On Full Length Novels And Short Strories

On this beautiful Saturday morning at 5:30 am (don't look at me, I'm on my way to bed!) I thought I would talk about something that's been on my mind lately, since I've been asked about it a few times. It has to do with how I approach full length novels and short stories, particularly in the Ren'Ai Rensai series.

If you've read any number of them, you've probably noticed that there are sometimes very different approaches, sometimes within the same subsection. In general, the full length novels focus on the plot of the relationship between Aiko and Reina (and others, because lol polyamory.) Usually this is a snag or a huge chance that they're going through, such as moving in together, or dealing with gender roles and affection. Entwined with this is the sexual side as well, as that usually goes hand in hand with the plot since that's just how they roll.

Shorts are a different beast. They're usually smaller ideas that take place outside of the timeline of the novels, or are deleted scenes that just didn't fit in the novels. (Like "Mitsushin.") The shorts have a somewhat different function. They primarily focus on the sexual side of their relationship, and usually culminates in (or has scattered throughout) a climatic sex scene that brings the overarching theme together. Many kind readers have assured me that they enjoy the plot just as much as the sex, if not more, but I feel like I should say that the shorts aren't really about plot in the same sense the novels are. The novels are about how one big thing brings Reina and Aiko together and moves them forward in their development. The shorts are about the little, sexier things that make their days brighter.

Within the shorts, though, there are some other things I have to think about. I consider that there are two kinds of shorts: the first are self-contained stories that any new reader could pick up and enjoy, without needing much context from the overall series. The other kind are the shorts that I think would be best enjoyed by readers who have been following Aiko and Reina for a while now, and heavily depend on context. These are the ones that I offer for free and cross my fingers on. I have been burned by this before, in which readers did not like them much because of a lack of context. That's fine. It's a risk I take in my marketing strategies. Usually this latter type of story ends up being pulled out of Select after one or two runs and is uploaded to other vendors, like iTunes and B&N. I want my readers on those outlets to be able to enjoy some shorts as well, and it might as well be the ones that need context! ("Mitsushin." was the first to get this treatment. The next will be "Shimoneta.")

Then of course there are the two-part shorts that switch between POVs. An example of this would be "Nanpakai." and "Chinseki." The latter is difficult to enjoy on its own without the first part, but I think it can be done. And it has been done. One of my kindest readers got their start with "Chinseki." (Which happens to be my favorite short!) There will be another set of two-parters coming out later this year, and I think a lot of readers will like where it's going.

So that's how that works. Will I write an RR short that doesn't have a sex scene in it or at least revolves around sex? Highly doubtful. That just wouldn't be the RR way. But somehow, I think most people are A-OK with that. ;)

OUT NOW: "Tokoiri." a REN'AI RENSAI SHORT

It's been a month since the last RR release, hasn't it? I think that's the longest we've gone since the time between the first two books! Well, time for a new one, isn't it? I'm particularly happy with this one. From the cover to the theme (and to the contents themselves,) I think you're gonna like it!

The big day has finally arrived: after traveling across one ocean and spending half her life savings, Aiko is about to marry Reina, the woman she has loved for over twenty years. The dress is perfect, the December day sunny, and Reina actually showed up, but there's one thing clawing at Aiko's nerves like a rabid beast - the "tokoiri," or consummation of their marriage that is to come that night. Although Aiko has spent most of her nights with Reina before, she is convinced it will be different now that they are married. From the nuptials to the late-night banter and everything in between, this "tokoiri" may fray the last of Aiko's sanity yet!

"TOKOIRI." takes place on December 17th, 2012.

Excerpt below!

            “I don’t want tonight to be half-assed!”

            Unclenching her fists, Reina stood straight up with a perplexed demeanor. “Tonight? Half-assed? What are you going on about?”

            Aiko rubbed her forearms with sweaty palms. “We have to tokoiri, you know.”

            “Tokoiri? What are we? Some feudal straight couple?” Reina scratched her head. “Ha! I wonder who will come check the sheets tomorrow, eh?”

            “I’m serious!”

            Reina lowered her arm again. “Ai-chan…we’re not exactly new to fucking each other.”

            I know! She could kick the door right about now! Twenty years of having sex with Reina…of course she knew! But this was different. “I don’t want to lie on the bed and have you rut on me for two minutes before rolling off and snoring!”

            “Hey! It’s longer than two minutes!”

            “And I don’t want to sit in a hot tub or take a shower! I want to make love!” Tears she did not anticipate came running down her cheeks. She slapped her hands over her face to hide her embarrassment.

            After two dry sobs, Reina put both her hands on Aiko’s shoulders and brought her into an embrace.

