by Mayumi-H | May 17, 2014 | From Hell (A Love Story), Process
The knocks burst a staccato beat through the flat, startling on the first and annoying on every one to follow.
Findlay Raske lurched up from the bed, snapping one drooping side of his pyjama bottoms back into proper place above his hip. “All right, all right,” he called. “The hell is this, now?” he muttered to himself, laying one hand on the door for balance. He pressed his face close to the peephole, blinked against the light from the corridor, and groaned.
“For ***** sake,” he said, unlocking and swinging open the door regardless. “Kris, you can’t keep coming round like this! Do you even know what time it is?”
“Three-eighteen,” Kris replied. Not with his typical clipped delivery, though. He actually slurred.
“Christ,” Finn said, wrinkling his nose. “You’re drunk!” He gripped the door handle and started to swing it back. “You know what? Forget it. I’m done picking up your pieces-”
“Hanne’s dead.”
Finn stopped, the door forgotten. The discourteous wake-up call, too. Even the smell of cheap whisky blown on the air between them. Everything except those words…and the red film across Kris’s should-have-been blue eyes.
“Come on,” Finn murmured, settling one hand on Kris’s shoulder and leading him inside. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
Kris nodded and shuffled over the threshold into the flat. He made his way to the kitchen on his own, Finn following at a three-pace distance to gauge.
The years since his unceremonious resignation from the police department – a detective sergeant’s career and pension made worthless because of a few too many unsolicited opinions of proper procedure and conduct – had made Kristoff Stenhall hard-edged and skeptical, but nothing to plunge him into this sort of self-destructive depth.
With a low-blown sigh, Finn stepped around him and moved to the counter and sink. He filled the kettle, pulled out the press, and brought out the coffee tin, all in silence. He scooped one, two spoonfuls into the carafe but froze on the third, for the feel of Kris’s arms around him.
The metal zip of the jacket chilled the small of his back, causing Finn to suck a breath that straightened his spine. He let it go a moment after, though, for the warm, wet blow of Kris’s voice over his neck:
“I need you.”
Finn set the spoon on the counter and turned, pushing an excuse to his lips. But he got only as far as saying Kris’s name when the other man silenced him with a kiss.
The next time Finn spoke, the clock next to the bed read three fifty-seven. He’d had to glance over Kris’s head, resting on his chest, to see it.
“I’m sorry about Hanne.” He stroked his fingers through Kris’s coarse fringe, sweeping it back behind his ear with little success. It drifted loose a second after, falling once more into his eyes. Finn did it again, undiscouraged. That was Stenhall, after all: never anything easy. “I know you were fond of her.”
Kris kept the point of his focus on a space of wall past Finn’s shoulder, blowing a series of slow, steady breaths across his chest. It cooled the fine layer of sweat there, making his nipples harden.
Finn watched him blink a minute before venturing, “Do you know…how…?” He craned his head down for the lack of answer, prompting, “Kris?”
“Murder.”
Finn frowned, not least for Kris’s plain, hard tone. He’d never particularly liked Hanne Rolig – she’d always been able to exert too much influence over Stenhall, even after his resignation – but no one deserved to have their life snuffed out with such callous disregard for their future possibilities. And, despite any conflicts they may have had over their personal choices, Rolig had been a good detective: fair, clever, and concerned with the truth. Finn couldn’t help but admire that.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Whatever you need-”
“I need you,” Kris repeated, as the muscles in his arms and back went taut. He pushed himself up from Finn’s chest and looked straight at him. The same redness as before still darkened his eyes, but the blue beneath shone clear and hard as crystal. “I need you to help me find out who did this.”
Many folks say we should write outside our boundaries. If we’re comfortable writing action, try romance. If we always write romance, jump into sci-fi. If sci-fi is our gig, go back in time for some historical biography. As for me, I love reading crime and heist stories, especially adventure-y ones, but I can never pull them off. My mind simply isn’t clever enough to create a mystery or conflict suitable for a detective story.
