On Beyond A

I know, I should have something else posted here–like, you know, a story–but I don’t.  It’s like this:  I had to run out to pick up a few things, stuff that I was waking on or that involved getting money back.  Normally, even on a Thursday afternoon around five PM, that shouldn’t have involved too much time, because it’s not like The Burg is this bustling city with huge rush hour backups.

But what should have taken thirty minutes, tops, ended up taking about two hours because of a light cover of snow that made the roads just nasty enough to slow everything down.  So I picked up the thing I needed to pick up, then crawled across down in a thirty minute trip that normally takes about ten.  I should have just got in and got out with my refund, but . . . it was at a shoe story.  And the lady who knows me there knows me, and an hour later I walked out with three pair of shoes to complete my work ensemble.

I never used to like shopping, but suddenly it’s like, “Oh, I don’t need this, but you know, it won’t hurt to have it.”  And just like those statistics where they say a lot of women have like twenty pair of shoes–yeah, I’m a statistic.

Really, is it something in the estrogen?

Really, is it something in the estrogen?

By the time I stopped to get something to eat–because the roads were crap and it would have taken me thirty minutes to drive home anyway–it was just after eight PM when I returned home and I was starting to nod out in a serious way.  I brought up the program and started trying to write–and I couldn’t.  Really, the inspiration and motivation tank was dry, and my inner goddess was kicked back in her easy chair blowing raspberries at me.

Sucks, I tell you.

However . . . yesterday between bouts of testing and nodding out–yeah, I was doing this at work a lot–I started thinking about a story.  What story, you ask?

The next novel in the series.

This isn’t to say that I haven’t thought about the story at all; I have.  I’ve even part of it time lined out.  But I now have a definitive feel for like the first month or so the kids are back at school.  Even two months if I really push it.  It does detail a bit of Annie’s and Kerry’s summer, though most of that really happens on Kerry’s side.  We don’t really see much of his family life, save for one scene, where his parents begin questioning why he seems to have only girls as friends.

A little full disclosure:  at this point they don’t know that Annie is his girlfriend/soul mate/wife to be, they only know her as this girl from Bulgaria who lives in the same “dorm” with him.  (The thing with the dorm comes from the school forcing the kids from Normal families not to expose all their magical shenanigans just yet.)  That’s actually Annie’s idea, because she thinks, based upon everything Kerry’s said about them, they won’t be able to understand how their twelve year old son is in a serious relationship with a girl–and they definitely wouldn’t get the sleeping together thing, nope, no way.

But what happens is he gets his travel package in early August, and his parents finally start asking about the people he knows at school–because he does mention Annie and that he’s looking forward to seeing her again–and by the time the names start coming out, mom and dad notice this trend of female names, and start asking, “Don’t you have any friends who are, well, boys?”

And that’s the sort of shitty parents Kerry has, because they do think there’s something wrong with their kid going off to a school and developing friendly, non-dating relationships with the ladies.  They don’t actually come out and ridicule him, but they let it be known that they think he might be better off having, you know, some kid with testosterone hanging out so he doesn’t come down with permanent cooties.

But just wait until they find out all about Annie.

Yeah . . . just wait.

New Tales of the Old Erotica

One scene down, five scenes remaining for this last chapter.  A couple of scenes–or at least one–won’t be that long.  Then again, last night’s scenes clocked in at a little over sixteen hundred words, and that’s not a lot for one of my scenes.  One scenes may actually come in at under a thousand words, though that remains to be seen.

At the worse I’ll finish in ten days, at best I could wrap all this up in less than a week.  A good push over this weekend could see me finishing up before next weekend–or I may finish up next Saturday or Sunday.  Either way, I see the end, and I know when it’s coming.

Then it’s on to other projects.

One of those projects included editing a manuscript for someone else.  Big push time after I’m through with my story, and spend a few hours every night cleaning it up.  But what of my tales?  Well, I got a plan here.

Now, it has been mentioned once or twice that long ago and far away, I used to write fiction that had very little to do with what I write now.  I would say that I wrote erotic fetish fantasies, while others would likely say smut, and a few would go so far as to condemn it as over-the-top porn.

Regardless what you might call it, a few years back I sold a set of four interconnecting stories that were rather unusual, rather strange, and in their own way rather steamy.  My total sale was forty dollars, and I rack that up as my first professional sale.  What was really cool was that they were illustrated, with covers and a set of four inside pictures.  It was really pretty classy, if I say so myself, and I was actually quite proud to see the project come together.  I even have all the covers and illustrations that were made, but due to the fact I don’t own the copyrights on the pictures–and I’d promised I would never show them to anyone–it is unlikely they will ever see the light of day.

The rights to the stories, however, reverted back to me last year.  I checked the contract that I’d signed, and I’m well past the point where I can publish these stories under a pseudonym of my own choosing.  Because, why not?  They are written, they are edited, and about all I need is a crappy cover and I’m ready to rock.

I even have my smutty author name picked out, one that I can slap onto the cover and say, “Lookie here, sexy girl publishing sexy stories!”  Or something like that.  Probably won’t be anywhere near that exciting, or even that sexy.

The thing is, I have another erotica story, that I sold a couple of years ago, and the rights of that story will revert to me.  So if I want to put that sucker out there under another name, I can.  And then there’s Fantasies in Harmonie, which needs a good cleaning and a cover, whereupon it’s set to go live for the unsuspecting world to discover.

"I didn't know you could do that with your body.  Or another body.  Or . . . Check!"

“I didn’t know you could do that with your body. Or another body. Or . . . what the hell am I reading?

That’s just one of the things I’m looking to do.  There are others, but this is one.

It’s waiting for me to do something, too.  I’d be a fool not to take it by the hand and lead it into the light.