Jump to content

TheZot

Classic Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    565

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by TheZot

  1. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 7

    By TheZot,

    [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
  2. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 6

    By TheZot,

    [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
  3. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 5

    By TheZot,

    [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
  4. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 2

    By TheZot,

    [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.
  5. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 4

    By TheZot,

    [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
  6. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 3

    By 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
  7. TheZot

    Busted, chapter 1

    By TheZot,

    [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
  8. TheZot
    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.
  9. TheZot
    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!
  10. TheZot
    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
  11. TheZot

    I'm back!

    By TheZot,

    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.
  12. TheZot
    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!
  13. TheZot

    Colliding!

    By TheZot,

    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...)
  14. TheZot
    Or "On the nature of writing". Or something like that.
     
    I figured it was time to stop just bitching about the things in my writing I'm not happy about and actually start doing something about it. It's too late in the semester to sign up for a writing class at the local community college, but it's never too late to read about writing, so I've started.
     
    A while back I picked up a copy of "Characters and Viewpoint" by Orson Scott Card (on the recommendation of The Pecman, who wrote the stories "Groovy kind of love" and "Jagged angel" -- I don't have links handy but they're both on nifty) and poked through it some. Last night I picked up a copy of "Description & Setting" by Ron Rozelle. (Along with a copy of Applied Cryptography -- must've looked a little odd to the cashier, and I can't wait to have to explain it to the IRS since they're both legitimate business expenses) It was in the same series as the OSC book, so I figured it was a good bet.
     
    So far... yep, looks like it. Plus there's a certain amusing symmetry to writing about reading about writing. (Which leaves people reading about me writing about reading about writing, and we all go 'round oroboros-like. Or get confused. Possibly both)
     
    Regardless, it's been worthwhile, even the bits and pieces I've dug into. I can't say whether these books in particular would be good for anyone who wants to get better as a writer, they've certainly been good for me, and I can recommend books in general for folks that're serious about getting better.
     
    Who knows, at this rate I'll probably end up joining some writer's group or other by the end of the summer. That could certainly make group read-throughs.... interesting.
  15. TheZot
    So I finished the draft for the story that I've been currently blocking on (if you were in chat the other night you got to see me ambush Dio and Myr -- sorry guys. And no, the Jell-o pictures will never see the light of day ever! ) and sent it away to be poked at by folks who're good at poking things. I've already gone and fiddled with my index page to give it a spot, along with teasing about a few other stories in the same series that are in a sufficient state to figure they will be done, even if they're not done now.
     
    That's kinda got me thinking about Yankee and Rob and Justin. I've got the sequel pretty much plotted out, though I need to do some research before I can really write most of it (I need to kill someone off slowly) and I do need to let it gel a little more before I can start banging out draft text. Still... there's the story that comes after, since Carpe DIem is going to be Rob's story, not Justin or Rob and Justin's. And it's the after story that I'm finding interesting.
     
    Not after as in "what happens senior year in highschool", since there's going to be gale-force handwaving on that -- there's no way I'm going to even try touching on writing what it's like to be an out gay couple in a rural Georgia high school. Uh uh, no way, not a chance. Rather, "what happens when they go off to college and beyond" sorts of things. I mean, assuming they make it (which is itself a big assumption, between Justin's AS and Rob's issues and tendencies towards being closed-off and introspective -- having one partner who can't read people and another who tends not to talk about what's wrong isn't a recipe for an easy relationship) what happens?
     
    What does Rob do? What does Justin do? How's college go? Do they go to college? Rob should, sure, he's smart and talented in ways that higher education is good for, and we've established that he wants to go to art school, but... what about Justin? He's an adequate student at best and the things he's good at don't really warrant college. He'd be better off training and opening a dojo or working with someone who already has one, or maybe doing stage choreography, or working as a bouncer. (Can you see Justin as a waiter in a gay bar? He'd be safe, certainly, and it's not like Rob would have to worry about him straying, since it'd never actually occur to him) And, of course, there's always the important question "What about the broccoli?" Which is, itself, a story I'll never tell.
     
