The value of an editor.

I’ve heard horror stories about editors hijacking stories and I’m very happy to say that I've not had to deal with that special flavor of hell. Full Circle has had an awkward life and due to that life, three editors touched it. Full Circle was originally handled by a publisher that closed. 

As frustrating as that experience was, I wouldn't trade it away. I had the pleasure of working with Tami Parrington. She may not appreciate me saying this, but Tami is a great editor for new authors. Her guidance comes with gentleness. She pushed me to flesh out the story that I’d hidden beneath another story. When I submitted Full Circle it was a paltry 8,000 words. With Tami’s help and three months of work, we had a 47,000 word novel and Pebble. My readers love Pebble. “Have him talk to the bird,” she said. I thought she’d gone insane and I thought the idea was even more insane, but I tried it. We could always delete it if it didn’t work, right?  Byron needed something to talk to move the story from his head. I wrote the scenes with Pebble and I had to admit it worked. As the story grew, Pebble became a real and valuable character.

The next editor was K. M. Frontain. We did not get to work together long. Personal reasons that I do not think would be appropriate for me to discuss pulled her away from her editing duties. I harbor a great deal of respect for K. M. Frontain. During the short time we worked together she helped me let go of some crutch words, tighten the POV, and nix some passive voice. These issues still haunt me, but I'm improving. 

The final editor was Marci Baun. In a radio interview I summarized Marci’s style as a “polite bootcamp”. That was an off-the-cuff comment, but I stand by it. She’s sharp, firm, and polite. She didn't let me cut any corners at all. All authors try to cut corners and all editors should stop them. We don’t mean to cheat anyone, but we get lazy like anyone else. She looked behind the scenes and had me breathe a bit more life into the background and the tertiary characters. She helped me flesh out the world.

The story doesn't feel piecemeal. It feels and reads like a single solid story (as it should because that’s what it is). Although these editors have left their mark on the story, there are no shifts in style or voice. My editors let Full Circle be Full Circle. They let the story be mine. I kept the story cohesive.

The first publisher for Full Circle closed and I still have not been paid any royalties. I’ll never see the money. It was a good seller too and I’ll admit that whole experience stings; however, the story is better now than it was before.  

As an author, I hope for three things from an editor. The first is that they help me write the best story I can write. The second is that I learn something from them. My final hope is that they let the story be mine. My editors exceeded my expectations.

If you read Full Circle, I hope you enjoy it. It's available through Freya's Bower, the Kindle store, and for the Nook, and others. It is for mature readers only as it contains sexual content and violent content. 

Full Circle Blurb:

In a war-torn world, a group of vampires struggle to reclaim their past glory. One of their own is missing. Weakened by solitude, the leader of the vampires, Kendrick, must find Byron, his covenant mate, before the pain of isolation kills them both. However, locating Byron is the least of the vampires' problems.

The chaos of the world's death rattle breeds suffering, death, and pestilence as well as a call for vengeance. The opposing sides of good and evil never looked so similar. A war that began with the dawn of time has enjoyed a respite. That respite is ending. Vampiric history, human history, and the lives of two lovers are about to come full circle.

Full Circle Excerpt  (Rating PG):

Naked as the day he was born, Byron climbed over a piece of rubble that was once some kind of building. First, clothes. Second, food. Third, get rid of the heebie-jeebies from the freak. Spotting what looked like it was once a clothing store that hadn't been fully picked clean, Byron made his way through the pitted streets. This was why he liked the remains of tiny towns. Usually the bulk of the people had died off from illness or starvation. Less people meant less competition for whatever remained. Lately, he’d become irritated by other people. He just wanted to be left alone and allowed to make his way in the world.

The drawback to small towns was that large cities, like New York, had used the time since the war to recover and rebuild. Getting a decent meal, a solid roof, and clothing was easier in places that had begun to rebuild. However, scavengers, like Byron, found an upside to being distanced from infantile recovery. The entrepreneurial spirit still lived in large and small towns, and sometimes people would use barely safe buildings to start businesses. When those businesses failed—and they would fail just as surely as the

building would crumble around the store and the supply chain lost viability beyond a few initial shipments—other people could pick over the dregs.

Byron couldn't remember a lot of the war that ripped apart the Earth. It was centuries ago, but he must have lived through it. He knew he lived through it because when he

woke up in the Red Cross tent, he was an adult. The medical staff told him that he was a victim of some kind of explosion and had been in a coma for a month. He often wondered: shouldn't he have some kind of scar from the explosion?

A single raven flew overhead.

He dug through the rubble of the store and found an old display of jeans. He gave the denim a solid tug, hoping the fabric was young enough to be viable and not dry rotted. The cloth held strong. This would work. What was that back in the church? “I know what you are.” Isn't that what Kendrick said? “I know how old you are.” Well, that would be freaking nice because Byron didn't know. “Don’t you ever thirst?” Hell yeah, he was thirsty. The whole world was thirsty. Thirsty for water, life, and some form of hope. It had been…damn…how long had it been?

Byron dusted off the pair of jeans. He shook them out and sent a spider flying through the air. It had been around three hundred sixty years since the war, and they were just now getting some semblance of normal weather. The rain stopped burning about seventy-five years ago.

He buttoned the fly on the jeans and hoped this store carried more than just pants. Away from his own kind? What did Kendrick mean by that? What exactly was “his kind?” More people living in the manner of beasts? Byron had enough of that. Everyone was eking out some kind of existence in an artificially revived ancient agricultural society turned on its ear. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. One terribly fractured society consisting of a mish-mash of nomadic, agrarian, and industrial traits turned on its ear…if it could find its ear.

He found some socks and a pair of hiking boots. This was a damn fine find. He felt a bit like a vulture picking off someone else’s failed attempt at normalcy, but even vultures

had to live, right? There was no telling where the next closest find would be. Most textiles fell to mold, mildew, dry rotting, and various other nasty things. Perhaps he should set up some kind of signal to alert the other vultures of the world? No, that might alert Mister Scary Fangs of his location.

A raven landed on a piece of rusted rebar in front of Byron.

Byron spoke to the bird. “What do you want with me?”

The raven pecked at the rebar.

“I have no food for you.” He didn’t have food for himself, much less for the omnivorous bird. Omnivorous. “And you aren’t eating me.”

The raven tilted its head.

“I’m not dead yet. Peck once at my eyes, and you’ll be my dinner. Got it?” He gripped his forehead. He was talking to a bird. That settled it. He was losing his sanity to solitude.

Submission Hell.

I just sent a story into Submission Hell. Let's hope this round is kind to me. It's short story that I'd like to see in an anthology. I've been wanting to do something with this particular publisher for a while.

I'm always nervous when entering Submission Hell. I get the submission packet together and hover the cursor over the send button for a while, get up, walk around, hope one the cats will hit the button for me, work up my nerve, and finally hit send.

My heart is pounding in my chest and I have the shakes.

It'll be several months until I hear something back, but keep your fingers crossed for me, please.

Ahh...submission hell.

Well, I now have another title in submission hell. Let’s keep our fingers crossed as this particular publisher is high on my “do want” list. I have some work with Freya’s Bower (published and in editing), so I’ve decided to go for another publisher on my target list. I’m not sure if this is a good fit or not. I figure a short for an anthology is a good way to test the waters.

Writing Workshop: As

All writers have crutches. Editors help us see those crutches and provide us with tools to stand on our own 100k words. “As” is a common crutch and one that I have. Although I’m not as bad as some, I want to get rid of it. If you’re a writer or an aspiring writer (or a hobbyist or whatever word you use to describe yourself), I recommend you play along at home. To help you find common crutch words, use the find and replace option in your word processor. Find the word “as” (or any other word) and replace it with a highlighted version of the word.

Today, I’m going to take sample sentences and rework them to eliminate the “as”. After the first sample, I’ll be using sentences from Full Circle. I’ll be focusing on pages with more than one “as”.

Special thanks to Marci Baun for being a wonderful editor.

Sample: Stephanie’s mouth fell open as she stared at the size of his hands.

Changed: Stephanie’s mouth fell open. They’re huge. Her hands. Huge. The word huge repeated itself in her head over and over again. Before her eyes, they ballooned. Morphed into a roll of baloney with five fat sausages. What the hell was in her soda?

Original: His eyes grew wide as the crooked cross registered in his mind. Oh shit. Kendrick twisted around him as they lay in the baptismal tub. (Byron POV)

New: His eyes grew wide. The crooked cross registered in his mind. Oh shit. They lay in the baptismal tub and Kendrick twisted around him.

No as, but the short choppy sentences annoy me. It has poor flow and too much power has been given to inconsequential parts.

New: Through infantile wakefulness, the crooked cross registered in his mind. His eyes grew wide—oh shit. They lay together in the baptismal tub and Kendrick twisted around him like a child keeping a toy on lockdown.

That’s OK, but is “infantile” really a Byron word? The use of “lockdown” isn’t appropriate for the setting of the story. I added “like” in what feels like a gratuitous simile. I doubt anyone would call me out on that change, but I’m not happy with it.

New: Through the hazy fog of wakefulness, the crooked cross registered in his mind. His eyes grew wide—oh shit. They lay together in the baptismal tub and Kendrick twisted around him practically locking him in place.

Gonna use this.

Original: Dozens of ravens flocked into the room as Kendrick wept. Hour-long minutes passed, and he felt his body grow colder. His chest went hollow. A lump in his throat blocked his breath. Byron had left him—turned around and walked away as if the centuries upon centuries that they'd shared meant nothing. (Kendrick POV)

New: Kendrick wept. Dozens of ravens flocked into the room. Hour-long minutes passed, and his body grew colder. His chest went hollow. A lump in this throat blocked his breath. Byron had left him—turned around and walked away. The centuries upon centuries they’d shared, had they meant nothing?