            “I’m serious.” Aiko’s voice was muffled by her spouse’s jacket. “I want tonight to be special. We can’t consummate our marriage on mediocrity.”

            Reina rubbed Aiko’s back, fingers dancing between her dress and the bare part of her spine. “Is this like when you wanted to have perfect sex the day we moved in together?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s a lot of pressure.”

            “You’re telling me!”

            Reina pulled away and stroked her wife’s wet cheek. “I don’t want you to be unhappy today. But I don’t want you putting that sort of pressure on the both of us as well! What if I can’t deliver what you need? What if no matter what I do you feel it wasn’t good enough for our wedding night?”

            “That’s impossible. You’re always good enough for me.”

            “Then what is there to worry about?”

            Aiko sniffed the last of her impromptu tears and turned away. “I want it to be romantic. I want to feel like we’re making love, not having sex for the sake of it.”

            Hands reappeared on her bare shoulders – Reina’s palms were as warm as the tears drying on Aiko’s skin. “With you, Ai-chan, it’s never sex for the sake of it. Making love to you is never just another thing to do.”

            Aiko laid her hand upon Reina’s and relaxed. “Do you promise?”

            Reina nuzzled her nose into her wife’s ear and exhaled a long, warm breath. Kisses followed along the edge of her face. “From the first time we did it, I’ve only looked forward to sex with you.”

            Aiko could remember that first time: Christmas Day, 1992. We’ll be honeymooning on Christmas. That was the day Aiko decided she was ready to lose her virginity, and not to anyone – to Reina, the woman she was on her fourth date with. How quickly life changed. Just earlier that same month Aiko had known nothing about her own homosexuality. Not until she met Reina, who drew it out of her like the sun brings out the core of a flower. Like one Christmas Day. Aiko’s favorite day.

           “I want to make love,” she said, turning in Reina’s embrace and clinging to her arms. “I want to feel everything I felt that first time we did it, and the second, and every time since then. I want it to be fast, and slow; easy, and hard.” With Reina it was always a little of everything. Sometimes a lot of everything. “Just you and me and our bodies, like it was that first time.”

            “Jya, you know what you want, all right.” Reina cupped her hands around her wife’s face and kissed her forehead. “But what about what I want?”

            Aiko laughed. I can only guess what she wants. “What do you want, anata?”

            Reina rubbed her hands along Aiko’s bare arms, testing the strength of her biceps and the dent of her elbow. “I want to make you happy. And I want to feel passion with you as well.”

            Something tumbled in Aiko’s groin as her spouse’s hands tumbled to her behind. Even now she still can make me blush on my wedding night. “Do you want romance?”

            “I want whatever we do.”

            Their next kiss could have been their last.

"TOKOIRI." is a Kindle only title that can be purchased here!

 

Friday Flash: The Color Yellow

Hey everyone! Time to bust another one of these out. (What? It's called "flash" for a reason, right?) Well, I had intended to write Red Scare, Pt II for this week, but it's turning out longer than I anticipated and I don't have enough time to finish / edit it. So instead you get this little piece I wrote a few days ago. It's based on a prompt from Flash Fiction 365 @ tumblr. But if nothing else, it features the same character that Red Scare, Pt II includes, soooo that's something, right?

Also, we're time-warping back to 1979.

(Over 1k words, written in about an hour.)

---

Amongst anything else - flowers, dresses, plastic jewelry, Crayons in a box - the color yellow was nothing special. It was a nice enough accent color, but the era had taken it to ridiculous extremes via paint pallets and upholstery.  It also reminded one of dinner soup come back to haunt in the middle of the night.

But that day…

That day yellow was beautiful.

At six years old Miranda had no real opinion about most colors – not like her peers at the kindergarten, who rolled around in blues and pinks and fought over red glitter and purple crayons. Of course, she had her supposed favorite of the day, a deep orange so thick in its own hue that it turned sienna in the summer light. She wore it on her jumper and in the ribbons in her hair, against her mother’s better judgment (“Why do you like such boring colors? Boring colors for a boring girl. You look like a street dog in that color.”) and her teacher’s frustration since it made little Miranda blend in too well with the paint on the walls.

But yellow was beautiful.

Her classmates were all like her:  either a mix of Caucasian or not all. The local Asian population was at its thickest in that area, and a mixture of Mandarin, Laotian, Vietnamese and some Korean babbled in the air during drop-off and pickup times. There was one other child who was part Japanese like Miranda, a boy whose parents forbade him from speaking their natural language. Her mother had futilely arranged play dates between the two children in the morbid hope that they would get engaged before primary school.
Little George was currently stuffing another boy’s face in the sandbox while Miranda clung to the wall, alone. Her eyes flitted between her supposed fiancé and the new girl who brought with her the color yellow.
Susie was also part Asian, but the genetic randomizer had bestowed upon her a happy head of blond from her white father’s side. The color pouring from her scalp was so vibrant that it was the definition of the color yellow.