    With that, there's also plot. If there's a full-fledged story, rather than a series of scenes from a life (which works too) what the heck should it be? What could happen that'd be reasonable and allow an actual story to weave around it? Hell, it's half-tempting to go all wacky and have Strange Things happen to them. Maybe in the jungles of Peru where Rob's on an archeological dig or something, with Justin along for grunt help. Could catapult them into some odd fantasy realm if I was feeling nasty. Probably not, though Justin would think Rob was hot in an Indiana Jones getup.
     
    Decisons, decisions. I think I'm gonna have to start puttering with little vignettes and throwing 'em up to read, just for fun.
  16. TheZot
    And I just can't get the !@#$ thing expressed right on paper. Or screen. Whatever. You know, actually written in writing. I hate that.
     
    This may be the biggest problem I have as a writer, actually getting into words the things I see in my head. I can't draw them, so all I can do is describe them, and, well, words just fail me. Or I fail them. Something like that.
     
    Feelings I can do, I can manage mildly poetic cadence that'll carry you along, and I'm pretty sure I can amuse, but damn me if I can't describe. This is something that, right now, is seriously pissing me off. I seem to be waffling between text that's far too sparse to give a good picture of what's going on and text that's detailed enough to get in the way of the action of the story. I can't strike the balance, not the way I want to.
     
    Dammit, this whole "writing" thing is a massive pain in the ass. I don't seem to be getting the hang of fast-paced action stories. That's probably a sign I need to take a writing course or three at the local community college, or read some books on writing, or both. Neither of which I can do in time to make me happy with the text I'm frowning at on screen right now.
     
    Bleah. It's so much easier to read this stuff than write it.
  17. TheZot

    I've got me a title!

    By TheZot,

    Woohoo!
     
    Yeah, stupid though it may sound, one of the things that's been holding me up on the sequel to Yankee (besides work, other writing commitments, the straight romance novel, family time, and a serious attempt to make things good with my wife) is the title. I've been calling it "Yankee II" but, let's be honest, as a title that stinks. (Granted, there are worse, but who wants worse than that?) The title helps me, since it mostly sums up the story, at least until it's got enough traction for the text to stand on its own.
     
    Well, I finally figured it out, after batting around more of the outline for the thing this afternoon. (And yep, that means it's mostly plotted, though going from a working plot outline to actual text isn't entirely trivial for non-fluff pieces)
     
    I was thinking I could call it "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die," but that's too long. Nice, but too long. Instead, Yankee's sequel is gonna be called...
     
    Carpe Diem
     
    (Yes, I did count characters to force the title off the summary page. Why do you ask? )
  18. TheZot

    Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Editor

    By TheZot,

    I've had the odd experience of being able to edit drafts of a story I'm reading and really, really like.
     
    On the one hand, it's kind of cool -- I get to read chapters before everyone else. (nyah, nyah! ) Which isn't actually a cool thing all by itself, but I get a fix sooner than I might otherwise, and that's good.
     
    The downside to this is I actually feel kinda like crap about it, and more than a little guilty. And that's because I've been ripping the chapters to shreds. Stuff that I would've let slide or not even noticed as a regular reader gets red-flagged, and background and setting text I would've read and just filed away's gotten analyzed, picked apart, and critiqued. At some length. Plus my tendencies towards flip smart-assness tend to come out in the commentary, so in addition to the sea of red (Word's chosen red as the default color for my changes, to add insult to injury) there's the snark.
     
    The worst bit is I can't really not do this. I know that when I have other people read my stuff I want them to rip it to shred it. Every weak sentence, awkward phrase, missing transition, inconsistent behaviour -- I want 'em pointed out so they can be fixed. And like it or not I'm doing that when I edit, because I can't not do it as best I can; it feels like cheating to let things I've noticed go by unremarked. On the other hand it feels really wrong to hand back a marked up copy of something I liked with the note "you can still see some margin space on page 14".
     
