Story Basics, Part I

My friend Opal Mirror and I have had an interesting conversation since my post on Catching Up On The Classics.

He says he likes to write setting, but has trouble with narrative and character development (whereas I'm all over narrative, but setting is ridiculously hard for me). So, for both of us, I thought I'd go over some concepts and see if it helps us (and you, too).

Character development - creating a fictional person who is as confused and searching as a real person - isn't easy, but there are some tools to help you on your way.

The first tool set involves basic questions such as:

1. What does the person need to learn?  Humility? Self-Confidence? That his uncle murdered his father and then married the widow?
2. What are her flaws? Is she a careless listener? Is he greedy? Hamlet had some serious focus issues, for example. His job was to kill his uncle, not everyone else!
3. What is her greatest fear? Gertrude did not want to face the truth of her actions - that she had committed incest by marrying her brother in law.
4. What is his best quality? I always thought Hamlet's best quality that was he didn't take the ghost's words for granted - he had to investigate and prove the truth to himself.
5. What is the price she will have to pay if she doesn't learn the lesson(s)? Since it took Hamlet so long to learn what was going on, he left behind a trail of innocent dead.

These are just ideas to start the brainstorming process. More character tools to come!

Out and about.

I'm the sort that needs a lot of intellectual stimulation, or my brain goes crazy with the self-criticism. I finally remembered that in the midst of a crisis of confidence last night. So today, I took the light rail into Portland, along with my journal and camera, and took a day to remember the outside world.

My feet and the poem to former mayor Bud Clark.

Pasta, tea, and writing at the Davis St. Tavern.

Some of the best hot chocolate around! With cardamom whipped cream, even.

Wandering around the Chinese Garden. The sun came out occasionally, too!

These frozen yellow flowers smelled like love -sweet and unending.

Outside the Tao of Tea

I adore this little waterfall.

Next to the waterfall, there's this little mysterious cove. I imagine tiny pirates in there.

Stepping stones.

Fu dogs are joy.

Stopped by Oregon Leather to be amazed at the colors and creativity of leather working.

For my Charming Man

Feeling the love today. :)

Sun and Moon
by Gina Zeitlin

It's all about sex,
we both know that.

But     what I wonder is
why
after every molecule of desire
in my body has been satisfied
after
the sudden moistening, the deep
fierce aching and raising heat
after
the throbbing glory of release and the cries
of need and pleasure have dissolved
into the air,

Something like my soul slips from me
and goes to you,
without choice or question,
and wraps itself around you
all night, like the breath
of the moon.

And why
I carry the thought of you
as constant as any sun
in my heart.

The best intentions

A dear friend's manuscript was rejected this past week. I was going to write something profound about rejection for her -  basically rehashing the brilliant advice Carolyn See gives the world in Making a Literary Life (which is one of the absolute necessities for an author). It's a genius book and the chapter on rejection is one of the kindest, most life affirming pieces of advice I've heard in my life (and I've heard more advice than I can possibly count).


But I simply wasn't up for picking the best parts and I certainly was not going to copy down the entire fourteen pages of the chapter. So I will share the final paragraph:

It's not personal. It's not death. It's just a death experience. And the way to defuse rejection is to turn it into a process: cosmic badminton. So that you can wake up in the night, think about it, and actually smile.

And now, something else to keep you smiling:

Sacher Torte with whipped cream and coffee, at the Sacher Hotel, in Vienna.

Because decadent chocolate torte and Viennese coffee with more whipped cream make the world a better place.

Getting Silly.

In my short story challenge, another friend dared me to challenge the stereotypes of absolute dominance and submission.

The deepest submission

“Tonight, our pet, is the final test. If you pass this one, you will be our fully collared live-in slave, both owned and cherished.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine and through my cock, making the bell on the end of its cage chime.  I kept my lips firmly pressed to the shining floor by her foot. What would my Master and Mistress do to me? They had tested me over and over since I approached them to be their slave.

Their stern hands and whispered orders gave delights, and revealed my secrets. They peeled me open like an artichoke, demanding I give up my tender heart.

“Wait for us in your basket,” his deep rumbling voice ordered. I kissed his feet, careful not to brush my stubble against his skin, and scooted to my dog den -a deep wicker basket lined with cushions. To be kept like a dog, waiting on their whim, was all I wanted. I yearned to found worthy of their permanent collar.

My Master and Mistress were flawless physical specimens of dominant power. She towered at six feet, with radiant skin and glossy black hair. He was even taller, and surely heaven would forgive me if I thought of a Tom of Finland drawing whenever I saw his sculpted body and strong features.

The heavy tread of his boots heralded his arrival.

“Come here.”

I crawled out of my nest and touched my lips to the boots I had learned to polish to his exacting standards.

“Look at me.”

Smiling in delight, I let my gaze range up his perfect body encased in black leather. His strong calves, muscular thighs lead to an enticing bulge in his codpiece. I always knew I had done well when he rewarded me by letting me look at his rippling belly and chest. I finally reached his face, and gasped.

A bright red clown nose sat in the middle of his Greek god features.


Astonished, I flicked my eyes to my Mistress. Her face carried no such outrageous adornment. Her corset and opera gloves hugged her body as closely as I yearned to touch her. A six foot long singletail slithered behind her.

But instead of her usual sky high heels, pink fuzzy bunny slippers waggled their ears at me as she stepped forward.

“Well?” Her imperious voice snapped me out of my stare.

I looked at the object in her hand.

“Do you accept our token?” he asked.

