It’s early afternoon, and I can’t believe I’m getting to my writing now. Usually by this time I’ve had my saying of the day saved to the Internets, and I’m kicked back with lunch and/or some other insanity. Today I’m running late because–why not? Due to having to get out and pick up a few things? Because of an annoying ? On account of pedantic discussion on Star Trek? Or maybe . . . bacon?
Only time will tell. Or not, ’cause timey whimy, you know?
In thousand words leaps Fantasies in Harmonie moves forward. It was only suppose to be some quickie porn that I’d rip out and post in no time: instead, it’s become of War and Peace of fetish fiction. She now sits just short of sixteen thousand words, and in another fifteen hundred I’ll have to get out my passport and entered the Country of Novella, and I hear the greasy chuckle from here.
If you wonder what I’m talking about, read the afterword to Stephen King’s Different Seasons collection, where three of the four included stories have become some of King’s best adapted movie. One of the lines he uses is, “Now, artistically speaking, there’s nothing at all wrong with the novella. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with circus freaks, except that you rarely see them outside of the circus.” You get the point.
At the time King wrote those words (1982 or there about), finding a market for novellas was damn near impossible. There were only a hand full of magazines that would tackle those stories, and by the end of the 1980’s they pretty much went the way of the dinosaur. Or did they? Just wait . . .
So rather than eight thousand words of hotness, I’m more like double that pleasure, and it’s likely I’ll start tripping into the twenty thousand lane before everything is over. Been there, done that: in fact, some fetish fiction I sold a couple of years back went the same way. They were fantasy stories that ended up being long novelettes or short novellas, and after four of them I stopped because, at the time, I figured no one was ever going to read them outside of a few people who were into that sort of thing.
Now, about that place to publish . . .
So many publishing outlets dried up in the late Twentieth Century, but fast forward to the end of the first decade of the Twenty-first Century, and one sees self publishing taking off. I remember people saying, “I ain’t buying one of those new fangled ebooks–only the real thing for me!” and emotions ran pretty high on both sides–but I knew that tech is one of those things that tend to stick around if they’re good, and ebooks were good. I even bought one, and though I don’t use it much these days–I need a new battery–there are enormous advantages to having one–
Liking being able to take your kid to their soccer meet and sit in the stands reading Daddy’s Little Milk Maid and not worry in the least that you’re going to skev out everyone sitting around you.
It was Penn Jillette who pointed out that all new technology leads to porn. After the Gutenberg Bible came a printing of the Karma Sutra; after the first movies came Le Coucher de la Mariée, a seven minute movie of a women doing a strip tease in a bathhouse, filmed in 1896, followed by El Sartorio, the first film to show sex acts, filmed in Argentina in 1907. We have the Internet and . . . you really need to know?
With ebooks came eporn, and big or small, it sells.
Will my fantasy story sell. Only time will tell. Or not–
That timey whimy crap, I tell you.