Arts

Writing Wednesday: Justin

Happy Wednesday! I’m getting ready for NaNoWriMo and the second half of this epic road trip novel. At the same time I’m writing, I’ll also be putting in some volunteer hours with my daughter’s last junior musical at school. She ages out after this one. Time goes so fast! Feels like yesterday it was her big brother’s last one.

Anyway, when I posted a couple weeks ago, I introduced a new character. He was making breakfast when Luke and Connor showed up in the kitchen. This time, we find out who he is (sort of). The first bit is from last week.

The man closes the oven door and steps back. When he does, he notices Luke and Connor hovering in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says, his full lips breaking into a big smile as he extracts his earbuds. He steps away from the stove long enough to offer each of them a hand. “I’m Justin.” His voice has a slight fry, and his sentence rises at the end, almost a hint of a question.

Luke’s cheeks burn. Justin is a good twenty years his senior, but Luke finds him very attractive. There’s something in him that draws Luke in and holds his attention. Despite Justin’s casual attire, Luke still feels underdressed in faded jeans and a worn black music festival shirt. He looks down at himself and wishes he had something nicer. Or even that he’d attended the music festival instead of buying the shirt at a secondhand store because he liked the band pictured.

Connor elbows him. Luke’s taken so long to respond that Justin is already back at the stove, finishing the food. Luke’s face goes from a little warm to flaming, and he’s sure Justin’s noticed. He’s still smiling, and his eyes twinkle.

“I’m Luke.” The words come out as a strained bark.

“Yes, your friend said.” Justin laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that reaction a ton. I don’t think I’m quite what people expect.”

“Not…really.” Luke chokes.

Writing Wednesday: Breakfast

Books, Writing

Well, I wasn’t going to do it, but I got sucked into NaNoWriMo again this year. I’m going to attempt for the third time to finish this novel!

I’m not usually a planner, but when you’re writing a story about a road trip, it really helps. I’ve sent my characters west via route I-90, and I’ll be honest: I don’t know a whole lot about the vast expanse of the U.S. beyond Chicago. I’ve only been to a couple more states past there. Mercifully, my characters haven’t been to most of those places either, so I can let them do touristy things. But hey, if anyone has insight into local foods or good places to see, feel free to tell me.

Anyway, I’m plotting (using tarot cards to boost my creative process) and researching. I have extensive notes, including a chart! My hope is to get another 7k words written ahead of time so that my 50k will bring me to the end of this story.

On to the snippet. Connor and Luke are staying at a B&B in Salisbury, MA. (The photo above is not Salisbury; it’s actually where we stayed in England. But it’s the only picture I have of a B&B, so…) Last time, Connor was helping Luke get back to sleep after a horrific nightmare. Nope, I’m not explaining yet. Instead, how about we wake them both up with breakfast?

The nightmare—and the flood—are forgotten in the morning. When Luke and Connor emerge from the bedroom, they briefly encounter a couple of the other guests. The sound of dishes in the kitchen drifts up the stairs. After a quick greeting, they leave the other guests to their business and head down.

Aunt Enid isn’t in the kitchen. Instead, there’s a man there, younger than Luke’s parents but older than Luke and Connor. Probably not quite old enough to be either of their fathers. He’s a little on the plump side, short like Aunt Enid. He looks a lot like her, aside from his full beard. His hair is long, pulled into a low ponytail that hangs halfway down his back. He’s wearing a pink T-shirt and gray sweatpants covered in pink stars, a flowered apron is protecting his clothes, and he’s swaying his hips to whatever music he’s listening to through his earbuds.

On the stove, there’s a pan of eggs and a second pan with thick slices of Canadian bacon. The man stirs the eggs and then flips the bacon with a fork. He steps back and peers into the oven, and a delicious smell of baking bread wafts out to mingle with the other breakfast aromas. The man closes the oven door and steps back. When he does, he notices Luke and Connor hovering in the doorway.

