's a lot of stuff implied in there. First that there are cities kicking around that are impressive enough to be grouped together (and the group capitalized), second that there have been at least three divisions of history significant enough to be classified together that way, and the third that in a society with significant amounts of magic, a city three miles in diameter that looks like it was yanked out of the bedrock in a single piece would be considered 'primitive'. That's swell and all. I've no problem with that, and I don't care that there's no extra detail given to the reader. It's not like you get a history of London when a character wanders through Trafalgar Square -- it's the fact that there is history that's important, not that the reader knows the history. That gives a story more weight, makes it seem more real, even if it is a fantasy. Unfortunately, the problem there is that while the reader doesn't necessarily know these things, I'm not sure that the author (i.e. me) can get away not knowing things. So now, because of a mostly off-hand comment that's very much in character (except maybe being a bit too wordy -- Ben's very terse) that one of the characters made, I've got to sketch out about fifteen thousand years of history. These guys so owe me at least one publishable novel by the time I'm done...

I hate it when characters get out of control. Well, mostly, at least. I mean, yes, it's useful sometimes, since it means the words flow faster (woohoo!) but it reaches a point where things just start getting out of hand. I mean, it's bad enough when they start going places and doing things, leaving a trail of plot summaries and partially written chapters in their wake, but now I've sat down and started on detailed character backgrounds. Ghod, I'm even working on rules for the bloody magic system. (Yes, I am a geek, why do you ask?) I swear, when all this is done I better end up with at least one published novel out of it, or these characters are in so much trouble. If I start drawing out city maps I think it's time for a long vacation. (I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. At least they've started doing standalone short story things so I can start actually releasing things. With any luck, maybe the end of next week) Yeah, I know, threatening fictional people isn't exactly the most stable thing to be doing...

erm... that's what SAD is. It may not, all by itself, throw you into a nasty blue funk, but it certainly doesn't help, and taking steps to offset it is usually a good thing. Standard stuff -- exercise, eat properly, try and get as much sun as you can (and since odds are you can't actually get enough this time of year, pump up your vitamin D intake) and that'll help offset it. Won't do anything for the no guy for Valentine's problem, but if you're feeling better it's a lot easier to fix that particular problem...

Or when they do they just don't come fast enough. Yes, I know I'm kind of whining here. Some days the words just flow out. Those days I like. Some days it's a fight for every word -- fighting against other pieces that want my attention, or fighting against a story that just doesn't want to be told right then. Those days suck. Today's just one of those annoying days. The story's there, there's no real distraction, the words, they're just coming out in small chunks. At this rate it'll take all week to get the damn story out in first draft. (It only feels like about ten thousand words, it should not take this long) I hate days like today. Maybe I need to go take a nap or something.

