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Fiction is Alive and Well With This Writer…

May 23, 2011

Far too many distractions prevent my fingers from tickling the fiction keys on my keyboard. Distractions like work, deadline articles, blogs and other such nonsense. Updating websites and mowing grass and fixing things. Man! You’d think I have  a life or something.

A year (or two) ago I started a blog titled “Fiction’s Footsteps” where I could go play and write a serial fiction along with all the other fiction news from my trusty computers. Sadly, the blog fell into disuse. The great news, for me if no one else, is that I am reviving the site here on WordPress. I lugging over everything I wrote on the blogger site, and I’m even categorizing the serial fiction so you (and I) can see the chronology of the story better.

I purchased a cool header pic, figured out how to get this puppy set up, and now I’m on my way! Please let me know what you think, even if I stink…

Writing, Fiction, Focus

January 24, 2011

One of the toughest situations a writer faces is focus. Not simply focus on the story at hand, but focus on items such as writing time, deadlines, new ideas, organization, finances, interaction with other writers, etc. This installment of Fiction’s Footsteps is a bit of housecleaning. A clearing of the writing cobwebs, if you will. Even if you won’t, I’m still going to do this…

Confidence is king when it comes to fiction or any writing for that matter. You must have a conviction of your heart that what you are about to put on screen will indeed be read-worthy. To accomplish this, you must feel secure in your ability to convey ideas, fantasies, situations and nuances to prospective readers. No small task.

Most of the writers I meet possess this odd tendency to focus on mistakes and blunders. Writers will often downgrade their abilities to others as some warped aberrational humility which serves only to lessen their footprint on this world. I’m not suggesting all writers should become egomaniacs, but more confidence in their craft certainly would not hurt.

I’m not simply speaking of other writers, I include myself in this category. Writing is a lonely business, at least the physical act of writing is solitary. I don’t necessarily view writing as ‘lonely’ because my characters keep me entertained. Outside of the imagination, though, writing consists of you, your writing medium, and your imagination. No one will do this for you. If someone did, then the writing would not be yours, correct?

Writers struggle to discipline themselves adequate writing time in many cases. I hear the excuses every day about time. Hell, I use half of those excuses myself! The fact remains, you have time to write. You simply do not focus and MAKE time to write.

Finances embody another writing bugaboo. Writers don’t want to focus on business. Business is the bane of most writers. Business jerks writers out of their ‘zone’ and into the real world where they must act and behave in a responsible manner so the food on their table does not slip away into dust and collections notices. For many writers, finances can decimate their writing by distracting them with jobs. Yes, work with something other than a keyboard and a dream…

Writers tend to throw away new ideas. I know, foolish, isn’t it? Often writers get so tunnel visioned by the project they’re working on, they neglect the delightful nuggets of some other work that may pop into their heads. Writers should focus on taking down insightful notes to be accessed at a later date rather than hoping they’ll remember when they need it.

Interaction with other writers is a lifeline to a writing career. I’m sure there are exceptions out there, but most writers desperately need other writers if for no other reason than to stay sane. Writing requires a person to steep themselves in their own mind. That’s enough to drive anyone crazy. Writers should focus on separating out time for people who share their love of words. This interaction most often proves motivational as well as often inspires writers in new directions.

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, it’s time to focus on fiction…

Love Scene Part II

November 5, 2010

>As a continuation of yesterday’s scene, I will finish off the tryst between Daniel and Samantha. As you will recall, Sam was kicking Daniel’s ass until he came back at her like a man, giving her no quarter in a fight. She walked away with the excellent line, “If a man can’t kick my ass, he can’t have it.” One of my better lines I’ve written in a while. I certainly hope there’s more to come.