I like this except the Yoda sentence at the end. I’ve had a penchant for Yoda sentences since my fanfiction days. The new shorter sentences are balanced with the longer ones. And, I’ve gotten rid of a “he felt” which is, in this case, a gratuitous phrase.

A half a cup of coffee later…I like this sentence. I like the flow. We’ve all been there, right? As it is, we can all relate to it. Maybe it was a doomed relationship, a cancelled project, or trying to save a historical landmark, we’ve all been there. We’ve all, at some point in our lives, had that crucial moment of realization [or moment of initial shock and doubt] that something we were passionate about meant nothing to someone else. There were three showings of as on this page. Maybe I can nix the other one and keep this one.

Original: Hissing and screeching, he arched his back as loneliness took residence inside his chest.

New: Hissing and screeching, he arched his back. Loneliness took residence inside his chest.

That’s good, but it can be stronger.

New: Hissing and screeching, he arched his back. Stark loneliness assaulted his heart.

Mmm...still not quite right.

New: Hissing and screeching, he arched his back. Stark solitude assaulted his heart.

We have a winner! And, I still have only one as on that page.

In this next section we have four incidences of as all on a single page.

Original: Kendrick’s talons gouged the wood as he prayed. (Keep)

Original: Kendrick smiled as best he could.

Original: Seth pulled off his shirt as he walked toward Kendrick.

Original: Seth was tantalizingly warmth as opposed to his corpselike cold.

(All Kendrick POV)

New: Kendrick proffered a, hopefully, believable smile.

New: Seth pulled off his shirt while walking toward Kendrick.

New: Seth removed his shirt and walked toward Kendrick.

New: Seth removed his shirt and approached Kendrick.

New: Seth removed his shirt while approaching Kendrick.

New: Seth’s tantalizing warmth contrasted with his corpselike cold.

New: Seth’s tantalizing warmth battled his corpselike cold. (Stronger, but too aggressive?)

And so on for the rest of the manuscript. This is why editing takes forever; however, it’s the only way to grow as...err...ummm...

This is why editing takes forever, but it’s the best way to hone one’s skills and to promote author growth. Awkward.

Editing can be a long and tedious process, but it’s an invaluable learning experience.

Hmm...yeah, I still have a lot to learn. Hopefully the next manuscript will contain fewer crutches.

Disagreeing with an Editor

Rehtaek11 asked me a question that I think will make an interesting blog post.

Does the company that publishes your work ever make demands that you… change your work in a way that you don't like?

This has happened to me. There has been editorial advice that I initially thought was rooted in the deep end of the Insanity Pool.

The first time this happened to me was with the first edition of Full Circle. I held a great deal of respect for my editor there and told her that I thought she was bonkers for her suggestion, but I’d give it my best shot.

It’s been a while since Full Circle was out for public consumption, but do you guys and gals remember the scene where Byron is speaking to Pebble? Tami planted that seed of creativity. Yes, I created Pebble. Yes, I wrote the scene. But, when she told me that the scene fell flat because of all the inner dialog and reflection coming from Byron and that he needed to talk to someone or do something to make it interesting (“hell, have him talk to the bird”), the creative juices started to flow.

I went back (all the while muttering about how crazy my editor was and telling her so) and crafted Pebble. The friendly neighborhood oh-dear-God-please-let-it-just-be-a-bird-but-we-all-know-Cup-is-up-to-something-creepy Pebble. I then wrote the scenes with Pebble thinking they were going to fail miserably. (Too cryptic? Too obvious? Too batshit insane?) When I finished the scenes, I’d surprised myself. I loved those scenes. I think they really work and add another layer to the novel. And...yes...I told her so. I even let her do the “I told you so dance” and gloat about it.

When I was working on Personal Demon the editor insisted that a condom be used. I didn’t want a condom in the scene and countered. She countered. I was about to counter and realized that I really didn’t want a reputation of being a PITA author and really wanted more contracts with Freya’s Bower (Karen didn’t threaten me or anything), but most importantly, I realized that, Holy crap the lady had a point…kind of...sort of...

I went back and added the condom to the story. I still don’t like the condom being there. Karen saw the implications in the story that support the condom. I didn’t see them and felt that the condom solidifies what I never intended to be there.

So, why didn’t I put my foot down and refuse to allow a condom?

Because with editors you must pick your battles.

The presence of the condom, in my eyes, does change the story, but not to the point where I feel detached from the story. I still feel like it’s my story. I think it adds an element of premeditation that shouldn’t be there. Karen’s point is that the premeditation was always there. I can see that. I can see my point too. Bottom line: fighting over the condom just wasn’t worth it. It’s a short fun story and, generally speaking, I like condoms in erotic fiction.

Let’s go forward again with the editing for the second edition of Full Circle. The editor I’m working with at Freya’s Bower made a suggestion that I thought was a complete deal breaker. She wanted me to eliminate something from the story that I refused to do. Putting my foot down on this particular aspect was worth risking my contract being canceled. It was worth risking not getting another contract with Freya’s Bower. It was worth all feasible consequences. In my rebuttal (two typed pages explaining the importance of the item in question, reviewer feedback about the item in question, and reader feedback of the item in question) and she told me that it was fine. She still doesn’t like it and still wants it changed, but she’s willing to let me have my way with this.

We hadn’t had a dispute before that and we haven’t had one since. I respect her and she knows that. I feel that she respects me. Marci is just awesome like that.

I picked my battle here and I picked it carefully.

In these three cases we resolved the issue in a professional manner, but what happens when the editor and the writer can’t agree?

In some cases the issue is brought to the Executive Managing Editor. Basically, taken up with the editor’s boss and a decision is made and the editor and author are put back to work on the title. Sometimes a writer will be assigned another editor. In extreme cases, the contract is cancelled by the publisher or by the author.

I’m not willing to bother a boss or get accustomed to another editor over a condom. I’m willing to show deference to my editor’s experience in most cases. But every so often there’s something so critical to the story that it’s worth the risk of having to find another publishing house and editor.

About to Sin—Update

Well, after hours upon hours of typing, editing, and plot planning, About to Sin is finally in the hands of Beta readers. I missed my self-imposed deadline by a little bit, but given all that’s going on in my personal life, I’m not beating myself up for it.

By the time I finished the self-editing, About to Sin capped out at 111,900 words. There is room for one more sex scene, but I’m trying to figure out if it’s needed. I don’t want gratuitous sex in my stories. Also, given the hefty word count, I don’t want to further limit available markets.

I’m trying to figure out what to tackle next. I don’t want to work on the sequel to Full Circle until the Freya’s Bower editing has been finished. Recovered Flotsam and my still untitled sci-fi story are both calling my name. And my “g” key on my keyboard is acting up again. >.<

I think I have it fixed again…maybe.

Is this the point in my career where I’ll look back and laugh later? I sure hope so. LOL!

Anyways, back to topic. The group of beta readers I have for About to Sin are awesome! I have three and each one brings something special to the table. The first beta reader is a professional editor who is currently on hiatus in the publishing world. I trust her and value her opinion. The second beta reader is a priest who is helping me with all things catholic and priestly. The third beta reader is helping me sprinkle in a bit of culture and this became necessary due to an element of Anand’s back story.

Although Full Circle still holds the crown for “Title that Needed the Most Research”, About to Sin required a surprising amount of research. Yes, all of the Catholic stuff needed to be researched and thanks to the Vatican providing a wealth of information to Joe Schmoe Person, some of it wasn’t difficult. Also, thanks to tourists of the world, sniffing out location details wasn’t too difficult either. At one point, I took a virtual tour of several churches. Visiting the National Basilica in Washington D.C. helped and I wish I would have visited that place before I wrote the confessional scene. I probably would have used one of those booths instead of the one I used. Surprisingly, my time in Guatemala also helped me write this title. Inactive priests who faced what Daniel faced shared their painful stories with me while many active priests didn’t want to acknowledge my presence. Thankfully, I met one active priest who helped introduce me to other active priests who were willing to talk to me off the record. Take a moment and think about me sitting in a room SURROUNDED by priests in clerics. I think about it a lot…I also lived it. LOL! So, with all of this being so easy, what was difficult?

1)The medical stuff…guh! Thank you Dr. Gata for helping me!
2)How DO those collars work? No…really… Thank you Fr. B, Fr. M, Fr. J, Fr. J and others for helping me!
3)In what order do those robes go on? No…really… Thank you Fr. B, Fr. M, Fr. J, Fr. J and others for helping me!
4)Oh…”legislation” isn’t the correct word here? “Say” is the correct word here? This is an outdated Mass? Wait…there’s such a thing as major and minor seminary? Oh, so that’s when they start wearing the collars. So THAT seminary would produce a Daniel? And many others. Thank you Fr. B for your countless hours and bottomless patience.

Writer thy name is researcher.

After the beta’s get it back to me, I’ll tweak it some more and then hit submission hell with this title.

Priorities

Every so often a writer needs to take a look at their work and set priorities. That’s what this post is about.

Published work:

“By Invitation Only” published by Oysters and Chocolate
A short story about a woman at an S&M party with something to prove to herself.

Contracted work:

“Personal Demon” under contract with Freya’s Bower.
One man’s struggle with lust and faith.

“Tainted Past” under contract with Freya’s Bower.
A young man with no sense of history seeks to discover his identity through the love and affection of two lovers. What makes a man? A catalog of memories or life as it happens?

“Full Circle” under contract with Freya’s Bower.
In a war-torn world a group of vampires fight internal and external foes.

Work in submissions:

“Selling Foxx”
Matthew Fox learns the ropes of working at a host club. A series of mistakes makes him wonder if his first customer will be his last.