Above is yesterday’s free-write. I’d hoped to see where a spark for a detective story might take me. As you can see, not very far afield of where my usual interests lie: the human drama. I couldn’t help my brain: I’m drawn more to passionate conflicts and conflicted passions than I am to procedural plot. Still, I like Kris and Finn (and Annie, who wasn’t intro’ed here but who’s been jumping around in my head as I’ve gotten these two gentlemen sorted). I just wish I were smarter, so I could give them a strong story worthy of the affection I already feel for them.
How do you push yourself into new territory?
by Mayumi-H | May 10, 2014 | Fearless, Process
On Friday, May 9, 2014, I finished the last chapter of Fearless. 167,000+ words, two-and-a-half years, and countless dreams, tears, and laughs later, it’s done. The first draft, that is. Which means it’s really just the beginning. Now, the manuscript (holy $%*&, I can really call it a manuscript!) can go to beta, then to editing, then to revision. Then, it goes to beta, editing, and revision again. I’m not sure how many passes this story will require to make it the best it can be before I die. For the moment, though, I think I’m going to take a deep breath, sit back, and let Ross and Amber rest a while. They deserve it.
I always get this happy-sad feeling when I finish a story, especially a big one. Fearless was my 2011 NaNoWriMo project, and it went through plenty of ups and downs before I typed those final words. I rather love that part of writing, though: the adventure of the first draft. It’s often imprecise and messy, but it’s full of such raw, untamed emotion! Revision requires analysis and skill, and it’s a necessary part of building a better story. It’s nothing like that rush of first draft, though. Not for me, anyway.
As an online reader, my experience is with works in progress. Friends and fellow storycrafters will post scenes or chapters as they’re made, and there’s a real sense of accomplishment to seeing a story come together organically in that way. But so many times, potential authors lose steam in their stories, and plots and characters are simply abandoned. It’s trite to say, but that makes me sad.
Clip Art by Ericlemerdy, shared via Clker
A story that is given time to grow and evolve becomes like a thing alive. When we let a story fall by the wayside, its world dies. I completely sympathize with writers or artists who start a project but then quickly realize this won’t work or that isn’t what it should be. But I really can’t understand artists who can devote huge chunks of their lives – like, years! – to a project, only to let it wither and fade when the going gets too rough or, heaven forfend, they move on to newer, shinier worlds.
I had a writer friend who told me, “Always finish the story, even if the ending is crap. You can always go back and fix it. But a finished story, no matter how crappy it is, is a real story, with a beginning, middle, and end. If you can finish, that puts you above at least half of all the other writers out there.” Now, I don’t know if his numbers were accurate, but his words have always stuck with me. And, every time I’ve started a story, I’ve wanted to make it “real”. Yes, some of the endings are crap. Some of the endings I wrote simply to get to the ending, so I wouldn’t have to look at that world any longer. But for every story I’ve written since I got that advice oh-so many years ago, I’ve given an ending. And, honestly, I think it has made me a better writer.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for a break…at least until the next story comes calling.
What do you do when you finish a story? Do you celebrate or put your nose back to the grindstone? And, would you like to join me for a celebratory beer? (Sure, I’ll buy!)
A Schneider Aventinus poured right. Photo by bonusparts
by Mayumi-H | May 3, 2014 | Finding Mister Wright, Persona 4 Fan Fiction, Short Stories
No one has told me to stop, so I’m still writing these extensions of my “Finding Mister Wright” story from this past winter break. Here’s another one: “Stupid, Macho, and Wicked” (opens as a PDF in a new window; ~2600 words/10 pages long).