    It's just... weird. Uncomfortable was something I never expected with this. Not that I'm gonna stop, mind. As long as I'm asked to edit the things I will, it's just going to take a while to convince myself I'm not going to hurt an author's feelings by being (perhaps excessively) pickily honest.
     
    (And, just for the record, if anyone gets ahold of one of my drafts -- please, feel free to tear into the thing. You won't hurt my feelings, and I'd rather a few dozen things pointed out in draft than to notice them after they've hit print, virtual or not)
  19. TheZot

    Strangest places (part 1)

    By TheZot,

    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
  21. TheZot

    Yankee's done, yay!

    By TheZot,

    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.
  22. TheZot
    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...
  23. TheZot
    First things first, though not necessarily in that order, right?
     
    This is part of a piece I shouldn't be working on, since it's the fourth (or fifth? Sixth, maybe, with the side-stories, I'm not quite sure) sequel to a piece I should be working on. Personally I blame Dio, since he's sick and can't defend himself. (and has the summary of that piece, waiting for a second read-over -- the first time he read it he was altogether too kind and I ended up savaging the plot. It's much better now, but that's neither here nor there. Mostly)
     
    This is, though you'd probably not be able to tell immediately, a fantasy piece. It's the start of either the second or third chapter, so some of the stuff that might otherwise be in here, like physical descriptions and such, aren't, since we've already gotten those bits. If you need a visual, Ben looks very much like the avatar picture I use. (Only dressed) William's similar, only with slightly finer features, lavendar eyes, and white hair. (And dressed)
     
    Yes, I do need better names for the two supporting cast members that show up partway through. Still working on that. I've got a little while, though I'd be thrilled with some suggestions. (Place names are all fake fantasy, people names are potentially mildly exotic western european)
     
    Wedding Bells
     
    "Are you sure we can't just take the horses," asked Ben for the fourth time, as he and William tried to finish packing the last of the two trunks William insisted they take with them. Ben had been growing steadily more antsy as the packing had continued.
     
    "Yes, Ben, I'm sure," William replied with a sigh. "I don't like it any more than you do," he said as he put one last outfit into the trunk.
     
    That was a lie, of course, and they both knew it. The arrival of their wedding outfits had sent William on a packing spree, digging through all the closets and cabinets in their bedroom, pulling out things that had lain undisturbed since they had moved into the townhouse a year prior. The room was a disaster, the bed and chairs covered in discarded clothing and accessories. The prospect of returning home for his wedding had, as far as Ben could tell, driven his love mad.
     
    Knowing it was hopeless to try and stop William when he was like this, Ben swept some discarded tunics off of the chair in the corner and sat down. On the floor next to him were two backpacks, filled with normal clothing and traveling supplies. Sadly Ben regarded them
  24. TheZot

    Time to go

    By TheZot,

    I dunno about anyone else who writes, but I find that ideas tend to hit me as scenes entire scenes or chapters. Not necessarily complete ones -- they're often incomplete, with bits and pieces missing -- but scenes or chapters. When that happens I open up a new doc in the word processor, bang out as much of the thing as I can before I lose it, and save the thing. If I have some clue as to what's going on I'll have a separate file with notes, character sketches, plot points, and suchlike things, as much of the story as I can think of so I don't lose it.
     
    Unfortunately this leaves me with a bunch of partially done things that I may never get to, or that aren't even really stories. (Since a story needs characters, settings, and plot, as well as a beginning, middle, and end) Some of them may become stories some day, but a lot of them probably won't. Orphaned little things, forever destined to languish on my hard drive unseen. (Not that this is always a bad idea)
     
    Also unfortunately, since I don't do this for a living I've far more of these partial stories than I'll ever have time to finish. Writing a full story takes a lot of work, and I'm not the fastest writer on the planet even at the best of times. That means that even if I keep banging away at Word, these things accumulate faster than they get depleted, and always will.
     
