I’ve spent the last 6 months or so over on Substack, keeping a log of my Writing Accountability Project for my current work in progress (WIP), the murder mystery/thriller/adventure novel that I’ve been banging around since last year.
When I started writing the draft in earnest in June of this past year, I had a goal of finishing the story by December 31. As it is now December 31, and I have not finished the story draft, I obviously have not completed that goal. But I am close! I started out with 0 words, and I put together nearly 75,000 in these past 6 months. In reality, I wrote about twice that, but I’ve struck roughly 67,000 words as being not good enough for the first draft. Those deleted phrases, sentences, paragraphs, and scenes go into my “Scrap” file, which I sometimes return to over the course of revision, or when I move on to a new story but like a previously-used turn of phrase, description, or dialogue.
Substack doesn’t get me much, so I’ve considered exporting those posts and just putting everything here on my own website. Of course, this place doesn’t get much traffic, either, but it is the repository I want for all of my stuff eventually, and it is a site I can control, unlike anywhere else on the World Wide Web. So, I’ll be putting some effort into some sort of organization for this place and the up-and-coming stories I’ve got in mind.
2024 was a solid step toward me reaching the writing goal of finishing this original story. I hope that 2025 will see it move closer to publication.
I made some other strides in 2024, too! I finally finished “Without Wings” and got it to paperback status, including a gorgeous commissioned cover. There was also the set of character illustrations I had done, from another artist, for my mystery story. In all, a good year for creativity and sharing the joy of storytelling.
My goal for 2025? Write well, write often, write fearlessly. Because every story matters.
I recently pushed to paperback printing my third novel-length DC fan fiction project, Without Wings. This particular story went through three separate revisions over the course of three years. If you’re curious about the plot, visit the page linked to above.
One thing I did differently for Without Wings was to commission an artist for the paperback’s cover:
I was introduced to the unique style of Ness, Bats in the Belfry Art, through a poster she did for the Cybertronic Spree’s “Ravage” album. From that, I gushed over the other work on her website, and picked up a few of her zines and smaller prints. But there was something special about her line art and color work that stayed with me.
I did the covers for all my other printed works, either by hand or from using stock images. They’re okay – serviceable – though I dare say that the cover for Baby, You’re Making Me Crazy is the most fun, as it gets the closest to a comic drawing. For months, I tried to come up with a similar idea for my Golden Eagle story. I knew it had to feature Eagle in some fashion, but I also wanted it to showcase the two main supporting characters, Veranyi and M’Rayeh. When I remembered Ness’s art, I decided to reach out to see if she was interested.
To my utter delight, Ness accepted the job! She sent me three thumbnail ideas: one of Eagle in his armor, one with his wings and axe, and one with his helmet, with Veranyi and M’Rayeh in reflection. I liked all of the thumbnails, but the helmet one really grabbed me. I told Ness to pursue the helmet one, and in less than two weeks, it was real. And beautiful, I should add, far beyond what I could have hoped for! It’s such a gorgeous painting, I decided not to put any title text on it, just left it be in all its colorful glory.
Ness created something wonderful, a collaboration between my words and her artistic skill. That’s a synchronicity that you can only achieve with a real artist. I knew that any generative AI image wouldn’t be able to capture the feeling I wanted this cover image to convey, let alone give it any personality. If you’re considering creating a cover or any supplemental art for your next story or writing project, I urge you to go to a real artist. Find one who can bring your vision to life with their unique style. They are out there.
I couldn’t be happier with this cover to Without Wings. And I’ve got a real, human artist to thank for that.
The “Writing Accountability Project” is a catalog of my process and progress for my supernatural murder mystery/thriller novel I’m currently working on (2024).
demanding responsibilities made their personal time precious, so when they did have the opportunity for lovemaking, they made the most of it. No fussing with witty foreplay or coy dancing around the subject. When he’d knocked on her door that evening, announcing his arrival with a subdued clearing of his throat, she’d yanked the door open in only her dressing gown, snatched him by his tie, and hauled him inside in one swift progression, silencing any potential protest with the press of her lips. He’d fumbled out of his suit like a clumsy schoolboy, matching her nakedness quickly if not gracefully.
Once in her bed, he was careful not to huff on top of her, worrying she’d think him a beast. Not that she was any waif or naif! She clutched his hand over her breast and knew how to angle her hips so his single-minded thrusting would hit the spot of her utmost pleasure. When he crested the ridge of his first coming, he wasn’t alone: she tensed and shuddered with him.