Writing Marshall and the gang has been cathartic. I started writing them when we thought my dad was getting better, wrote some more when he was dying, and I’m still writing them after he’s gone. They’re not my most conflicted characters nor my most adventurous, nor even my most publish-worthy. But they comfort me. Maybe because I get to see, through them, the joy of love and family with fresh eyes. I like to think a lot of my dad’s wisdom comes through in these characters. Certainly, many story elements are drawn from personal experience, but their slow growth and evolution over all of these stories has offered me a lot of personal succor, too. A confirmation that life goes on, and can be good. And, that my writing can still be full of silliness and simplicity even when I think a lot about growing older and change and death.
This particular story doesn’t touch so seriously on any of those subjects, but it does flit around one or two a bit. I wonder sometimes if that’s the nature of Marshall and his story, or the way of all things. Take a look, if it please you. If not, I’m pretty sure I’ll be back next time with a more serious discussion of writing in general.
‘Til then: happy writing!
by Mayumi-H | Apr 25, 2014 | Finding Mister Wright, Persona 4 Fan Fiction, Short Stories
A recent post by fellow blogger Vanessa J. Chapman about coriander/cilantro brought back this memory of cultural differences. Now, I like the leafy stuff, especially over curry or in guacamole, but head on over to Vanessa’s post to get an opposing view. Whether you like it or not, though, a standing argument is what to call the darn stuff. At least around my house, anyway. That led me down memory lane and got me to put together this free-write short story (if you can call ~2300 words “short”), set in my “Finding Mister Wright” original fiction continuity.
Homemade guacamole, heavily laden with cilantro (sorry, Vanessa!)
Apologies to folks who’d rather read a (potentially) more interesting article about my writing process than my fiction. But, the FMW universe of characters and situations is too much fun for me to let go. Click here to read the PDF (it will open in a new tab). Or, don’t. I will say it was fun switching to another character perspective for this one…especially since I’m more used to writing Rob in his intergalactic gunslinger persona, and not as a rather soft-hearted dad. 😉 WARNING: Because this is Rob, there are a few four-letter words in there. Nothing nasty, though. All colloquial.
On a semi-related note, please join me in sending your best writing concentration mojo to JM McDowell, who’s working her darnedest on her manuscript even as I post this. JM was the only one gracious enough to bite on the original “Finding Mister Wright” story draft (not even my husband’s bothered to read it!), and, without her thoughtful feedback, I probably would have left Marshall and the rest to languish in a drawer. Instead, I’m letting them flourish. Maybe they’ll never see a bookshelf, but they’ve given me a lot of joy these past few months. If only for that, I have to say, thanks, JM! Good luck with your latest version!
by Mayumi-H | Apr 12, 2014 | Finding Mister Wright, Short Stories
I’ve been writing a lot of dark stuff, recently. So, at the end of a sunny, productive week at work, I just didn’t want to venture back into that ugly universe of gunslingers and death-dealers. I wanted to do something light. As it turned out, something sappy, too, but we have to take the respites when they come as they come. Thankfully, one of my Twitter buddies – George McNeese – gave me the push I needed to see the following short story brainworm through. It’s a free write I pulled together between 4:30pm yesterday and 9:00am this morning, so it’s quite rough. But, I had fun writing it. Hopefully, you have fun reading it, should you so choose.
Click the link below to read the story in PDF format. It follows the characters and situations introduced in my “Finding Mister Wright” series. It’s also fluffy and silly (and quite non-traditional), but all the stories told are true, albeit taken from different sources.
All Yours – A Finding Mister Wright Free-Write
‘Til next time, happy writing!
by Mayumi-H | Jan 25, 2014 | Writing Projects
I try to keep my eyes on various writing challenges around the Web. Some I’ve bitten, while others I decided to forego, for one reason or another. Here are three I’ve done in the last few weeks.
1. Scottish Book Trust runs a 50 Word Fiction contest. The prompt for this particular one was “takes place at a birthday party.” As with all prompts, I like to go with my first gut reaction, and I try to keep the effort to no more than an hour, since I’ve got other projects to work on. I did end up submitting this one.