Rainbow Snippets: Sleepyhead

Books, Writing

Happy Saturday! It’s been a while. I meant to keep posting, but this summer got out of control. For those who don’t know, I have an autoimmune disorder. We were still playing around with diagnoses and meds, and things happened. There’s more detail elsewhere on my blog for the very curious.

Anyway, I’m glad to be back. The school year has started, and I had a new release! The link is in the sidebar. Minuet is the last book in my Notes from Boston series. I’m hoping that people really enjoy this one, even though it’s different from what I’ve written before. It’s a complicated MMF love story, perhaps a bit outside the box.

In this scene, two of the MCs (Mack, a cisgender aromantic pansexual man, and Jomari, a bisexual biromantic trans man) have had quite the night.

Early in the morning, Mack woke and rolled over. He froze when his arm brushed something, and it took him a minute to remember. Jomari had stayed. No one ever stayed, other than Amelia…Mack withdrew his elbow and lay there unmoving, waiting to see if Jomari stirred. When his breathing was still soft and steady after five minutes, Mack deemed it safe to get up. He shifted slowly so as not to disturb his bed-mate’s slumber.

Rainbow Snippets is a safe and welcoming space for LGBTQIA+ authors, readers, and bloggers to share 6 sentences each week from a work of fiction—published or in-progress—or a book recommendation. Feel free to join in!

Writing Wednesday: Afterward

Books, Writing

I have more projects in the background than I know what to do with right now, which is a nice feeling after worrying that I might be done after finishing Notes from Boston. I’ve set the newer ones aside in favor of returning to an older story. It’s about halfway done, and my hope is to finish by the end of NaNoWriMo. We’ll see…that only gives me about 2 and a half months.

This novel is a road trip story about Luke, who first showed up as a homeless teen in a short story I wrote back in 2014. Now he’s the main character, on a road trip with an old friend.

In this scene, they’re toward the beginning of their journey. Luke has some carefully guarded secrets about where he really came from. Last week, he’d just woken from a nightmare. Here, his friend Connor does his best to figure out what’s wrong.

“Luke.” Firm, steadying. “Stop.”

But he can’t. The fear he woke to is rising again, blossoming into a full-blown panic. All he can think, over and over, is about the rising water and the crackling sky and the whipping winds and the almighty boom before the gust of hot air. He shakes all over, unable to stop.

“Lukey, shhh,” Connor murmurs pulling him in. “You’re okay. It’s just the rain.”

“So hot…” Luke mumbles into Connor’s shoulder. “The fire…”

“What fire? There’s no fire. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No!”

Connor steers Luke to the bed in his room and they sit on the bed. He puts his hand to Luke’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” He presses his fingers to Luke’s wrist. “Jesus. Your heart’s going so fast.”

Gently, he helps Luke lie down. For a moment, Luke tries to pop back up. He still wants to get out. But Connor’s hands rubbing his arms feel good, and he takes a deep breath. The room is back in focus, intact. There’s no fire or flood, no high winds turning over cars and splitting trees. The rain on the roof is letting up.

“I’m okay,” Luke says, more to himself than to Connor.

“Yeah, you are.” Connor presses his lips together as if trying to hold in the words trying to escape. He’s unsuccessful. “Is this something to do with Greg?”

Greg? His ex? No. The scars Greg left are different.

Writing Wednesday: The New and the Old

Books, Writing

I haven’t blogged regularly in months, probably for at least the last year. I didn’t blog much over the summer. My kids were home, I was having serious health issues, and I had to focus my attention on my paid editing jobs.

Now that my kids are back in school, I may attempt more regular updates. We’ll see. For today, though, I’m going back to an old project by doing some new things. Well, new to the WIP at hand, but not new to me (or in general).

I bought a new tarot deck. I don’t use the cards for personal reading or to read for others. That’s not my thing nor my area of expertise. Instead, I use them to open my mind creatively for character development and story building.

There’s no one correct way to do this, but for the very curious, I’ve used several methods. For previous WIPs, I’ve simply done a reading on a particular character when I’ve gotten stuck about where to take them. I’ve also used various spreads recommended by other writers when a thorny problem cropped up in the story.