It was beautiful.

Somebody chided Miranda for staring at the new girl. When she denied it, the child went and told Susie. Miranda turned and shoved her face in the corner before her cheeks could pinken.

“Hey, are you Miranda?” Susie’s voice sounded like sharpened chalk on metal. Miranda flinched and craned her head over her shoulder – she forgave Susie for the vocal oversight the moment she saw the lovely blond hair.

“Yeah. Why?”

Susie kicked her feet and grinned. “They said you were staring at me.”
 
“No I wasn’t!”

 “Why are you staring at me? Are you weird?”

Miranda bowed her head. “You’re pretty.”

“Thanks! You’re pretty too!”

Susie could say that so candidly – why was Miranda so shy to admit it herself? “Do you wanna play?”

“Sure!”

They took off for another corner where a pile of blocks were abandoned. Together they built themselves a nice colorful castle and decorated the ramparts with tiny plastic soldiers. Miranda babbled about defensive tactics while Susie gaped at how it all flew over her own head. While Miranda put all the soldiers into formation, Susie took a blue ribbon out of her hair and strung it around the base of the castle as a makeshift moat.

It was a decent castle by any other kindergarten’s standards, and other children stopped by to admire it…or threaten it as the kingdom dragon, as it were. One particularly young girl took a soldier out of Miranda’s hands and sucked on it before giving it back. Miranda sneered and threw it at the back of the girl’s head.

“Miranda!” chided the nearest teacher. “Don’t throw things!”

Miranda hunkered down near her and Susie’s castle. From that moment the teacher hovered near them, although her attention was constantly taken by George’s bullying of the other boys.

“All right. That’s it. Playtime’s over,” she finally announced. “Clean up!”

Susie slammed a hand against the castle and watched it fall with delight. Miranda merely stared at the colors falling around her, each block crushing a tiny soldier against the brown carpet. Something lurched inside her stomach in agony.

Susie’s hair brushing against her forehead made her stomach lurch in something else.

“Where’s my ribbon?” Susie’s voice snapped Miranda out of her sickening trance.

“Here it is.” She reached out and picked up the ribbon from the pile of blocks.

“Thanks. Can you tie it for me? My mom always does it for me.”

“I guess…”

Susie gathered her hair on the side of her head and gestured for Miranda to approach with the ribbon. With the rabble of a scrambled clean up going on around them, Miranda took the ribbon and began to tie it in an acceptable loop around Susie’s yellow locks. A tear emerged at the edge of her eye as she felt each thick strand between her fingers.

“Oh! Are you okay? Why are you crying?” Susie pulled herself away and finished her hair on her own.

“I’m not crying…”

“You’re crying! You are weird!”

“It’s just…your hair is so pretty.”

“My hair?”

“Yes. I like the color a lot.”

“It’s just hair…you’ve seen yellow hair before, right?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re so weird.”

They stared at each other, Miranda’s eyes watering while Susie’s blinked in bemusement. Miranda reached out and took her new friend’s hand.

“You’ll be my friend?”

Susie shrugged. “I guess so. But you are weird.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t say thanks to that!” Susie yanked her hand away. “Weirdo.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?!”

Miranda pointed her chin down and pretended she couldn’t see anything. “My cousin says you should kiss people you think are pretty.”

“But girls don’t kiss other girls!”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know why…they just don’t!”

“Why can’t I kiss you?”

“Because it’s weird, you weirdo!”

“Would you kiss me if I were a boy?”

“Ew! No way! That’s gross!”

“Then why not kiss me?”

Susie finally relented. Besides, she later said, she needed the practice. And since boys were so gross, why not kiss a girl instead? And thus she let Miranda lean in and peck her on the lips while the kindergarten cleaned itself around them.

For centuries artists have tried to capture the innocence of a child’s kiss; for centuries adults have had heart attacks over them.

“Miranda!” The teacher swept in and pulled them apart. “Susie! What are you doing?!”

She addressed both of them, but it was Miranda she had her firm hands clasped upon. “We were kissing…”

“I could see that! That’s disgusting!”

“No it’s not!”

“Come here!” The teacher yanked Miranda away and towards the telephone in the back office.
When Miranda’s mother arrived, it was more of the same she always heard. “Unnatural child!” “Has no morals!” “What kind of family do you keep at home?” “This is the second time!”