As a side note, I got the heads-up for this particular contest from the Limebird Writers’ Writing Competitions and Opportunities Digest from January 13, 2014. These are updated weekly, so take a look if you’re interested in any kind of challenge, big or small.
Momma’s Come Home
He’d wept her first day, as her baby smell filled his nostrils. Six years later, when he’d cradled her broken body at the icy roadside. And today, her tenth birthday, when her mother returned, leaving him with only the haunting squeak of an empty swing, and his aching, lonely tears.
2. Neeks’s The Short and the Long of it blog has been running a 3-word prompt fiction challenge. For this one, the words were “beginning, ending, life.” I didn’t stick perfectly to this one, and I felt it ran a bit long and rambling for the challenge, so I decided not to submit. Still, it was fun to look at somewhat familiar characters through a different lens.
Collateral Damage
In the beginning, he’d had a dream. A perfect dream of perfect logic, where choices led to consequences, actions forged results, research brought conclusions.
She’d been a perfect mentor for him, teaching him well with her professional dedication and insistence on probing background checks, thoughtful interviews, and detailed evidence reports. Together, their clearance rates went unmatched in the department.
It was a good life, if solitary. Because no woman ever lasted. None could do, not against the tugging allure of the next murder to catch, the next criminal to convict, the next opportunity to show his pompous, prideful captain how very, very good he was at his job.
“Because of me,” Susan always reminded him with a smirk.
“Because of you,” Luke always admitted, equally smirking.
A good life, if solitary. Until that one stakeout, when a shaft of streetlamp light shining through the window struck her face in just the right way to make him realize his clearance rate, his success record, his whole life was nothing at all, without her.
She’d drawn back from his kiss…for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she’d put her arms around him and joined him in his clandestine desire.
She was more mentor to him in that cramped hotel bed than for any case they’d ever worked, though she’d always told him he was a fast learner, and he made sure to prove that to her. Again. And again.
He should have just stopped then, because endings weren’t something he’d ever done well. But he’d wanted her to know all the foolish, short-sighted mistakes of his youthful heart had been only that: missteps taken too quickly, too recklessly, for suppressed want of the only woman who’d ever taken the time to understand and know him as anything more than a fact-checking drone.
“Susan,” he whispered before a kiss, the rest of the words from his heart ready and willing at the tip of his tongue.
Except this time, the cringing drift of her lips was more than a moment.
“This can’t ever happen again,” she muttered, and shifted up from the bed to dress. Professional. Solitary.
He never kissed her again, or held her in his arms, or made love with the same tender, honest feeling as he’d done that night.
Except in his dreams.
3. Lillie McFerrin runs Five Sentence Fiction, where, each week, she gives readers a one word prompt for inspiration. The prompt for this next one was “Moonlight.” I…don’t know why I didn’t submit this one. I think it was too late (each challenge runs for one week). I had fun writing it, though, which is mostly why it appears here.
Nobody Does it Better
He watches in a stare as her blades slice, hissing and precise, scattering snow in their wake. She leaps and lands, one slender line carving its cutting edge deep. Turning, now, she races through a cloud of breath straight toward him, moonlight kissing her white-as-ice smile, and he thinks, even if he dies tonight, he’ll go happily, for this glimpse of her grace set free.
“I’m not going to just let you watch,” she says, as he’s blinded a moment by a fountain of flakes. “Come skate with me.”
Most writing challenges seem to be designed for people who want to write but don’t have a work in progress or current project on their plate. For someone who is working on a standing story, challenges and contests can offer a distraction from the heavy thinking of a draft or edit. Or, they can be an excuse to procrastinate. No matter how you choose to view them (both perceptions are valid), I can’t deny they often let my brain venture into new areas I might not consider while working on a larger project. And, sometimes, I just like to procrastinate a bit, too.
Everybody needs a break now and again. What’s your favorite way to take a break from your writing? Do you try a challenge? Free write? Take a walk? Have a dance party?
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