A-list WIPs:

“About to Sin” currently at 103k words
An out and proud ER doctor meets up with a closeted Roman Catholic priest and they have to fight their pasts to discover their futures.

“Broken Soul” currently at 6k words
A beaten-by-life street kid finds value within himself through the faith and affection of a snarky, cynical and irreverent priest.

B-list WIP’s:

“Finding Mr. Right-ish” currently in handwritten notes
A comedy piece about two roommates. One spends his life trying to find the perfect lover. The other wonders why he’s in love with someone who is oblivious.

“Sci-fi story” 4,300 words
A screw-up crew of a cargo carrier has to battle the Karne while delivering goods to a war zone.

C-list WIPs

“Purposed Chaos” currently at 116k words
It has been said that when two souls are destined for each other they will cry out until they are heard and answered. These cries, pleas and yearnings will shatter the boundaries of time and space. This need for each other will also destroy what blocks it.

When the discipline of purpose mingles with the chance of chaos, the universe is thrust into a paradox. A paradox of purposed chaos.

These are the stories of two such souls and their trysts within Purposed Chaos. . .

“Nyx’s Knights” currently at 28k words.

Malevolent and benevolent forces battle for control over a recovering world. One side has Nyx and his assassins. The glorified errand boys working for Nyx fight powerful foes, but their greatest enemy is themselves.

“Recovered Flotsam” currently at 16k words.

A young man blossoming into his sexuality is trapped on a boat with a sadistic serial killer. When he finally escapes, the love he’s been longing for might be with the man providing CPR if only he could exorcize the ghosts of his past long enough to enjoy his new freedom.

D-list WIP’s

No point in listing them at this time.

And the truth of the matter is...

Now everyone knows why I get irritated when the phone rings. All that banging gets painful.

Snagged from No rules. Just write.

The Writing Process Part Three: Writing Phase

Disclaimer: My process may not be your process. I'm not above making mistakes. Yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah and so on.

At this point in the process, I’ve covered all the research that I think I’ll need before I get into the nitty-gritty of writing. There’s ALWAYS more research that will be needed like little factoids to check, verbiage to verify, and maybe even big things that I didn’t anticipate. However, for this story, I think I’m ready to start typing.

The first scene is very important as it sets the tone for the whole piece. When the reader starts the book they have a blank slate, more or less, in their minds. Chances are they’ve read the blurb, perhaps read the excerpt and viewed the cover, but they really don’t know what to expect. They’re completely open and if you screw up the first scene you could be sending your reader in the wrong direction.

The beauty of writing in this day and age, you can screw up anything and correct it with just a few keystrokes. So, don’t sweat this too much, but do keep in mind you want a strong first scene.

I’ve heard some good tips about first scenes and I’m going to take a moment to share some a couple of them. Some people like to start in the middle of a conversation. Some like to start with some action (sexual or otherwise). Some like to start with the ending of something and that “hooks” the reader because they have to mentally scramble to piece it together. Some say those are horrible ways to start a scene. Um…I think that’s all I’ve read about first scenes beyond making them strong. (Whatever the frick that means.)

There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965)

I keep all of this in mind when I’m working with my first scene, but I don’t bang my head against the screen trying to make it fit some kind of formula.

I try to have a rough idea of what the blurb will be and I never expect something revealed in the blurb to be a point so suspense in the story.

Let me restate that for emphasis, because I don’t think many authors realize how much they kill their story with the blurb. Do not spoil your story with your summaries and blurbs. Fanfic writers, if your story hinges on a secret pairing DO NOT list the pairing in your summary.

Let’s all take a moment and think about how often we’ve read spoilers in blurbs. Kind of scary isn’t it? Yes, I know I mentioned Kendrick needing to find Byron in the blurb of Full Circle, but I never expected the reader to expect Byron and Kendrick to not be together. Come on, did ANYONE really expect them to NOT get together? No. No one expected that. So, I didn’t count on that being a suspenseful plot point, but I did use it as a normal plot point.

Sometimes suspense will sneak up on you. I never expected Anand and Daniel staying together to be a point of suspense in About to Sin. Due to the way that story is being presented I realized that, somehow, I managed to put suspense in there and it got to the point that it hurt the story. Some readers feared so much for the fate of the relationship that they were holding back on an emotional connection with the characters and the relationship. That’s a compliment, really. It means that I’ve written it well enough that some readers are right there with the boys in the “How can we work this out, because I don’t see a good way here” thing. It also means that I’ve written the sympathetic characters.

I gambled on assuring everyone that Anand and Daniel will be together come hell or high water. That seems to be working because the suspense is now where I want it. Not IF they will be together, but HOW is it all going to work out? Will Daniel leave the priesthood to be with Anand and how much will it crush him? Will Daniel stay in the priesthood and keep the relationship on the DL? Would Anand, someone who is out and proud, be willing to do that in a relationship? How long could Daniel hide a DL relationship and how would he settle the issues inside of him for doing something like that? I don’t like “ifs” being the point of suspense. If the reader figures it out, assumes the ending or if I slip up and give it away before I want to, then the suspense goes right out the window and I’ve lost the reader to boredom. If the reader figured out the ending, but can’t figure out HOW it will all work out, I’m golden.

With this sci-fi story what’s something I will need to include in the blurb to hit my target readers, but I wish I wouldn’t have to? The fact that Ryir is male and not female. More specifically, I’m going to have to include that Ryir is a eunuch. This book will be listed in the yaoi or gay fiction section of the catalog. I’ll need to spill the beans on this before the reader even opens the book. So, at no point in time should I expect Ryir’s gender (or would that be sex?) to be a point of suspense for the reader. This means I need to focus on making the HOW of this revelation interesting, because the revelation itself won’t be. The reader will know long before the characters know. If I can get the character worrying about how this information might change things, then I’m golden. However, I’m not counting on that. Does anyone think Kaz and Ryir won’t get together? Nope. I can’t use that. So, I need to focus on the process of them getting together being interesting. Kaz and Ryir getting together: no suspense. Kaz and Ryir staying together: in this story there’s believable suspense, but I’m still not counting on it. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure where the suspense will be in this story and I ain’t sweating it. I’ll find it.

So, with this sci-fi story that I still haven’t named, what do I need for a first scene? I want to show the setting: outer space. I need to show the humor. I also need to get the main couple together so I can start working on the relationship. This is a yaoi story and an erotic story. The relationship aspect cannot be pushed to second. It needs to be handled with every bit of care as the plot of the story. Additionally in the first scene, I need to give the reader some foundational knowledge about the characters without it being an infodump.

Also, this scene is pretty important for my writing style. Remember I write linearly (aka sequentially) so as I write I’m building upon what I’ve written and I’ve never changed the opening paragraph of a story. I’ve tweaked it and edited it, but I’ve never changed it. So, I’m counting on what I type to stick.

So, with all of that in my mind, I turn off the ringers to my phone. Set up a techy play list (Billy Idol’s Cyberpunk mainly) and pull up a blank document. I close my eyes and get wrapped up in the music. I use my mind’s eye to see what’s going on and eventually my fingers will start punching keys. Point of note: When I’m struggling to type, I will sit with my eyes closed and blindly touch type until I’m “feeling it” and can carry on with my eyes open.

Here’s the first chapter with my comments in italics. For publishing purposes, I won’t be able to share the whole story. I can only share what would logically be considered and excerpt. So, please, understand when I don’t share the whole thing. However, I don’t think any publisher will begrudge me sharing a rough draft of a few pages here and there.

Begin chapter one:

The spaceport teemed with life. Humanoids from all over gathered at the merchant port. Kaz stood at the promenade and watched the people on the lower deck shift and move. The mass of beings appeared to meld into a single organism. An ameba of sorts that oozed in one direction, shrank in another and wriggled in a third.

People came, deposited their swathe of color in the ameba and left for whatever their destination was. The food merchants hit the top of nearly everyone’s list. A few stragglers simply lingered looking like lost tourists. Kaz smirked when one man pulled out a digicam. Not like tourists, they were tourists. And most definitely lost if they were taking a picture of the bathroom entrance.

Some people may think I’ve killed this story before it had a chance with these two paragraphs. Starting a story with the setting isn’t considered all that strong. I couldn’t think of a good action scene and a middle of a conversation thing didn’t seem fitting. So, I’ve tried to highlight the humor. I think “oozed” and “wriggled” are funny words and the thoughts of a tourist taking a picture of a public bathroom makes me snicker. I think this will work.

Also point of note: I used the word digicam. I think anyone who lives in our day an age will know that’s a camera. Yes, this is a sci-fi story and I could have called it anything. However, if I’d used a really strange word I would have needed to bog down the sentence to explain it to the reader. Additionally, humans are creatures of habit. Once we get words we tend to hold onto them. From telegraph through teletype and telephone and ending with telecommunications all of those words begin with “tele.” I don’t think in the future things will be named all that different. How long has Latin been a dead language and how many of our new terms still have Latin roots? I doubt anyone will call me on if the word digicam will be used in X century. I might be writing about the future, but I need contemporary readers to be able to understand it. Besides most speculative fiction becomes laughable when the future becomes now. Do I need to ask for my “in the year 2000” flying car or self-cleaning house to make my point clearer? I’m not going to fret over coming up with super-duper “space age polymer” words for things that might very well have mundane words like “plastic”.

Nearly everything could be found at space station Dirk, named after the man who discovered and refined the use of Dirk Crystals as space-going fuel. Kaz didn’t care about Dirk, his crystals or whatever that Miyla vendor sold.

That other Miylas ate.

That moved.

That smelled like wet tar covered in burning rubber.

He especially didn’t care about that.

Two things with this section. I included the Dirk Crystals thing to cover my ass over why people in the future can travel through space. At one time I was an avid sci-fi reader, but I didn’t pay attention to the tools writers would give themselves. I was just a reader and that’s going to hurt me with this story. Will sci-fi readers expect me to explain the science in this story? I mean, really explain the science or will some things, like space travel, go without question? I don’t know.