The second time, after compliments and cigarettes, she pushed him to his back so he could watch her writhe until the temptation of her rigid nipples became too much for his resolve, and he lunged up to latch his mouth to one and then the other while she squeezed her powerful thighs around him like a vise. They had to stop when their bucking threatened the bolts on the bedframe, leading to a paranoid pause that they soon broke with laughter. Their rolling began afresh then, and they found a gentler mutual rhythm that pushed them to that well-sought point of trembling, blinding joy.
Settling side-by-side, they traded whispered nothings to the ticking of the bedside clock. Tender kisses and dallying caresses conspired to bring them together for a third time, though this one was measured and slow despite the evaporating minutes.
She eased away, too soon,
leaving him with the expected explanation of needing to freshen up before work. He lingered in her bed, faintly drowsing to the smell of the sheets, sweat, and sex. Though, when the water to the shower cut off, he lurched up to get a few final moments with her.
She stood in front of the mirror in a simple white slip that fit her body like a lady’s opera glove, applying a sweet-smelling lotion to her face, neck, and chest. Her eyes flashed to his reflection. “You want to use the shower?”
“I’ll shower at home,”
he said as he came behind her.
She snickered. “Are you sure? You’re rank.”
“Well, you smell beautiful.” He wound his arms around her and pulled her close with a lascivious growl. “Just rub on me a bit.”
“Jim!” Her laugh became a clicking scold. “My shift starts in less than an hour.”
He held on and dipped his nose into her thick fall of hair, still loose and flowing from her crown. “Bugger your shift,” he mumbled there. “I haven’t seen you all week!”
Her willing humor dissipated with a blink. “That’s not fair. You could have come by earlier.”
“I couldn’t have, though!” he protested as she slipped free and away back into the bedroom, to collect her hairbrush. “Chief ordered us out to a round at The Ram’s Head, and I couldn’t well say no, now, could I?”
She stopped and gave him a blank stare. “He ordered?”
He adjusted his shoulders; that look of hers had a way of making him feel vulnerable. Doubly so since he was standing there without even his pants. “Well, maybe not ordered.”
She nodded and started brushing. “Ah hah.”
“It’s a political thing.”
“Since when are you so engaged in office politics?”
“Since the last time they passed me over for promotion for not playing their bloody game!”
“Don’t get angry at me for that,” she snapped with the head of her brush, then returned to grooming.
He clamped his mouth shut and
lowered his head. Drawing a cleansing breath, he followed her to the modest vanity set across from the bed and said, half-pleading, “I don’t want to be stuck a sergeant for the rest of my life. I’m good at this job! But I consistently go unrecognized because they think I’m too clever, or too keen, or too—”
“Or too much a sarcastic know-all?”
“You know what it’s like. You complain to me all the time about being kept on bedpan and sponge-bath duty.”
She whirled again, brandishing the brush in her hand like a schoolteacher’s pointer. “Yes, that is frustrating. But what I have to put up with is not at all the same as what you get yourself into by being a confrontational horse’s ass!” She resumed brushing again, firmly and mutely, her long black hair a stark contrast to the white of her slip.
He released a long breath and laid his hands on her shoulders. They looked almost as colorless against her flesh as did her slip.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he murmured. “You’re right. I am a horse’s ass.”
The brushing slowed but she made no reply. After a pause, he dropped his head and blew a soft whinny against her crown. That, at least, elicited a chortle, and she told him, “You’re doing the wrong end.”
He smiled at her tolerance. “Make you coffee?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes, please.” As he shifted away, she slapped his buttock with the head of her brush. “And put your pants on.”
He sent her his cheekiest smirk over his shoulder and swaggered into her kitchen, leaving his clothes untouched.
Half an hour later, sitting rumpled but
relaxed in her car, he took the opportunity of a red light near the city centre to say, “Policeman’s ball is next month. Would you like to go with me?”
She turned to him with a cautiously curious look in her large brown eyes. “That’s an awfully important political event, isn’t it?”
“It’s also boring as hell. Or, it will be, without you.”
As she faced front to move through the green light, he caught the subtle crease of a dimple. “Will you dance with me?”
He kept watching her and smiled, too. “If you’re brave enough.”
She chuckled and let the car drift to a stop before the traffic circle that would take her on to the hospital. “I’ll wear boots.”
“I’ll try to practice. Thanks for the ride,” he said, and stretched over to press a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Get some sleep!” she told him before he’d finished sliding out from the car.
As if sleep would come to him with her scent still in his nostrils and the taste of her skin still on his tongue and the sensation of her smooth skin still tingling his fingers…! But as he clomped into his quiet, solitary flat, leaving his suit coat draped over the door handle and his keys on the kitchen counter, and made his way to the bed, he barely got his feet up before he fell into a fast and dreamless sleep.