One last partial chapter dump, so I can clean my brain out and move on to other things. Woohoo! I won't be leaving this story alone (alas the action parts come later and earlier, but aren't actually written) but it is getting set aside for now so I can work on the earlier parts of the series. This is the third in the set of three I posted. The first one was the middle, and the second the beginning (yay for discontinuity) if you want to go read those. They're all chapter starters and get maybe halfway into the chapter before they stop, leaving the setup but no good stuff, alas. Just big teasers, I guess. Wedding Bells, part 3 William sat on the rough wood bench and leaned back against the rough-hewn wall behind him. The stones were cold and damp, and the cell stank of urine. He could hear small creatures scrabbling through the moldy straw scattered on the floor, and didn't want to think about what might be living in the bedroll on the pallet in the corner. One full wall of the cell was open, iron bars criss-crossing the space. The doorway was only a small part of it, just large enough to get a man through, not offering enough space to do anything that might give a prisoner a chance to escape. William looked at the bracelets locked on his wrists. Five inches long, made of a silvery metal, with eight oblong gemstones set around each. There was a ridge at either end of each bracelet, with a spiderwork tracery of lines covering the metal surface. Both bracelets fit William's wrists snugly, as if they were made for him. There were no seams or signs of joining. He knew what they were, dampening bracelets used to keep anyone with talent from using magic to escape the jails. The constabulary had been using them for as long as anyone could remember, seven hundred years or more. In all that time there had never been any record of someone prisoned with them using magic to escape. William gave a wry smile, thinking it unlikely that someone would have admitted if it had happened. Ben? He thought out. Are you OK? A moment went by before he got an answer. I live, came the thought. William felt a flash of discomfort with it, answered by a surge of his own anger. His husband had been injured somewhere along the way. He fought down an impulse to find out who had done it and hurt them badly. Do you need any help, he asked instead. He felt the chuckle in his head. I don't think the guards are likely to be too sympathetic, Ben replied. And there seems to be something between us. William smiled at Ben's wry observation. He let his Sight slip in and his mind wander, searching for Ben. To his surprise he found him, in the cell next to his, only a foot or two of stone separating them. Sloppy work, the guards were supposed to keep people who had been captured together separated, to prevent them from working together to escape. The wall had been spelled, traceries of the magic glowing bright in William's Sight, resembling the linework on the bracelets meant to keep him from Seeing, and keep him from working any magic. The wards felt like old friends or an old quilt, comforting in their familiarity. He let his will loose, warping the patterns and shifting the stone. He had never been good at earth magic, but the walls had been spelled so long they were as much magic as physical. A portal the size of a large man shimmered and opened in front of him. On the other side was Ben, watching the wall melt with a little smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you here," he said, as he stepped through the opening. Once through William let go his control. The magics shifted back and the wall reappeared, unmarked, showing no signs that moments ago there had been a hole in it. "We really have to find a higher class inn to stay at," William replied, moving in to kiss Ben. For all that the cell was nasty, it wasn't the worst place the two of them had shared since they'd been together. When they broke the kiss Ben stepped back and sat on the bench. "I'm surprised," he said, "that you could do that. From what I've heard of this place, I would have expected the jails to be slightly more difficult to get out of." William sat next to him. "Yes, well," he said, holding up his wrists, "these stop prisoners from working magics, and the walls are well warded." He took Ben's hand in his, twining his fingers together. "Look if you like." Ben's eyes unfocussed as he stared at the wall next to him. Despite the injury he'd had years ago that took his own Sight, he could share William's talent and shift his vision to higher planes when the two were in close contact. Ben raised his hand into the air, tracing out lines that weren't there. "Interesting," he said. "A good, solid ward, worked through the wall. It's been there a long time, from the look of things." Ben turned, his eyes focusing on William. He lifted their intertwined hands up, looking at the matching bracelets they both wore. "The wards and these bracelets are linked somehow," he said. "The resemblance is strong." William smiled. "Very. The spells on the locks of the door are similar as well. Care to take them off," he asked. "They're fetching, certainly, but they don't suit us." "No," Ben said, smiling at the man next to him, "the stones don't match your eyes." Still holding their hands up, he traced the lines of the bracelet on William's wrist, muttering softly, brow furrowed with concentration. A moment later the bracelet shuddered, then fell off William's arm in two pieces. The bracelet on his other wrist gave way at the same time. "Now that's interesting," William observed. "You shouldn't have been able to do that." "Oh? And why not," asked Ben, as he traced lines on his own bracelet. His too opened and fell off. This pair had taken less time than the first, even with Ben speaking as he worked the magic that loosened them. "Well, they're supposed to be effective on anyone but the royal family," he said, looking at Ben. The corner of his mouth ticked up, a half-smile working its way out, "and their consorts, of course." "Of course," Ben replied, matching the smile. The implication was very clear. "The wall trick was impressive," he said, switching topics. "I hadn't realized that you were so adept with earth magics. That would've been handy when we were dealing with the D'zgan tunnel worms. William blushed and ducked his head, feeling embarrassed like he'd just been caught cheating. "Um," he said, "I'm not that good." He looked up and caught Ben smiling at him. He knew he'd just been caught out, though Ben was far from angry. "The walls