This time, I’m using a three-card spread to write my way through the Hero’s Journey. For the first part, I was simply confirming elements I’d already created and using the cards to flesh those out better. I’m halfway through writing (or so; it may be a bit less than that). Now I need to go deeper into the parts I haven’t written. I’ve made extensive notes, but the cards help put those notes into a usable format in my brain.

Anyway, I’ve shared snippets from this WIP before, and then I had to stop in order to finish my recently released novel (at glacial pace, but at least I got it done!). This is the one I’m calling my “epic road trip novel.” Because everyone has to write a literal journey at least once, right?

In this story, Luke’s been invited to travel across the U.S. with his friend and former lover, Connor. I’m not sure either of them knows what’s going to happen. It’s not a romance, so don’t expect a lot of time spent on their feelings toward each other. In this scene, Luke has trouble pulling himself from a nightmare.

Hot. So hot. Luke is burning up. He wakes then with a start, his heart hammering. There’s a rushing in his ears. He squirms, trying to get away from the source of the heat. If he doesn’t, he’s going to melt and disintegrate. Kicking out with his feet, he manages to shove off whatever is on top of him, holding in the warmth.

Over his head, rain drums on the roof, and the wind whistles. A shutter rattles. He has to get away before the storm reaches him, and he has to get the others. He runs to the door between the rooms and yanks it open, dashing through the shared bathroom. He pounds on the other door.

It opens, and there’s Connor, in only his boxer briefs and socks. He rubs his face. “Luke, what the hell? It’s the middle of the night.”

“We have to get out! The storm!” Luke doesn’t understand why Connor stands there, unmoving. They have to leave. He gasps for air. “Please!”

“Are you okay?” Connor’s voice is so calm.

“We have to get somewhere safe,” Luke pleads. His head is still sleep-foggy, and he shakes it to try to clear his mind.

“It’s just a summer storm.”

“No! No. We can’t go to the basement. It’ll flood when the creek rises. We have to get to the middle of the house.”

He tries to push past Connor and get to the outer door. If Connor won’t listen, he’ll find someone who will. Before he gets far, Connor reaches for him.

“Luke.” Firm, steadying. “Stop.”

Featured Book: Migration – a QSF flash fiction anthology

Books, Featured

About the Book

Title: Migration

Series Title: Queer Sci Fi Flash Fiction

Number in Series: 5

Author: Various

Publisher: Other Worlds Ink

Publication Date: Wednesday, July 24 2019

Format: Paperback, eBook

Price: 3.99 / 16.99

Length: 36000

Genre: sci fi, fantasy, paranormal, horror

Tags: sci fi, science fiction, fantasy, horror, paranormal, queer, flash fiction, micro fiction, anthology, LGBTQ

Cover Artist: J. Scott Coatsworth / Kelley York, Sleepy Fox Studio (typography)

Links

QueeRomance Ink | Amazon US | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Synopsis

MI-GRA-TION (noun)

Seasonal movement of animals from one region to another.
Movement of people to a new area or country in order to find work or better living conditions.
Movement from one part of something to another.

Three definitions to inspire writers around the world and an unlimited number of possible stories to tell. Here are 120 of our favorites.

Migration feaures 300 word speculative flash fiction stories from across the rainbow spectrum, from the minds of the writers of Queer Sci Fi.

Series Blurb:

Every year, Queer Sci Fi solicits stories around a one-word theme. We receive hundreds of entries with almost as many possible interpretations, and we choose some of the best for this annual anthology.