The second thing is the structure for the Miyla vendor. I used that structure for humor (controlling pace for humor). I thought delivering the funny in such a way would boost the humor, but that’s very risky structure and I should be prepared for an editor to make me change it. And, I forgot something very important. The reader isn’t in my head. I need to describe the aliens. However, I can cover that in self-editing. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times. Writing gets it down. Editing makes it pretty.

The Duster, Kaz’s ship, a lean, mean, vicious bounty hunting ship, was in for some-billionth light-year overhaul, assuming the odometer’s accuracy could be trusted. That mattered to Kaz, but it stood second to something that had to be the jewel of the universe: Karne Cream Soda.

This paragraph is also risky. The Duster isn’t a lean, mean, vicious bounty hunting ship. That’s what Kaz THINKS it is and this paragraph runs the risk of deceiving the reader or making it look like I have a continuity problem. Hopefully, I’ll be able to make it clear to the reader later on. Also, this is written from Kaz’s POV and what he thinks is what needs to be written. The truth or the difference between Kaz’s POV and reality is brought out by interacting with other characters. The POV character can be wrong, but you don’t want them so wrong as to be deceiving the reader.

However, this paragraph does give the reader Kaz’s motivation for being where he is. The man is thirsty and only one drink in the universe is important to him right now.

He turned his back to the ameba below the railing and stared at the Karne store. He liked to take his time and savor the moment with this. The store front was every bit as colorful as the Karne culture wasn’t.

The structure of that last sentence is risky. It’s odd structure and one that some people consider as feeling incomplete. I, personally, like that structure.

The Karne, from a desert planet, tended to dress in dull tans. Their language looked to be little more than variations of wind-waves on dunes. This store, run by a presumably orthodox Karne man, knew the importance of color in advertising. As if Karne Cream Soda needed advertising.

I need to explain why Kaz thinks the Karne man is orthodox.

Some demi-god on that forsaken planet concocted the most succulent formula ever known to human taste buds and especially Miyla taste buds. That formula put Karne on the star charts, in nearly every spaceport and at the top of Kaz’s supply list.

As he approached the store, he didn’t need the adverts to remind him of the pale amber color, white fizz and shifting bubbles. His mind easily recalled the mellow mix of exotic spice blended with a smooth cream—a taste equally crisp and creamy.

Karne Cream Soda came in fresh, hydrated, dehydrated, canned and even frozen varieties. A supply of canned should be onboard the Duster now. Kaz came here for the fresh variety. The best variety. A little slice of the divine when served so cold the glass started to sweat before the pour was finished.

At this point, I want the reader to at least on a small level to want to taste this fictional soda.

The intercom over his ear beeped. He tapped the ear piece expecting one of the crew to be contacting him.

“You about ready? Maintenance is done.” The voice a low baritone meant one person and only one person.

“Yeah, Enron, I just gotta get a Cream Soda and I’ll be back to ship.”

“If you knew the history, you wouldn’t call your accountant, ‘Enron.’”

Kaz smirked. Maybe he did know the history and still felt the nickname fit. Did Enron ever think of that? Nope. The crew never gave him enough credit.

I’m beginning to show a bit of the relationship dynamics between Kaz and his crew here.

“And you can’t deceive me. You’re not going in for just the soda.”

Oh yes, he was.

“You’re going in there for that Karne woman.”

Well…there was her. Kaz smiled. “What can I say? I’m in love.” He patted his chest to emphasize the point.

And now we see the real reason this soda is so important, or do we? Is it possible that our hero puts a wonderful woman on the same level or below that of a soda? This can hurt me or help me. It will vary from reader to reader.

“Yeah, for the twelfth time in an E.A. year.” The snide tone to Enron’s voice indicated the number-cruncher wasn’t taking this love affair seriously.

The reader should be asking what “E.A.” is.

“That’s not true and since when do you accurately understand Earth Alpha’s time references?” And touché!

And answered. I’ve established how most time will be measured. I needed an increment of time that the reader would be able to understand. Star Trek may have the stardate, but Scotty still gave his estimates in hours—Earth hours.

“About the same time you learned her name.”

Kaz’s lips pulled into a thin line. That stung. They’d been here for six E.A months and he’d fallen in love with her with the first soda. Karne women were veiled in as much mystery as their bodies were fabric. Normally not seen beyond the confines of their own planet and sometimes their own homes, they wore fabric from head to toe with only their eyes exposed to the outside world.

Is anyone going to think that I’m talking about anything other than a burka?

So, he didn’t know her name and he didn’t know what her face looked like. None of that mattered. He knew her eyes. Those glorious breath-taking eyes. He saw them peering at him between layers of fabric in his sleep. There’s something about being denied seeing anything else on her that made her eyes seem all the more stunning.

The Karne were an attractive race to begin with possessing sloped eyes and upswept ears. Her eyes haunted Kaz. Their slant whispered of feline evolution. The wet of her eyes grabbed the light and sparkled rivaling the very drink the men around her served. Her irises, a shocking silver, pierced Kaz’s chest with every risky glance. The pupils, as black as her thick eyelashes, formed an elliptical pool of secrets.

I may have gone too heavy here with the SPESHUL eyes. However, this I write yaoi and this is one of the luxuries we get to enjoy. Also, this is the only part of her body, essentially, that he can see. So it makes sense to me that he would see them as oh-so-wonderful. As a side note: this section is an homage to the notes I read from an anthropologist about his studies in Afghanistan (pre-war). The way he described one woman’s eyes blew me away and I still don’t think I captured it right. I don’t want to plagiarize the man, but what he grabbed in with a few sentences with something I can’t do in two paragraphs. *groan*

Every so often, he’d sneak a peek at her hands—long thin fingers with light pink nail beds and warm tan skin. She had to be beautiful. Had to be.

The long thin fingers is the first hint to the reader that not all is as it seems. Only the people who know the physiological changes common to eunuchs will pick up on it.

Damn that fabric.

Being denied her visage, made him crave it even more.

“Hurry up.” Enron’s voice put his baritone to her face—a vision Kaz never wanted to visit again. “Get your soda, get your heart-broken and get back to the ship. We have job.”

“Who are we going after?”

“Cargo job.”

Kaz winced. Not another cargo job! “We’re bounty hunters not cargo carriers.”

“Right.” Enron drew out the word. “That’s why we’re in a cargo ship. Perfectly logical.”

“We’re in a cargo ship because that’s what I could afford at the time.”

“Look do you want to be the fastest cargo carrier or the slowest bounty hunter?”

Kaz sighed and his shoulders slumped. “But being a bounty hunter is so much cooler than being a cargo carrier. Dog fights and races. Not ‘sign here for delivery conformation.’” It wasn’t his fault they showed up at bounty hits last. The Duster was meant to be a bounty hunter ship. Slick and fast and…and…completely and totally bulky and under-gunned.

Yes, our hero is a bit shallow.

Enron cleared his throat. No doubt waiting for Kaz to relent. Again.

“What are we carrying?” He relented.

Somewhere in here I need to add a line about modifications made to the engine. There are two reasons why they’re the fastest cargo ship and the slowest bounty hunters. Kaz in his quest to be a bounty hunter, gave the Duster wonderful engines. The second reason is that they have turned off the artificial inside the cargo holds. The fact that the base design of the ship is that of a cargo ship and not a speeder makes it slower than the speeder, but the modifications make it faster than a typical cargo.

Oh, and there’s a third reason they’re the fastest and it has to do with them being stupid…I mean…daring…no let’s go with stupid enough to use Fold Portals. That’s rooted in the idea that the shortest distance between two places is, in fact, a curve and not a straight line. I can’t really explain the physics behind that or Einstein’s theory. Since none of the characters can either, I don’t have to. Fold Portals are basically what we’d call wormhole, but they’re less stable. In this universe the coordinates to such holes travel in black market circles. That’s also connected to the THEORY that traveling and speeds faster than light have to happen in envelopes and travel in protected areas that are basically between planes of existence.

Umm…yea…I totally don’t understand all of that, but I know enough of the basic concept to get across what I think the reader will need to know. Then again, no one may question why in my sci-fi FICTIONAL story people can travel in space ships.

“We’re being paid enough to not ask that question.”

All right, that was a little cool. “It better not be toys again.”

“Like the bunny you put a spiked collar on?”

“That’s our mascot not a toy, ya snippy bastard. Kaz out.” He tapped the com unit disconnecting the transmission. He didn’t need this kind of abuse. Grease gave him all the abuse he could ever need. And Bunny Duster certainly didn’t deserve that lack of respect. Cute little bunny with blue ears and a pink nose. A little heart on his tummy. And when Kaz squeezed Bunny Duster’s tummy, the furry ears would stand up. How could that not be the best mascot in the history of ship mascots?

Who doesn’t like a hero with a cute little bunny? Whoa…I just reminded myself of Ni. Ok, I SO don’t mean for there to be any connection with Ni. Ni is hardly a hero, right?

When he walked into the store, one of the Karne men stood. “Same as earlier?”

Kaz nodded. She remained seated on a stool with her eyes cast toward the floor. Five other men mulled around behind the counter seemingly acting busier than they were. As the man poured the soda, Kaz looked at her without trying to appear as if he was looking at her. He’d be leaving soon and this would be his last vision of her. Silently pleading for her to look up, he tried to make a memory.

Pale linen covered her from head to toe. Fabric piled up in her lap and swallowed her feet. Her hands, folded over her thighs, quivered in a barely perceptible tremble. The soda, in a sealed cup, clacked down on the counter before him. She slowly blinked and cut her eyes up.