Origins
I originally wrote this sort-of sex scene as a handwriting exercise, letting the words flow freely from my pen to the page during a commute trip. As the words kept coming, though, I sensed the beginnings of a larger story starting to develop. I was already semi-familiar with the characters of Jim and Rose, but this scene solidified them more clearly to me. Before, they were simply sketches. With this, they’re coming into their own. I’ve already written more for them, a continuation of their prospective larger story that looks at a larger cast, higher stakes, and maybe even a mystery or two.
If this little scene piqued your interest, let me know in the comments below! I’m curious to learn if others are as curious to tread farther into Jim and Rose’s world as I am.
In addition to being the start of National Novel Writing Month, November 1 has additional significance for American writers: it’s National Author’s Day! Here is some of the history, as supplied by NationalDayCalendar.com:
Theidea of settingaside a day to celebrateAmericanauthorscamefromNellieVerneBurtMcPherson,president of theBement(Illinois)Women’sClub in 1928.McPhersonwas a teacherand an avidreaderthroughoutherlife.DuringWorldWar I, whenshewasrecuperating in a hospital,shewrote a fanletter to fictionwriterIrvingBacheller,tellinghimhowmuchshehadenjoyedhisstory,“EbenHolden’sLastDayA’Fishin.”Bachellersenther an autographedcopy of anotherstory,andMcPhersonrealizedthatshecouldneveradequatelythankhimforhisgift.Instead,sheshowedherappreciation by submitting an ideafor a NationalAuthor’sDay to theGeneralFederation of Women’sClubs,whichpassed a resolutionsettingasideNovember 1 as a day to honorAmericanwriters. In 1949thedaywasrecognized by theU.S.Department of Commerce.
If you follow the link, you can also read about how you can observe this holiday and support your favorite authors!
I may not be a “real” author – as my in-laws remind me so often, since I’ve only self-published one novel, and it was a fan fiction novel, at that – but I like to think that this day can at least sort of be for me, as well, since writing is such an integral part of my life. I’m also lucky to know personally so many talented published authors and aspiring-to-be-published authors, and I wanted to give a little shout-out to them. If you’ve got a moment, check out their blogs to read about their journeys, and, while you’re there, give them a comment or even click on one of their books to purchase!
Kate Johnston @ 4amwriter.com : writer, coach, editor with several handbooks to guide you in your writing journey
Kourtney Heintz @ kourtneyheintz.com : author of The Six Train to Wisconsin, The Girl Who Ignored Ghosts, and the brand new Highway Thirteen to Manhattan!
Vanessa Chapman @ vanessa-chapman.com : writer with multiple skilful blogs and several articles (at lifehack!) to read
JM McDowell @ jmmcdowell.com : writer (and archaeologist!) of the delightful Meghan Bode series of mysteries, which you can read on her blog
George McNeese @ Project Blacklight : writer with several articles, reviews, and even short stories to share
ShadeTheRaven @ Shade The Raven : writer with lots of short stories to fill your days
Make sure to send a little bit of love to YOUR favorite author, today!
Earlier this week, I updated the main header image on this blog. The last image was a photo I’d taken a few years ago in La Jolla, and its setting sun scene was pretty, but, over time, I came to associate it too much with decline. Decline of readers, decline of interaction, decline of my self.
A header image is rather like a book cover. It should say something about the writer, and that “declining” feeling of the old header image wasn’t what I wanted to project as indicative of me or my work. So, I went through my drawing archives and picked out a bunch of pictures that represent me and the stories – or attempts at stories – I’ve made over the years. Long-time readers may recognize one or more of the characters and stories on display, but, from current left to right, they are:
My adulterer/lovers, from many 100 Word Challenges for Grown-Ups and Five Sentence Fiction entries
Amber, from Fearless
Chie and Yousuke, from 1 More Chance!
Nev, from Fearless
Fram, who is the only one not from a story, but whose helmet I spent too long researching and drawing not to include here
Sally, from “Slave Girls and Shining Knights”
Ross, from Fearless and
Zera, from “Anywhere but Here”
These selections may change over time, as I hope to develop my drawing skills along with my writing, because I really want to get some representation for my Borderlands From Hell (A Love Story) continuity up there. Someone or someones from my “Finding Mister Wright” stories needs to be up there, too, because even as I write this post, I’m finishing up yet another tale of love, growth, and honesty with the Wrights and McAllisters. But, for right now, this is what I’ve got.
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