Excerpt

Each year, hundreds of writers send in stories for the Queer Sci Fi flash fiction anthology. Here are the opening lines from some of the stories chosen for the 2019 edition – Migration:

“On her sister’s wedding day Ari noticed that one of her ears had migrated to her hand. It was right after her high school crush, Emily, arrived with Cousin Matt.” —Playing It By Ear, Aidee Ladnier

“The sky has been screaming for five straight days when the shrimps come to take us away. They’ve been boxing up the others and hauling them off. Now they’re here for us, soaking wet, dragging cords and crates behind them.” —Shrimpanzee, Sionnain Bailey

“Allister always had faultless hair. He’d comb and gel it to perfection while gazing in the mirror. One day a pair of eyes stared back.” —Zulu Finds a Home, by Kevin Klehr

“Darkness has substance. It is tangible; different shades within the black, sounds, a taste. It is accompanied by self-awareness of time and thoughts, even when other senses fail.” —Hope for Charity, by Robyn Walker

“The wound was fatal. Their vessel wouldn’t live much longer. This is what came from leaving loose ends. Frantically they sought out a new vessel to migrate to. “ —The Essence, by L.M. Brown

“That night, we were sitting in the bed of her daddy’s old pickup truck and the radio was playing the best song. We had a pack of cigarettes between us and her hand was almost touching mine. The wheat field was silver in the moonlight. When they came, we weren’t surprised, just disappointed that our time was up already.” —Our Song, by Lauren Ring

“Willow said she was my wife, but I knew it wasn’t her, not the right her, anyway. Sure she looked like her with olive skin and bright pink hair. She even smelled of mango flowers, just like I remembered, but there was something about her smile that was slightly off, something about when she said she loved me that didn’t sit well in my old heart.” —They Said It Would Be Her, by Elizabeth Andre

“Agnes is eight when she first sees the river. Cutting its way through town, the only thing she knows not coated in coal dust. She sticks her toes in, comes home with wet socks and a secret. See, the river hadn’t been there yesterday.” —Stream of Consciousness, by Ziggy Schutz

“Terry twirled in her green synthsilk dress, looked at her reflection, liked what she saw. She felt good in her own skin, for maybe the first time.” —Altball, by RE Andeen

“The thing was in the corner. It had come through the window and had slid down the wall. Scratch went the sound. The noise of a hundred nails clawing at the wood. Nails of white bone. Alex pulled the sheets up quickly, covering every inch of skin and hair in a warm darkness.” —Whose Nightmare, by Jamie Bonomi

The Risks and Advantages of Data Migration, by Kim Fielding

Zuri sat up slowly, staring at their new hands. Clean, blunt nails. Unused and faultless.

Target systems will take time to respond to data migration.

Once, Zuri’s nails had been broken, blackened with soil. Zuri remembered calluses on fingers and palms, the odor of green things reaching for the sun, the humming of bees, but not what had made their skin harden.

There will always be some losses when data migrates to a target system.

Another set of years—before or after, Zuri didn’t know—and their nails were weapon-long, lacquered deadly scarlets and lethal fuchsias. Gem-studded rings graced the fingers, and the skin was soft and rose-scented. Those fingers had often held a pen. No, a microphone. Or perhaps a camera. Something dangerous.

Migration may lead to data corruption.

Zuri’s nails had once been embedded with grease that would never wash away no matter how much they scrubbed. Once latex gloves had encased Zuri’s hands as Zuri held bits of metal and inspected the damage done to delicate tissues by accident or disease. A baby had been cradled in their hands too, and a gun. Seashells. Books. All of that keratin, skin, and bone was dust now, nothing but ghosts of memories.

After migration, host systems will be permanently unavailable.

A figure entered the room cautiously. They were tall and slightly pudgy, with hair in dark braids and wearing a tunic that glowed all the colors of a sunrise. Zuri didn’t remember that soft face or the clean, long-fingered hands reaching for Zuri’s own. Bitter tears stung Zuri’s eyes.

Target systems may experience instability.

“I love you,” said the person.

And Zuri remembered those words, said exactly that way—and smiled as they pulled their beloved close.

Done with care, occasional migration offers best chances for long-term data longevity.

About the Author

A hundred and twenty authors have been chosen for this year’s flash fiction anthology.

Giveaway

Queer Sci Fi is giving away a $20 gift Amazon certificate with this tour – enter via Rafflecopter for a chance to win:

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Direct Link

Writing Wednesday: Justin

Writing Wednesday: Breakfast

Rainbow Snippets: Sleepyhead

Writing Wednesday: Afterward

Writing Wednesday: The New and the Old