Blood scurried from Kaz’s face. His breath left him and his heart nearly hammered its way out of his chest. She was risking her life giving him that glance and he knew it. Trying not make the situation worse for her, he smiled at the man and offered his cred-stick for payment.

“Was risking” need to be changed to “risked.” That’s an obvious “be verb” fix.

Water already beaded on the sides of the glass and the amber color, for some reason, didn’t seem nearly as pretty as it should have. “You gentlemen…” He took a chance and looked at her. “…and lady, have a wonderful day.” With his cup in hand, he turned and mentally bid the store farewell.

Didn’t seem nearly as pretty as it should have. Oh dear, is some woman knocking the soda from Kaz’s number one spot?

Angry voices, in the Karne language, pushed against the back of his shoulders. Damn it. He took two steps toward the door. In the reflection of a particularly glossy advert, he saw the outline of her being snatched up by the shoulder. Double damn it. Guilt pressed against his chest. Was it her glance or his salutation that did this?

Does the shallow hero with an affinity for fluffy bunnies and risky jobs actually have an ethical streak?

One of the men, the reflection was too vague to determine which one, pushed her from out behind the counter. Another man barked at her in a tone that screamed of admonishment. Kaz’s gut twisted.

Gut or guts?

She dropped to her knees. A stumble or a sign of submission? He wasn’t sure. This wasn’t his culture. He shouldn’t get involved.

But, he kind of caused it, right?

Any more action on his part might make it worse for her. So, why was he turning around?

One of the Karne men, the one who made the soda, lifted his hand. Her arms snapped up defending her face. Kaz darted toward her and snatched her wrist. Not his place. Not his culture, but his instincts wouldn’t let him leave it like that.

I need to add something here, like him putting himself between her and the Karne man. Kaz grabbing her wrist is NEEDED, but it doesn’t really protect her in any way. I know what I was trying for here, but it doesn’t work. This needs attention.

Damn ethics.

She looked up at him with terror in her eyes. Fuck! He’d touched her and thus signed her death warrant.

The whine of charging blaster pistols sliced his ears. After ripping himself from her eyes, he scanned the barrels of five pistols pointed at him. A sixth directly at her.

Ah…shit….

Nothing to do now, but…”Run!” he screamed. Partly yanking on her and partly of her own volition she secured her footing and together they raced for the door. One bolt buzzed by his ear shattering the glass of the pneumatic door. Glass crunched under foot as he, with her in tow and drink in hand, cleared the door.

I need to figure out if “partly of her own volition” is a POV slip or not. He would be able to tell if she was helping herself stand because of the pull against his arm, but will the reader see it that way? Actually, readers don’t give must attention to little POV slips like this, but editors do. So will the editor see it like this?

The rest of the store’s windows crashed to the deck as the men unloaded their charged bolts. One bolt ricocheted off something and skimmed some of the sweat off his glass.

Now, that was going too far! Attacking the innocent soda? Wrong—wrong on a multitude of levels. Ducking and darting through the crowd, the alternating whine and buzz of the pistols, followed them. Tapping the com unit with his wrist, Kaz yelled at the crew, “Start the engines! Start the engines!”

“What’d you do this time?” Enron asked.

“This time” all the back story the reader could possibly need.

Hoping to get lost in the ameba of people on the lower deck, he aimed for the elevator. Blaster bolts charred the thick clear doors as they closed. The feminine electronic voice of the elevator spoke, “Doors closing. Stand clear.”

Through the walls of the elevator, Kaz watched people scramble for cover on both the upper and lower floors. Security rushed toward the commotion and a couple of the Karne men faded into the panicked crowd.

She, with labored breath, leaned against the side of the elevator car. Her palm with her fingers stretched out seemed to hold more of her weight than her feet. She had to have the longest fingers he’d ever seen on a female. Crappy upbeat music from some world filled the elevator.

Two things. Once again, I’m mentioning her long fingers. That’s another clue. It’s very subtle as women can have long fingers and be fully female, but it’s still a clue. And the upbeat music bit needs to be expanded. I don’t think ironic humor carries. I’m trying to give the reader the image of chaos all around the elevator as last decade’s “snappy, poppy” pop music is piped into the elevator.

“Did you get hit?”

She didn’t respond.

“What did you do, Kaz!” Enron asked again.

The elevator dinged and the electronic voice spoke again, “Doors opening. Merchant deck one. Enjoy your visit at Space Station Dirk. Good day.” The doors hissed and parted.

Worry would have to wait. He hoped she could still run. She straightened to her full height and Kaz nearly dropped his soda. She had to be close to his height and he was 6’ 3”. Are all Karne women that tall?

Her height is a clue that something is amiss also. Is it possible for the female of an alien species to be nearly 6’3”? Yep, sure is. But, it’s also a point of observation needed for the eunuch status.

Zig-zagging through what was left of the crowd and staying very clear of whatever had escaped Miyla food vendor, they ran through the halls of the station seeking the commercial traffic elevators.

“You idiot!” That would be Grease’s voice through the com unit. “What the hell have you done?”

“Start the engines, Grease!” Explanations could wait.

“They’re started. Tell me why I shouldn’t leave you behind?”

“I own the ship!”

“And?”

Prime example of how his crew treats him. This is NOT one of those leave no members behind groups. Kaz better watch his ass or they will leave him. Or at least that’s what Grease wants Kaz to think.

Arguing could wait too.

He nearly lost his footing as he rounded the last corner to the elevators leading to the mechanical bays. He slammed his elbow against the call button and the whine of a single blaster came from behind him.

He turned and the barrel pointed directly at her—a straight and clear shot. “Leave,” the Karne man said in the common language, “this can go away for you.”

Five. Four. “I’m sorry…” Three. “…I can’t do that.” Two. He lunged for her. One.

I don’t think this is clear. He’s counting down the time it takes the elevator to arrive. What I’m trying to show is that he’s taken these elevators way too many times.

The elevator doors opened. “Doors opening. Commercial Annex. Enjoy…” By the time the electronic voice finished its spiel, Kaz had her knocked to the ground and together they rolled into the elevator.

The bolt fried a circle of carpet just outside of the doors. The pistol whined as it recharged.

“Doors closing. Stand clear.”

The whine grew higher.

The doors hissed.

Kaz lay on top of her with his drink still in his hand and his eyes looking down the barrel of a pistol. Close faster damn it! Close faster!

The whine stopped and the Karne man shifted his aim down. Smirking, he jerked forward and the pistol broke the eyebeam of the doors, making them open again.

“Interruption. Doors opening.”

“Did you forget about that?” The man asked. He then chanted something in Karne that made the woman beneath Kaz shake.

That really ticks me off about elevator chases. Our elevators come with something, an electric eye beam or those “inner” doors as a safety things, something to work as a safety catch. They won’t close if that safety mechanism is engaged. Why do the cops or whoever is chasing whatever is being chased always forget that? The closing of elevator doors thing is false suspense.

Kaz swung an arm interrupting the chant and knocking the man’s wrist to the side. Pinning the weapon-wielding arm against the wall, he planted his knee right between the man’s legs. Not all humanoids had their genitals in that spot, but the Karne did. The man jerked and the blaster fired, burning a hole in the roof of the elevator shaft.

“Error 325,” the electronic voice spoke, “Maintenance has been contacted. We apologize for any inconvenience.” Something behind one of the plates popped and flashed. Smoke threaded through the air at the top of the car. “Fire detected. Please, vacate immediately. Halon release in five…”

The only thing scarier than a fire at sea is a fire in space. How much ya wanna bet Halon is gonna be standard? Or at least something like Halon. I once worked in a control room with a Halon fire retardant system. We had to go through special training just to know how quickly it would kill us. Dead before the paramedics would even think that someone might be trapped.

Kaz kneed the man one more time before whipping away from him.

“Four…”

She short-stepped her clothing and rolled out of the elevator.

“Three…”

Kaz grabbed the pistol and hammer fisted the nape of the man’s neck.

“Emergency closing.” The doors hissed. “Two…”

Kaz sprung out of the elevator.

The doors closed just as the voice announced, “One.”

The emergency closing overrides the safety mechanism. If you’re stuck between the doors during an emergency closing, you’re screwed. This also explains why the doors seem to close faster here than when our hero was wanting them to close.

Karne man? Dead. Dead as dead can be. If the species breathes the same air as Kaz, a human, there’s no way they’re going to survive a Halon filled elevator car. He is go-straight-to-dead-Do-not-pass-Go-Do-not-collect-$200.00 dead.

He stared at his cup. Frost formed along the bottom rim. “Damn…” he mumbled. This wouldn’t be safe to open for a while. At least he still had it. Glancing at her, he held out a hand to help her to her feet.

Now that he wasn’t distracted by the blaster pistol, he tried to recall the feel of her in his arms. Memory failed him. All he could remember was that high pitched whine of the gun.

Stupid gun. What gave it the right to thieve the sensation of her in his arms? Still something poked at his mind as not being quite right.

Another clue that she may not be as she appears to be.

She took his hand and together they rushed toward the second commercial shaft. Fire alarms screamed around the hall and red lights pulsed, indicating that the Halon hadn’t contained the fire.

Did I forget about the pistol he grabbed? Yep, I sure did. He needs to do something with it before she can take his hand.

Karne man? Still dead. Dead, dead, dead. Lifeless. Finished. Dead. This just means the fire spread into non-elevator car areas…ya know…like the shaft and stuff. There’s probably Halon going off all up and down that shaft. Oh, if I wanted I could come up with some way that he’d still be alive, but that’s so freaking clichéd. Besides, with the Karne, I don’t need any particular one of them alive to do what I want to do.

It’d be a long time before he could show his face here again. If ever. But, at least he had her and his Cream Soda.