Love Scene (cont’d)
Daniel swiped at grass ground into the elbow of his jacket then eyed the screen door. In one abrupt move he simultaneously ripped at the zipper of his jacket and sprinted for the porch. Once inside, the jacket flew airborne in the general direction of the closet, his shoes fluttered in opposite directions and his breath rose and fell more quickly than he wanted to acknowledge.
“My, my. My macho man appears to be in a hurry.”
Samantha stood statuesque by the closet and a crumpled pile of clothes. She wore a purple and black dragon print silk robe tied loose at her waist. Her black hair posed around her neck and on her shoulders like a television hair commercial. She winked at Daniel, took one end of the robe’s silk belt between a forefinger and thumb and little by little, pulled it away from her body. They locked eyes as the belt separated from itself and plunged the narrow gap in front into an open invitation.
“You have a strange mating ritual. Beat the shit out of a guy, then expect him to run after you.”
“And yet, here you are.”
Samantha brushed her shoulders back in one slow, sensual movement and the robe obeyed and piled itself to the floor. Another liquid motion sent both her hands behind her ears for handfuls of hair which she slid between open fingers until the strands settled back into their prescribed places. Meanwhile, her hands continued down from her shoulders, over her breasts and finished up at her waist.
“Maybe I like strange mating rituals.”
“Maybe I just like mating. What do you think?” Samantha rotated and accentuated each hip as she turned.
“I don’t see that thinking does much good here.”
Daniel strolled to her back and place his right hand on her right hip. He snaked his left up between her breasts as she lay her head back on his shoulder. He pressed into her and she relaxed her stance to use his body for support.
“Good call soldier. Nothing like a wild romp before things get crazy.”
“I can’t help but think you’re up to something.”
“It’s obvious you’re up…to something.” Samantha laughed and dove on the bed. “C’mon. Let’s see what you got soldier boy.”
Daniel’s remaining clothes hit the floor as he landed on the bed beside Samantha.
“Pretty fucking bold to clock me and then seduce me.” He rose up on his left elbow and stroked her hair.
“A gals gotta do what a guy won’t sometimes. C’mon. We’ve been holed up here three months and you haven’t so much as tried to get in my pants. Don’t you guys ever have any fun on a mission?”
She played the fingers of her left hand down his side, leaned forward and grabbed his ass.
“That’s not fair. Most of the time I’m off with a bunch of other guys. When I’m not, the woman is usually married.”
“And you let that stop you.”
“Do you want to screw or are you going to keep crackin’ on me?”
She shoved him onto his back, mounted and worked a slow grind with her hands around his throat. His hips caught the rhythm and joined in as he fondled her breasts.
“I like to be in control. You need to remember that.”
“I saved your sweet ass. You need to remember that.”
She picked up the pace and tightened her grip on his throat.
“No need for me to remember. I don’t give a shit.” Just as she started thrusting her pelvis forward while she kept applying pressure to his throat until he passed out. She slipped off him, slapped his face and said, “Next time you have to kick my ass for real to get any.”

Love Scene Part I

November 3, 2010

>Hello Phantom blog readers. Today I’ve decided to write scenes for this book. Since I struggle with outlines, I’ve decided that scenes will help. By writing and categorizing scenes, I can then assemble them in an order that will read well. Achieving an overall smooth reading experience is my goal. Without further adieu, how ’bout a love scene?

Love Scene

The fist rocketed at his head the instant he pushed the door open. Wood scraps launched from his arms as he fell backward with the punch. The sting on his left cheek preceded a sharp pain in his left ribcage. Daniel borrowed the momentum from the attack and rolled off the porch onto the cold, stiff ground.

He popped to his feet crouched and ready.

“Hell, I thought you might have more than that.” Samantha pulled a second glove on as she strolled down the steps.

“Why do I always get the psycho bitches?” Daniel muttered.

“I don’t like the bitch label much. Just pisses me off more.”

Her left leg darted at Daniel’s head. He flicked the kick away with his right palm and swept his own left foot at her shin as he spun around while still crouched. She stood firm and took the contact, heels dug in. Daniel tumbled over the ground and fended off a flurry of kicks. He managed to scramble back to his feet.

“Look. I don’t know what the hell your game is here, but I could have broken that leg.”

“Coulda, woulda. I’ve heard that shit before.”

She feigned a swipe with her left fist then drove her right from her shoulder to his nose. As he fell to his back, a bewildered look glazed over his eyes. He stayed down, rose up only to his right elbow and said, “I like a bitch who can throw a punch like that.”

“You trying to provoke me? I told you not to call me that.”

Samantha bore down on him with a quick flick of her heal at his head. This time Daniel fell back well in advance of the attack, sprung to his feet. A violent uppercut caught her forehead with the base of the palm of his right hand. A couple kicks to her stomach stumbled her backward. Two jabs caught alternate cheeks as Daniel pressed his advance. The blows knocked her to her back.

“That’s where you belong, bitch, on your back.” Daniel smiled as she spat blood into the turf.

“You may be man enough after all.” She pushed up to her feet, bowed and walked toward the door.

“What the hell…”

“Are you coming or are you going to stand there like an idiot.” She stopped at the steps, turned and beckoned a pointer finger at him.

“You can’t be propositioning me after all that.”

“Let’s just say if a man can’t kick my ass, he can’t have it.” She turned and opened the screen door.

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