“My daughter is quite sick,” Miranda’s mother responded via her sister-in-law’s translation. “I’ve disciplined her several times about this.” “I was hoping it was just a tainted American phase but she can’t get rid of it.” “I will punish her again.” “This is unacceptable, I agree.” “I’m so sorry.” She even bowed at the end.

And when Susie’s mother came, nothing changed. “What?!” “What kind of place is this?!” “Is this what goes on here?!” “Do not make my daughter a homosexual!” “I can’t stand a place like this!” “We’re leaving!”

She took Susie with her, and the little blond girl never returned. When Miranda went home that night, she was quite righteously punished by her disgusted and enraged mother. The shrieking was the same as always, and the spanking didn’t even hurt after a while. The worst part was when she went to the phone and called George’s mother, insisting on another play date.

But George would never do. No boy would ever do. The feelings inside Miranda – that she would have no words to describe until she was of age – were there, steadfast in her heart, and imprinted on her memory. No girl would be as pretty as Susie, the little girl with yellow hair.

Until she met the next one.

And the next one.

And finally the last one.

Because the color yellow was so beautiful.

SHORT STORY: Men in Uniform

Time to post my first short story here! Yay! I don't often write them, so consider this a special treat!

I'm actually working on a short story compilation with a theme of airports/airplanes and other things having to do with air travel. This is the first I've written for it although I have other ideas as well. This story in particular also takes place in the CROSS// universe, so bear that in mind when reading. I've changed some things around so it can be read as stand-alone so it's more "our" universe than "their" universe. (Hello, uniform shenanigans all over again.)

Come and get it okay thanks.

A Traveling Author~

Hello all, pardon my absence once again, but I have good reason!  You see, I am moving tomorrow, and not just across town, across state, or across country.  For those who do not follow my personal sites, I am moving to Japan for a year or more to start my first post-grad job in teaching English. Yay money! Boo interrupting writing time!

First, though, did y'all see me in the newspaper? That's right, that article I interviewed for in January made its appearance in the Port Orford News last week! Sadly, I do not have a scanner, nor is the paper online, so Ican't share it with you.  I'd take a picture, but I've already packed up my camera! Oh well. Just take my word on it ;)

Editing has begun on CROSS//Rebirth.  A new version of chapter one is up.  Not too many changes so it's not necessary to download it again if you've already read it - just some typos and cleaning up a few sentences.  Chapter 2 is where the real editing begins. 


To be honest, I am rather excited about traveling this week!  You see, I am working on a short story compilation that revolves around airports, including topping off one that I've been working on for about a month now.  I am hoping to use my five hour layover in Vancouver to work on it.  Its current title is "Men in Uniform", and about halfway through it took a different direction that I intended, but I always consider that a good thing!  Keeps it fresh for myself, ha.  I'm hoping to complete it before I board the plane for Tokyo!


So next time you hear from me, readers, I will be in and hopefully settled in my new home in Japan.  I will definitely be keeping my eye out for new writing/reading spots and hopefully can be inspired on my current (and new) works there.  Environment is very important to me when I write so I'm sure there will be a big entry on that when I start finding some places.


Wish me luck, guys.  Actually, the thing I'm worried about the most is making all my flights! So wish me luck on that! ^_^

"Your blog is schizophrenic."

Don't jump!  You guys will be fiiiine.

Reader Carla, (omg u giyz inorite??) asked me in an email a very good question recently.  "Why, Hildred, do the two mirrors of your blog have different titles? Yo, it's true! The LiveJournal version is called "Hello From a Stranger" and all the subsequent mirrors, including the last one on Blogspot, is called "Musings From a Procrastinating Author".  Why did I do this?  Am I schizophrenic?

Probably.

The LiveJournal came first, many years ago when I realized that my real name was still free for taking and I snatched it up.  I later made it my writing journal, in which I mostly posted my works, like poems and song lyrics.  Later on I transformed it into what you see now.  At the time of its creation, however, I named the journal after a short story I had written around that era.  The story was called, obviously, "Hello From a Stranger", and was about a married couple that had been separated for a long period of time.  When they were reunited they still loved each other, but felt like strangers in how each had changed.  The story revolved around them trying to find a level of comfort between one another once again.  (See, this is what I wrote in high school.  What happened to me.)  And since this was to be a public blog in which I would not know most of my readers, and likewise they would not know me, "Hello From a Stranger" just seemed poetic and appropriate.

When I really started rolling on the blog a couple years ago, I decided to change the name to "Musings From a Procrastinating Author", because that title just pretty much summed up what was going on.  I was musing.  I was a procrastinating author.  Plus it has a ring to it, yeah?  As for the reason why I never switched the LiveJournal name over...well, I liked the older title. And, I totally forgot. Yup.