I’m not sure if I’m going to keep this a chapter or put it with what I have for the second chapter. Chapters in ebooks tend to be much shorter than yaoi fans are accustomed to. Hmm… thinking about this.

So that’s the first chapter and a little bit of how I self-edit. When we return we’ll do some more of this.

The Writing Process: Q& A Break.

I’m going to take a moment and address some of the questions I’ve been asked.

How do I organize the information gained during research?

This depends on the information. If it’s a website that I don’t anticipate fading into oblivion, I’ll bookmark it (medical information used for Byron in Full Circle, parts of Canonical Law for About to Sin, etc). If I’m afraid the information will go away, I’ll copy and paste the information into a Word document and include the url at the top of the document. If it’s a factoid from a book I own (the blood type in Full Circle, Bob’s and Phineas’s back stories in Full Circle, raven folklore, etc) I’ll put a piece of paper to mark the spot in the book and keep the book by my desk. If it’s some kind of formal document, such as the Vatican’s instructions for the pastoral care of homosexual persons, the Pope’s statements about homosexuals in the priesthood and so on, I’ll save a copy of the document in the same folder as all the files associated with the story. If it’s information gained during an interview with a person (i.e. a “former” priest I spoke to who left the priesthood after having an affair with an adult male (heartbreaking story), technical information that can only be held by the people who’ve been through it, etc) I’ll save all the e-mails. If it’s information from a phone conversation, I’ll write notes in a notebook and often have to call or e-mail them for clarification.

Why do all of this reasearch for an erotic story?

I believe that there needs to be a certain amount of fact to make the fiction believable. I also don’t believe that writing erotica is “slumming it”. Readers who happen to enjoy reading graphically depicted sex deserve a good story.

How would I deal if I can’t figure out how to start a story?

If the “flashes of scenes” I get about a story are not the start of it, I do nothing until I work backwards in my mind to the first word of the story. This is why I have nothing typed up on my catboy story. I want to do a catboy story and I know how the middle is going to play out, but I don’t know the first scene. So, it sits in plotbunny form until it decides to play nice with the others.

If I know the first scene, but not the first word, then writing discipline comes into play. I’ll do a few things to help me think. What’s the tone of the scene? I’ll play a song or group of songs that match the tone of the scene. I’ll use logic to figure out what’s going on in the scene and try to deduce the starting sentence. I’ll paint my nails to give me a mental break from staring at the blinking cursor. If worst comes to worst, I’ll work on something else and play a trick on myself. I’ll deny myself the joy of working on the new story until I really, really, REALLY want it and my mind is cooperating. This kind of hitch rarely happens to me when it comes to the first scene. I’ll usually leave a story in plotbunny form until I’m ready to start typing. This is the kind of thing that will happen to me in the middle or end of a story.

How do I go about character design?

There’s some of that in the previous installments and I’ll be showing more in future blog posts. I think what this person is really seeking is some kind of list or step by step process that I go through.

I’m sorry. I don’t do it like that. My character design is haphazard and backwards. Sometimes I’ll have things written before I know the details.

I’ve been asked to use About to Sin as an example for this. I can’t talk about specifics with Father Daniel right now, because there’s something coming up in the next installment that’s pretty important and I don’t want to spoil it.

But, here’s how I did it. About to Sin started as a short one-shot. I wanted a priest and a doctor together. Father Daniel is a Roman Catholic priest and that alone gives me a lot of back story. I wrote the first installment not expecting to write any more, so I just went with the guilt and shame aspects of feeling the need to do something like he did. When I turned it into a series, I had to start asking myself all sorts of questions. (Note: Questions only at this stage)

Why would someone want to become a priest? Why would Father Daniel want to become a priest? What has to happen to become a priest? Why would a good solid priest seek out what he sought that Friday night? What is he running from? What is he running toward? How old was he when he entered the seminary? Did he realize he was gay at the time? What kind of family would he come from? Are they supportive of his desire to be a priest? When he became ordained did he realize he was gay? What kind of crap had to be fed to him for him to view his sexuality as he does? Is he really a good priest? Obviously, he’s closeted from his family, but would they accept him being gay? Why is he trying so damn hard to be what he thinks is a good priest instead of being himself and letting his inner goodness manifest via his priestly functions?

For Anand, I asked myself these questions:

What makes someone so confident and happy with their sexuality? Does his family accept his homosexuality? Why did he leave Hinduism? Why did he become a doctor? What made him so jaded and reluctant to love? Why is he circumcised? (That question will make sense when you read further into the story.) Where are his parents now? How many sisters does he have? Is he the only boy in the family? If so, how do his parents deal with their only son being gay? Why…for goodness’ sakes…does he pay so much lip service to being selfish when it’s obvious that he’s not? Is the real reason he attended mass for six month just to ogle the sexy priest or is he seeking something more? Is he with Father Daniel only because Father Daniel is a priest or does that just add a sprinkle of kink on the relationship for him? I think it’s pretty obvious from the first installment that he gets off on the priest thing. Is this healthy for the relationship? Why is he a man-slut? Is he REALLY a man-slut?

Basically, I start with what I have written or what’s in the flashes of scenes and then I use a mixture of logic and psychology to figure out what happened to make them the way we are. It’s nature AND nurture. Furthermore, I may never answer all of those questions in the manuscript. I’ll eventually know all of the answers, but if I can’t naturally get them into a scene, then they stay in my mind. Also, answers will often lead to new questions. It sounds like a cop out, but I really do have the characters answer these things. I look at their behavior, dialog and narrative for clues. Narrative isn’t exactly the word I want for this sentence, but my mind is drawing a blank. >.<

Some writers will work their character designs before they type the first word. I work my character designs as I write and usually end up having to go back to the beginning of a story and flesh it out and change it to fit what I’ve learned about the character. This works for me, I think. It allows me to reveal the characters in bite-sized pieces and helps me resist an infodump of back story. I know that the reader needs to know X before the importance of Z scene will register. I don’t like infodumps, so I’ll try to sneak in bits of back story as they become relevant to the scene.

What are some of my turn-offs for plot elements?

I don’t like having a character wake up and it’s all been a dream. That seems like plot abortion to me. (Yes, the phrase “plot abortion” is a real writing phrase.) It also feels like tricking the reader. Don’t get me wrong, for some stories dreams are necessary, but I try to let the reader know it’s a dream or at least make the dream an important part of the story not just *POOF* “Well, that’s done, now where are my car keys?” It’s like hitting a big reset button for a story and I don’t like that. If you’ve written yourself into a corner either write your way out of it or edit your story.

I don’t like arbitrary ticking clocks in a story.

Example:

Thaddeus, a vampire, is on a quest to reclaim his mortality. He needs the kiss of a true love to do it and it must be done by the light of next full moon or he’s forever doomed to be a vampire.

Oh gag me. What’s so special about the next full moon that’s so critical to changing him back into human? Oh…that’s right…that’s when the annual meeting of the High Vampire Council happens and the power generated by them all being in the same room eating off the buffet and discussing the Vampiric politics marks that moon as being special.

I have a hard time believing that, but fine. What about the next moon during their next meeting?

Well, that won’t be for another 150 years!

Oh gag me. If the council only meets every 150 years, what’s the point of the council? How much power can they really wield if they meet so infrequently? WTF do they DO? And if they really want to help Thaddeus become a mortal again, couldn’t they hold a special meeting? And Thaddeus is immortal. If he misses this window, his ass can wait.

Besides, what’s so flipping powerful about the kiss of a true love? Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate the romantic element here, even if I do feel it’s heavy-handed. If you want me to put that much weight into a kiss of a “true love”, “young man”, or “fair maiden” you’d better being doing a different/modern/gay/etc version of Sleeping Beauty or explain why it’s so powerful.

I’ve seen this plot or a version of it in a lot of books and movies. I usually spend the time watching the movie or reading the book wondering if this is the only way the author could think of to put a sense of urgency in the story. The sad part, in my eyes, is that this plot element shows up in some popular stories.

If you’re going to have a “once in a life time chance” make sure it really is once in a lifetime. Planets and other heavenly bodies run in cycles. The three moons of Zarnon will line up in the southern sky more than once.

This example also plucks on one of my pet peeves when it comes to vampires. Why do they angst so much about being vampires? Perpetually young and beautiful. Perpetually healthy if they behave themselves. Extra long lives that will help them generate wealth and glorious surroundings. Fangirls and fanboys who want to be feeders for the thrill of it all. And some how, letting humanity be a state of mind instead of a state of being isn’t enough for them. Whatever. Show me a character with real problems, please. I know there are some very popular vamp writers who do this vampire angst thing, but I still don’t understand it.

Another turn off I have is what I’ve nicknamed “The Kung-Fu cop out.” The bad guys have spent the whole story being bad guys. They destroy villages, cheat, lie, steal, rape, kick kittens, and dog-ear corners in books. And yet! One good ass kicking from the hero and—PRESTO—everything is a perfect world again. The sun comes out, any still breathing bad guys change their ways, the hero kisses the cute little number who was the leader of the bad guys’ girl, kittens purr and all the villages forget they were destroyed. Ah…happy ending all around.

Bleh!

By all means give me the showdown with the bad guy and let the hero kick some ass, but realize a broken nose or chopped off head won’t solve the problems caused by the bad guy JUST prevent THAT bag guy from doing more damage.

This Q& A took longer than I expected. I’ll get back to the writing process with the next installment. By all means, feel free to ask questions.

The Writing Process: Part Two Vague Plot

Disclaimer: Every writer is different. Every story is different. My process for this story may not work for you, but I hope you find it helpful.

When we left off last time, I said we were going to get into massaging a plot. At this point, I take my cast of characters, drop them in to metaphorical bucket and watch to see what happens.

I'm not kidding.