    Anyway, with Yankee coming to an end I went and trolled through my scrap folder, and came across this thing. It was inspired by Kit's "Tapping", which I rather liked, but like a lot of the things that're half-started it came from me reading the story and going "Oh, yeah? What if he said 'I don't think so?'" It's not the same story as Tapping, nor even the same start going in a different direction, but that's the inspiration.
     
    If someone wants to adopt this poor thing, have at it and good luck. As is my standard habit (as my editors occasionally find) there are extra blank lines scattered in this. Those are the spots where the story skips ahead a bit. There should be transition text, but there isn't, either because I don't know what it should be, or my brain's running ahead of my fingers enough that it's better to skip ahead than to lose the thread I'm following.
     
    Time to go
     
    "What are your plans for vacation?"
     
    This question caught me off-guard. Dad never talked about plans. Hell, since Mom died he rarely talked to me at all.
     
    "Um, we have a few practices scheduled next week, then the band's playing at Beth Tisdale's party Friday night." Beth's family always threw a big end-of-school bash with live music and everything. This year Bobby convinced her to let us play.
     
    "Oh." He sat and thought for a moment. "Well, they'll have to get along without you this time."
     
    "What? I play guitar and sing lead on half the stuff we do. I can't just skip it."
     
    "You're going to have to." No explanation, of course.
     
    "Why? We planned this out last month. I told you almost six weeks ago. I can't skip on it now, it's too late to get someone else."
     
    "Well, you're going to have to. We're going to Phoenix to go house-hunting."
     
    "We're going... where? Why?"
     
    "Phoenix. One of the jobs I interviewed for back in March has come through, so we're moving."
     
    "Wait, March? It's June."
     
    "These things take time. One of them was going to go through, I just wasn't sure which one."
     
    "Or when?"
     
    "No, this is the time. We were going somewhere right after school ended to house-hunt, I just didn't know where."
     
    Bastard.
     
    I glared at him. This was so like him -- just up and do something without so much as a by-your-leave or any notice. What's worse is that he knew -- he knew -- weeks before I told him about the gig that we were going and he didn't say anything. He hung me and my friends out to dry on purpose. Utter f**king bastard.
     
    "So you knew about this more than two months ago and you're only just telling me now?"
     
    "You have plenty of time to pack, we don't leave until next Thursday. I don't see the problem."
     
    That was the last straw. He's been doing this since mom died -- making decisions that affect me without asking me, consulting me, or even telling me he'd made the decision. Just dropping the f**king bomb. 'Oh, yeah, by the way, I decided to completely screw with your life and I let you think you could do stuff I knew you couldn't.' If I stayed any longer I was going to go ballistic, and there just wasn't any point.
     
    I don't see the problem. Total, utter, complete f**king bastard.
     
     
     
    Dad stuck his head into my room as he was getting set to go. "We're not leaving for a week," he said. I don't know if he meant it as an explanation or an apology, but it sucked either way. "You have time to get ready, I don't see what the problem is."
     
    I just looked at him. I was furious and he had no clue. "When you see the problem, we'll talk. Until then, go away."
     
     
     
    He handed me the airline ticket, and I looked at it. Nonrefundable paper ticket. How... luddite. "Do you see the problem?" I asked him. I'd only said these five words to him over the last week. He was obviously tired of them, and the irritation in his voice was shading over to anger.
     
    "This is a good move for my career. I've told you that. More responsibility, more money, more prestige. It will set us up..."
     
    I ignored him and walked out the front door. When I was outside I ripped the ticket into shreds and set the pieces on fire on the cement front step. Dad made it to the doorway just in time to see things catch properly. He was probably going to blow up, but I didn't care. I just walked away.
     