But to clear any and all confusion...the blog's official name is Musings, and yes, I know you really care.

Because,  after all, Carla cared. Thanks, Carla.

I" think you may just be complicating..everything" and other stories about apples burning down houses told in less than 100 pages and no less than five run-on sentences.

Please tell me you see it. Please.

My longest manuscript thus far is cappin' around 500 pages.  Maybe around 250k words.  The usual accepted length for a "novel" (ie: not a novella or a short story) is around 50k words and at least over 100 pages.  Of course, this is arbitrary, but please humor this standard for the duration of this post.

Going off that, I can write novels.  Seriously.  It's pretty much all I CAN write.  Tell me to write 100+ pages on some story and by the Prophet of the Garbage Disposal I will do it.  Hell I 'll write you 150 pages.  While we're at it, have 200!

Ah, crap.

Ladies and gentlemen and all humans in-between, I can only write novels.  This is almost hard fact.  I've had the task twice in my life of writing a short story that could not go "over" 30 or so pages.  Each time I wrote about 32 and was given a pass on it.  I was so unhappy because I TOTALLY COULD'VE KEPT GOING.  What do you mean you want me to condense my story into only 30 or less pages?? What is this?  I don't even...

About seven or so summers ago I had a really great idea for a short story, or even a novella if I could make it last that long.  I didn't see it passing 50 pages, anyway.  I wrote the whole story that summer, and at the time it was one of my best works.

It also ended up being one of my longest.  100 pages and over 50k.  Definitely in "novel" territory.

Here's the thing, kids.  I can't condense my ideas.  I just can't.  Even if I start with something really simplistic like "George eats an apple", by the time I'm done,, George has gone into the kitchen, baked that apple in the most delicious apple pie ever, shot a rabbit out the window, got the mail, was surrounded by SWAT while out getting the mail, was arrested for suspected terrorism, found out later that the rabbit he shot was actually the Easter Bunny, and meanwhile his sad, neglected pie is burned.  Cue fade out on his house burning down because the oven was left on. ALL BECAUSE OF AN APPLE.  And that's just what I made up right now, so imagine what it's like when I've already planned out other crap and then sit down to write it.

This isn't just limited to fiction either.  When it came to college papers, it was either do or die.  I would often reach the point where I was so desperate for more to write about that, to reach the mandatory length to get the grade, that I would suddenly have a great idea...and the next thing I know?  Two pages over.  I never understood how everyone else seemed to manage cutting down their ideas.  It's like gardening, yo.  You get a letter from your homeowner's association that you're freakin' roses are overgrowing your fence and prickling joggers on their way by in the morning, so would you PLEASE go out and trim them back?  You're told that they have to be cut back by at least the fence's height.  Well, okay.  So you grab you your shears and go out there to trim some bleepin' roses.  Of course, these are your beautiful roses.  Your prize-winning roses.  Just cutting off the dead stems feels like heresy.  But you do it.  You cut back and cut back and admire what you did.  You even rake up and compost the debris.  And then you realize that you only cut off about six inches all around and d'oh some stupid jogger just got lacerated again by blue-ribbon red-roses.  Good job.

Ironically I love reading short stories, and not just because I have a short attention span for the written word (that isn't my own).  I guess maybe it's slight jealousy.  The fact that Shirley Jackson could make me laugh and cry in The Lottery (my favorite short story, go read it if you haven't, I'll wait right here...) in so few pages was amazing.  And maybe that's just her craft, who knows?  As writers, our talents lie in different abilities, and that's what makes us awesome.  I mean, I like to think I'm a pretty awesome writer any day, but that's only in full-length novels.  My job I've set up for myself is being able to drag you in from the first page and then taking you on a 500 page clusterfrack of WTF and OMG until you come out at the end going "oh mah gawd ty hildred!!!" and I sit there beaming like a mo-fo.  That same ride on one of my short stories would be like going through a half-assed haunted house:  lame, boring, and you didn't even get any candy at the end. (I'm sorry).

So now I have a question for all of you who may (or may not be?) reading this:  what is your poison?  Are you too wordy to be confined to short stories?  Are you too succinct to write a full novel?  Are you so badass you can do both AND bake that apple pie without burning the house down?  Or would you just rather write a term paper and meet the bare minimum requirements...you'll read everyone's stories afterwards...

Please tell me,, I need to know.  I need to know whether to bow at your feet in literary mercy or not.

That said, I smell smoke in the kitchen.  I hope this doesn't mean the SWAT is coming.

PS: This post was only supposed to be about three paragraphs long.  OOPS I DID IT AGAIN, LOL.