Ok, I'll put it in more concrete terms—I mull it about in my mind. One of two things will happen here. One is nothing. If nothing happens, this story stays in plotbunny form until the characters decide to talk to me or I get a few paragraphs written and it sits there collecting dust. To date my shortest WIP is 353 words (earlier I told Marbles 500 and I was mistaken.) Those 353 words consist of a bungling mage, a wannabe knight, a faerie screaming in terror, a sister who is now a toad and a sentient candle with an attitude. "Just long enough to not be bleeding" has been the last line of that story for MONTHS.

The other thing that might happen is that I'll get flashes of scenes. Note: I have not yet tried to control or guide anything. I'm waiting for the characters to talk to me. Sometimes I'll type out these flashes and sometimes I'll let them sit in my head.

What I WON'T do is actually write out the scenes. If I satisfy my itch to get to a certain scene, I'll kill my motivation to write everything that leads up to it. This is a quirk I know about myself. Additionally, I write linearly or sequentially. This means I start at the beginning and I write the scenes in order all the way to the end. I do not bounce around. Some writers can bounce around and write whatever scene is itching their minds, but that confuses the heck out of me. I've even met writers who use the old note card system and, whoa boy, that's way too much organization for me. Have you seen my sock drawer? I'm not an organized person in my day to day life thus my creative process isn't organized.

If something is going on in my life and it will be a while before I'll get to the Pet WIP of the Month, I'll write out the flashes. These are VERY rough and look like this…

(Speaking through a communication implant.)

“Maintenance is about done, Kaz, you almost ready? We’ve got a job.”

“What’s this job? Who are we after?”

“We have some crates we’re taking to…”

“Crates? We’re bounty hunters not cargo runners!”

“It pays well.”

“Fine. What’s in the crates?”

“We’re being paid enough to not ask that question.”

“Better not be biohazard or I’m kicking your ass when you grow another head.”

~~

“Enron! Enron!”

“If you knew the history of that, you wouldn’t call your accountant by that name.”

“Start the engines!”

“Oh god, you picked up another stray, didn’t you?”

“I’ll remember your ‘no stray’ rule the next time I see someone running from a casino. Start the damn engines!”

~~

“And one more space station to add to our banned list.”

“Damn it. I liked that one. They had clean bathrooms.”

~~

“You stole a Karne woman! Idiot! The whole fucking species will be after us!”

“If you can’t handle it, Grease, I’ll have to get another co-pilot.”

“Those sand monsters won’t best me.” Grease shrugged tossing her braids over her shoulders. Going after her pride was always the best choice. “They won’t best me and they won’t out run my wrench.” She took her seat and handled the control stick like she needed a moment alone. “Besides, we can always use someone to do some cooking and cleaning around here.”

“I didn’t pull her out of slavery just to put her back into it.” Kaz wondered if he could train her to handle the weapons. She probably wouldn’t name one of them and run off in hopes of marrying it. Probably—but who would have seen that coming the first time?

~~

Apparently Kawosky's original name was Kaz. Ya know, I like Kaz better. It sounds more "spacey" to me.

But this gives me a vague idea of the plot. 1) Kaz has to steal Ryir. 2) They get banned from a spaces station. 3) The Karne will be coming after them. 4) They have a job to do. 5) Kaz and Ryir need to have hot sex and fall in love (all together now…Awww…) 6) Everyone thinks Ryir IS A WOMAN.
Now, I start asking myself questions.

1) What's the job?
2) Where's the job taking them?
3) How can I make the job worse?
4) What has to happen that makes it logical for Kaz to kidnap someone without making Kaz look like the badguy?
5) What's the situation that would allow someone as repressed and sheltered as Ryir be in a position to have contact with Kaz?

Now, I mull these over in my head and play a small active role in guiding the plot. That small active role is logic. What logically has to happen for X to happen? What can make this believable even if it's not probable? (Honestly, how much in fiction is truly probable?) A why is my brain freaking trying to pound its way out of my skull?

Two Aleve, several hours and minus one headache later…

Now the job. What do I already know about it? 1) It's a cargo job. 2) The customer wants this to be kept a secret. People are usually protective about contraband. What kinds of things are contraband? Weapons, drugs, pornography, body parts, some medicines, and things involving the slave trade.

(Side note: As I'm reflecting upon this, I think I missed something really funny here. I looked at what would be contraband for my time and my world. This story is set in the future and I should have had them go through a really dangerous situation for something stupid like Jell-O, stuffed bunnies or dirty jock straps.)

We want some danger with this to add some excitement to the story. So, I've decided that first round of mystery cargo will be guns. The second round will be medicines. What would need both of those? A war zone. So, now our "questionable" crew that has no weapons officer will be traveling through a war zone while being chased by the Karne. If I can't find a good story in there, I might as well hang up my keyboard.

Why two rounds of cargo? I figure with the Karne after them, they won't go near Karne space unless they have to. The only way to make them is to have them deliver some goods just to find out the final payment comes at the end. The destination which is through…oh my Kaz…Grease is going to beat you senseless.

So we now have three plot lines. 1) The job. 2) The Karne are out after them. 3) the love story. What can I do to weave these together? Make the job travel through Karne space and use the close quarters of the ship as well as Kaz's sucker for a hard luck story character trait and Ryir's view of seeing himself as property to start the "love" aspect of the story. Eww…that sounds unhealthy. No one wants to see an unhealthy relationship between the sexy protagonists, right? So, I need something that will allow me to show Kaz screwing up (romantically) in a charming way and trying to coax Ryir into independence while showing Ryir forgiving Kaz's screw ups while appreciating the attentions of someone who cares.

At this point, I start getting more flashes of scenes, but they're too detailed and too dependent upon what comes before them to write them out. I need to hold them in my head and work my way toward them. This is where I'll differ from many other writers. Some would go a head and write those scenes. For those writers my way of working doesn't work.

If you notice, my plot lines are really vague, but I'm not worried about that. I'll flesh it out as I write it, rewrite it and rewrite it and rewrite it and… My character designs aren't all that specific either. I ain't worried. Alvaro started as…"the blond one who knows a lot."

To recap, we now have some rough character designs and three plotlines.

Next stop on the writing process, we'll hit the writing phase.

By the way, FEEL FREE to ask me questions. This is my process and I'm not accustomed to explaining it. I've probably skipped a few things. I want this to feel like a dialog between us and not a lecture.

The Writing Process: Part One the Preliminaries

It seems that people like the idea of me sharing my writing process and I think it will be fun for me too. So, over the next few blog posts, you’ll be able to see how it is that I write a story.

Every writer is different. Every story is different. My process may not be your process, but you’ll get the chance to see my errors (even ones I don’t see) and, hopefully, we’ll both learn something.

The story I’m going to be using is a WIP (Work In Progress) and I’m handling that story the way I’m handling these blog posts: I don’t know where it’s going, but we’ll see. I’ve not courted any publishers with this WIP and I don’t even have a title for it yet.

So…


The Writing Process: Part One…

This story started with an itch of an idea. I wanted to do something with a eunuch and I also wanted to work with a little bit of politics, gender persecution and sexual oppression. (And some people just realized erotica writing isn’t all about the sex.) One day, the idea of blending those two itches came to me and that generated another host of thinking.

Now I start adding layers to what I want to do with this piece and always keep in mind my audience.

1) I want to do a story with a eunuch.

2) I want to figure out why it’s “a eunuch” and not “an eunuch” according to Word—better check on that.

3) I want to work with the heavy political issues that are actually a commentary on the Taliban’s treatment of women. That’s the REAL point of this piece. I want to express some of my views about the Taliban, but fiction is not a preacher’s pulpit. This isn’t church and leave the preaching in there. So, I have to handle this in a way so that it feels like a story and not political or religious propaganda.

4) I write m/m and my readers expect m/m. That’s going to make having a female romantic lead a little difficult.

5) And to further deter me from preaching to my readers, I’m going to aim for humor. I think this will work for me. I’ll be presenting heavy topics, but in a way that’s easy for the reader to handle. I won’t be bludgeoning the reader with a big o’le “This is wrong!” stick, but I’ll be showing the readers a section of the characters’ lives and let the readers come up with their own ethical decisions.

Using a eunuch—a third gender—is how hope to blend everything I want with what my readers expect in this piece.

But, how can I talk about the Taliban without talking about the Taliban? I’m rather familiar with the Taliban from a feminist perspective, but, to be totally honest, I ain’t that motivated to do all the research I need to do to give the story an air of authenticity. Sure, I’ve read reports and case studies. Yes, my anthropological studies help me here, but I really don’t want to add a lot to my work load. So, I decided to make it about the Taliban without making it about the Taliban. I’ve created a new race and that’s the Karne.

Now, how can I make the main point of this even less obvious (thus deter myself from getting on a soapbox) and explain that I have a race that doesn’t exist? If I set it in contemporary Earth (which is by far the easiest setting for me work with) then I have this whole “who are the Karne” thing rattling around in the reader’s head. No. That’s unacceptable. I don’t want to risk anyone’s willing suspension of disbelief and I don’t want to distract the reader with unnecessary questions. I have two choices. I can do the Robert Aspirin and Piers Anthony thing and create a whole fantasy universe or I can do the Gene Rodenberry thing and make it sci-fic. I’m a trekkie from back in the day, so, I fast forward into the future and drop the plot inside “speculative fiction.” Speculative fiction is basically sci-fi.

Ok, so we have our setting now: outer space at some point in the future. We have our genre labels: m/m erotic humor sci-fi or yaoi humor sci-fi. And I’d like to shoot for a short novel with this one so we’re targeting somewhere around 50K words. That’s Full Circle’s length.