     
     
    Dad was furious. "Dammit, Oliver, it's time you grew up!" Grew up? f**K him grow up.
     
    I've known I was attracted to guys since I was thirteen. That scared the shit out of me, since I knew what happened to guys who liked guys. I hoped, desperately hoped, that liking girls would come, but it hasn't, and if it hasn't by now it isn't going to. I was never sure exactly how Dad'd react to it, and I never had any way to bring it up in conversation, so I did the only thing I could think of. I kept my mouth shut and made plans to leave in a hurry if I had to. Too many kids got beaten up and tossed out, left to fend or die. That could be me, and there was no way in hell I was going to just die.
     
    Dad had left the household finances to me since I was fourteen, and most of the household errands since I turned sixteen. I didn't even need his signature on things, what with electronic bill pay and debit cards and all. I've been sweeping money aside and saving most of what I was making from my job, and over the past three years I'd managed nearly eight thousand dollars. The bills and statements I didn't want him to know about went to a post office box he didn't know of, and my car was, while a total piece of crap, paid off and I had the title.
     
    I've been on my own since Mom died, and I'd done more growing up than I ever wanted to. I had cash. I had a car. I had a very good fake ID, good enough to get me work. I'd taken enough shop classes to give dad fits, and I'd helped out two neighbors when they put additions on their houses. I could fix a car, lay piping, string wiring, handle myself with woodshop and machine shop tools, and help put on a roof. I wasn't an expert, but I wasn't useless, and I could do more than most of the idiots I'd seen working construction.
     
    Time to grow up my ass.
     
     
     
    Wednesday was the last day of school, and I'd still not said anything but my five words to Dad. He'd replaced the plane ticket, but I didn
  25. TheZot
    This piece started with a gag. Well, two of them, actually -- it does really start out:
     


    It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in Massachusetts that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness
      Though I know the original takes place in London, rather than Massachusetts. The other gag's the last line, and yeah I know, one should leave the gag for the very end of the story, rather than middle.


    Anyway, as you'll gather from this snippet the two guys are in the middle of something that may involve nasty evil creatures or sick and twisted people. That's never resolved by the end of the story, and I'm not sure myself which way it goes. The story's littered with clues that could go either way.
     
    Our two characters here are Dennis, who's a civil engineer and very much a realist, and Michael, who's a salesman andfan of the occult. They're stranded together in the wilds of Massachusetts (yay, Lovecraft country!) by a wild summer storm. The phones are out, their cells don't work for some reason, there are trees down all over, and Dennis' car has been trashed. They spend the night together (no, not like that you pervs. That comes later) at a ramshackle motel, and segue into a horror movie. To their credit they're both aware that they're potentially in one, and since the plot of most horror movies can be summed up as "smart people do stupid things and get killed" they try hard to not be stupid, even when they each think the other's nuts about the true cause of what's going on.
     
    Shared danger has heightened the attraction they feel for each other, and assuming they make it out alive they're going to be together for a very long time, which is cool. (And a big assumption, but that's part of the fun)
     
    In the chapter immediately before this one, Michael's stumbled across the body of a shopkeeper they'd met earlier. The body was pretty badly torn up, but when checked out later it was gone. They're holed up in a room in one of the old houses in town hiding out. They'd slept together and had some reasonably wild "we're gonna die soon" sex, and this chapter starts out trying to deal with what they've seen so far and how they're going to deal with it. (They do decide to assume the other could be very right, which is what'll get them out of the whole predicament alive, but I felt like ending this bit where I did for the fun of the punchline. Bad author, no cookie for me! )
     
    It was a dark and stormy night
     
     
     
     
     
    "You didn't see it," Michael said, throwing his hands up. His voice had a warbly edge to it, like he was on the edge of hysterics, his eyes wide and wild with the fear the memory brought with it. "He was dead, Dennis! I saw him." Michael shuddered. "Slumped over the counter. There was blood everywhere. The smell, the slime
×
×
  • Create New...