Now, I need to gather some information about eunuchs. I’m a m/m erotica author. Specifically, I’m a yaoi writer. My readers don’t want to read about a Ken doll. What exactly is castration? What functions remain in castrated males and what doesn’t? What body parts remain and which don’t? What are the visuals I’ll be working with when it comes to the erotic scenes?

I don’t personally know any eunuchs. My friendship circle includes a vast selection of fetishes, but that’s not one of them. So, I hit historical documents. After reading what helped me only a little bit, I hit the modern day eunuchs. I haunt the boards, read their stories (fiction and nonfiction). I e-mail them and talk to them. And here’s where I learn there are a multitude of forms of castration. Also, the type and the timing of the surgery as well as any hormone treatments after the surgery affects what functions and which body parts remain. This is also where I learn what physiological effects happen in castrated males.

(Sidenote: Before I started writing, I never confused affect and effect. Now, I no longer trust myself and question it every time I write it. Affect is the verb. Effect is the noun. X affects Y and that end result is effect. When you affect something you have an effect on it. *sweatdrop*)

[Another sidenote: With a few notable exceptions, if you tell people you’re a fiction writer working on a story, they’ll be glad to tell you just about anything. Most people in fringe groups (fetishists included) are sick to death of writers getting things about their lives wrong and will jump at the chance to help. I’m always upfront and honest when I’m doing research for a story. ]

Now, I start picking what I want for this character. I do not want a penectomy. I want this character to have a penis—that’s kind of important for my m/m readers. However, as I was doing the research on eunuchs, I read a beautiful description of the male anatomy without testicles. That visual stuck with me. That’s the visual of this character’s genitalia that I want. So, I want a eunuch who can still function in bed. This character will be the uke so I don’t need to worry about reliable erections that can be used for penetration, but I do want both characters to enjoy any sexual activities.

He needs to keep enough testosterone in his system to achieve an erection, climax (if treated well) and enjoy the experience of sex. After talking to some eunuchs, I learned all of these are fairly common, but not with the regularity of an intact male. One eunuch I spoke to said that he achieves about two orgasms a year, but sill enjoys sexual play and contact even if he doesn’t climax. Another said about two a quarter and another said it all depended upon how his top treated him. A few, due to hormone treatments, have noticed very little change in their libido and sexual response. Some of those who have very few orgasms a year report having extremely powerful (to the point of almost entering seizures and blackouts) orgasms. IF I give my character the right procedure, I’m covered when it comes to sexual play.

I also need to keep in mind my readers. Us yaoi fans love our fluids—that’s evident in our artwork and stories. Eunuchs tend to have thinner and more watery ejaculates, but that should satisfy the yaoi fan’s need for fluids. However, I ran into a hitch. Eunuchs who do not get hormone replacements will experience a shrinking of the prostate as well as penile tissue. Sometimes this will happen even with hormone replacement therapy.

And, there’s something I can’t figure out. Prostate massages will produce a good deal of fluid on a healthy and normal prostate, but how will that change if the prostate has shrunk due to a lack of testosterone? However, I’m not going to let that keep me from the story.

Luckily, I’ve set this story in the future and this character isn’t human. So that gives me some cheating…I mean…wiggle room. All I need to do is come up with a procedure that will mimic castration, but not leave the character impotent and asexual.

Also as part of this research I watched a lot of live action porn (mainly amateur) and made note of how many men lose their erections while bottoming and yet still seem to have a satisfying experience. (A lot more than yaoi fans ever consider.)

So after some research, I’ve figured out what needs to be altered on this character and what doesn’t. I’ve figured out what organs need to stay intact, what kind of procedure has been done and when it was done, how to explain the surgery to the reader and how to explain why this is done within Karne culture.

Medical research? Done (at least for now.)

Honestly, think about it, I’m going to be talking about a procedure that doesn’t exist, on an alien race that doesn’t exist in a time frame that hasn’t happened yet—do I really need to worry about if someone is going nitpick on whether or not my eunuch can have a cum shot? No. I wasted months of writing time by over-thinking this. And yet, I’m still concerned that readers won’t accept this character in a sexual situation.


After a few months of working on this story, I now have a setting, one partial character design, one partial race design and not a single word written. I consider this good progress for a story like this. Oh yeah…and no plot. That doesn’t bother me yet. A lot of writers start with a plot and sometimes I will start with a plot, but not with this story. Actually, I rarely start with a plot. I usually start with a flash of a scene and have to work out the plot from there.

Now to flesh out the character design a little bit more. For this eunuch character I’m dealing with a character who has been surgically altered and lived in a repressive environment. Logically, we should be talking about a shy and withdrawn character. We’re probably dealing with some Battered Wife Syndrome and maybe some Stockholm Syndrome. This is a person who will be very submissive, flinch when unexpected gestures are made and cower at raised voices. This will be the TOT of the story. At this point, this character has not been named which I think I will do so now. I also need to keep in mind that once this character has a taste of freedom and security they MIGHT go a little bit wild.

I’m going to spare you the details of this, but here’s how I go about naming characters. My first destinations are the baby naming sites. The majority of my character names are picked due to origin, meaning and decades of popularity. I never expect the readers to look up my character names, but it’s something I do for myself. This did not help me in this case. My next stop is a random name generator. If I’m still not happy, I’ll try to blend a name from the “meaning list” with the “random list.” Then, I’ll go to friends and ask for suggestions.

Marbles suggested Souja for this character and I really appreciate her suggestion. I was going to go with that until I saw Souja typed next to the seme’s name. That’s information Marbles didn’t have and I think that combination was a little hard on the eyes. Also the longer I looked at the name Souja the more feminine it felt. Yes, this character is effeminate and he is a eunuch, but I don’t want a really feminine name. A little feminine, sure, but if I’m making the reader struggle to keep a male face in their heads when they see the name, then I’m not writing properly.

I also need to eliminate any names that start with the same letter as any other prominent character. You don’t want your reader getting confused and asking, “Which one was Kan and which one was Kai?” So, I can’t have anything that begins with K,V,G, or E.

So now I start all over again. I need something that smells of Arab connections, but not too much. The random name generator gave me this one Ryririr. That’s too busy and I’ll never remember how to spell it, but I like the spirit of that name. Ryir. “Rye-ear” Ryir. It has that sneaky hint of a Middle Eastern connection and it’s masculine, but not alpha male masculine. Hell, it’s not even beta male masculine. It could easily be a woman’s name.

The character’s full name is Ryir of the house Tijoh. (This took way too many hours.)

Now, I need a seme who can make everything all better for Ryir as well as draw him out of the abusive cycle. I need a seme who can bring Ryir out from behind his shell of hurt and abuse. I have already partially designed this seme. He’s a dreamer type who is too quick to give away his heart (after working so much with Anand’s reluctance to love, I wanted to work on different type. Also Ryir is not the type to pursue a lover and I need someone who is WHOOSH infatuated and can chase Ryir.) He’s a sucker for lost causes and has a sarcastic and dry sense of humor. He’s got a strong ethical code and tends to do what he feels is the right thing even if it hurts himself. Note: What he thinks is the right thing may or may not be what the reader or I think is the right thing. He’s kind and caring, but clueless. By clueless, I don’t mean Too Stupid To Live because no one likes TSTL heroes (especially publishers).I mean the man has been in what he thinks is love more times than he can count, but hasn’t a clue as to about how courtship goes. In short, he’s in love with the idea of being in love. He also thinks he’s a bad boy, but he’s totally not. That character’s name is…well…what he tells everyone his name is: Kawosky.

The main pairing of this story will be Kawosky and Ryir.

Kawosky can’t handle a ship by himself. So, I need some side characters.

We need a money guy, because Kawosky is too much of a dreamer to handle that. We need a doctor, because that’s specialized information and this character will also be the “brain” of the group. (Kind of like how Alvaro is the brain of Full Circle and Hakkai is the brain of Saiyuki. If the reader needs a question answered the author can use the brain to answer it. Since the brain is the brain, the reader rarely wonders why the character knows that particular piece of information.) We also need a mechanic and “a heavy”. The heavy is the ass-kicker or co-ass-kicker of the group.

The accountant is nicknamed Enron. He hooked up with Kawosky while he was on the run from some casinos. He’s not human, but I’ve not completely figured out what kind of alien he is. I see him as a short rotund man with a bald head and John Lennon glasses. That’s not very yaoi and I may change that. I also need to check into the legalities of using the word “Enron.” Since the company is no longer in business, it shouldn’t be a problem. Since he’s the accountant, this can also fall under “parody” and thus be under “fair use”. He’s the record keeper of the group.

The doctor is Vesrod. He’s half-human and half Syhpris (a race that has serpent evolution). He’s hot. Tall and slender with reptilian eyes and I’m seriously thinking about a split tongue. I WANT the reader (and here’s where yaoi fans kick ass) to think there might have been something going on between Vesrod and Kawosky when the lightyears got a little too long. Vesrod is caring, compassionate and logical. The logical element will help me cover any potential jealousy issues when the new love interest comes into play.
He’s the bookworm type. I need to come up with something “misfit” as part of his story to make him fit in with this crew. Some kind of something that had his medical license revoked.

Grease is the mechanic, co-pilot and “the heavy”. She’s full blooded Trylock. I wanted a female in this role because I’m sick to death of wimpy women in fiction. She’s hot tempered and sassy. This is not a woman you want to piss off. She’s the tallest and broadest member of the crew. I see her race as a warrior race with dark skin and bits of boney “armor” over parts of the body. Her bones will be damn dense and her muscle tone bulky. She wears her hair in long braids. I don’t see her as a lesbian, but I also don’t see her letting something as minor as gender keeping her from getting what she wants.

With the preliminaries: I now have a target genre, a setting, and five partial character designs. However, I have nothing written and no solid plot.

Aside from naming Ryir, I had this stuff worked out months ago. The next time I post on this, I’ll get into how I work plot ideas.