I stared between them. A grin broke out on my face. I grabbed the deely bobbers from her hand and shoved it on my head. The bright green glittery shamrocks wobbled back and forth as I sat up.

“I’m yours,” I declared.

Ice Hard.

A long time ago, I challenged my good friends to stretch my erotic imagination. Give me a scenario, a kernal of an idea, and I'd come up with a short story from it. One person said I should write a sexy scene in an ice fishing hut.

It's a Minnesota thing. Just roll with it.

***

Ice hard

Minnesota in winter was a hard place.

But not nearly hard enough, Mrs. Bjorn Johnson concluded. That damn Bjorn, fishing addict he was, had been up in that there damn ice fishing hut for the entire weekend, tending to the entirely wrong set of holes.

How was a woman supposed to get any lovin’ this way? She’d even wore her sexiest nightie -the long insulated green one without any feet – to bed last night, but her beloved Big B merely gave her a wet smacking kiss on the cheek and rolled over.

Discouraged, she’d put her footie pajamas back on and spent the night coming up with her cunning plan. If Mohammad couldn’t come to the mountain….

Already dressed in her warmest garments, Julika, sturdy, independent woman she was, strode across the three foot thick ice and throw the blowing snow to Bjorn’s sizable red ice-fishing hut.

Not even knocking, she flung open the door. “Hello, darling,” she sing songed, walking into the heated room.

“Holeee cannooooli, Julika, what are you doing here?” Bjorn’s arousing Minnesotan drawl tingled her neglected places as he leapt to his feet, nearly upsetting the chair he’d been perched on watching the black waters under the ice. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up, revealing strong forearms. Julika pressed her thighs together at the sight.

“Why, can’t a devoted wife see to her husband’s comfort?” she purred, peeling off her thermal mittens, her scarf, ear muffs, and stocking cap with the panache and confident cocked hip of a showgirl.

Bjorn gulped.

She unzipped her down coat, tooth by agonizing tooth, holding Bjorn’s gaze the entire time. He swallowed as she tossed it onto his small table, scattering fishing magazines and a lone copy of Maxim. She’d pin his ears back good about that later. Right now, this real life woman’s real life needs demanded attention. She was on a mission.

Her insulated vest went next. She peeled and tugged and unzipped and unbuttoned until she stood before him in her boots and clinging silk thermal long johns.

“Bjorn, I just had to know how your…pole…was doing.” Julika ran her hands up and down her torso and breasts just like she’d seen in the stripper aerobics tape Annika had snuck to her under the table at the last Church Ladies’ Social.

Her man’s blue eyes bugged out at her hard nipples and unbound hair. A gratifying lump appeared in his flannel lined jeans.

Leaning against the table, she spread her legs, letting him get a good look at her puffy hoo-ha pressed against her longies. Her fingers delved past the waist band of the drawers and stroked aching flesh.

“Now, you gonna provide for your woman, Bjorn Johnson, or am I going to have to become a DIY gal?”

Catching up on 'The Classics'

I'm always watching movies and reading books, trying to learn more about writing, structure, and what makes a story dazzling. I've been on a musical kick, seeing how the writers tied the music to the story, used it to advance the plot, or used it to reveal a character's innermost self.

In Silk Stockings, Cyd Charisse's solo dance with her lingerie clearly tells the viewer that here is a woman who is finally embracing her yearning for pleasure. It's one of the most tender and touching metaphors for female sexuality and orgasm that I've seen.

So from this movie, I learned how to engage a reader in more than just the motion of the ocean, but also the emotions of the motion, so to speak.


On the downside, I learned just how necessary character development is. In Pal Joey, Joey starts the movie with being run out of town by the police. Because he'd been pouring drinks for an underage girl in his hotel room. For some reason, this was considered funny back in 1957.

I was yucked out immediately. And I stayed yucked out, because Joey remained a complete dog. Kim Novak played a helpless innocent (another Waif on our hands!), and Rita Hayworth played a woman who actually owned her sexuality. Which means, of course, that she got dumped. Here's the trailer to get you started.

What I learned?
1. I need to pay attention to the mores of your time, and what is considered funny.
2. Sometimes, I just want to watch the movie for the musical numbers, and not the plot. Or the characters.
3. If I'm going to write a jerk or someone in need of redemption, I need to show some kind of reason why anyone would cheer for this louse.

In order to get this foul taste out of my mouth, I had to watch some Mae West movies.  My Little Chickadee to the rescue.

Getting Sweaty

Straight-laced
c. Linda Mercury

Soon, we’ll dress,
order
our outer selves again. We’ll
wipe off the sweat and come and
button and
zip and
knot. We will
search for
food and drink and outside
companionship.

We will look
tidy and neat and polite and civilized.
We will
smile and
act nice.

We endure those lies for our insides are
hot, wild, crazed,
feral-
just a little

disorderly.

We know who we are.
We can survive
just a little

civilization.

To heck with it.

Anyone who comments on my blog will get a unique, hand-painted fan! Let me know your favorite colors and send me your snail mail address in my email!

Happy Holidays!

Give-away!

Another give away for the holiday season. Be the first person to tell me the name of my heroine (named in yesterday's post) and get this lovely hand-painted, one-of-a-kind fan. :)

Forgetting the obvious

Recently, I was asked, "What is your manuscript about?" from someone who had known me a while.

I have always thought I did nothing but talk on and on about it, but this brought me up short. Maybe I am not as forthcoming as I thought I was!

So, here is my synopsis of Dracula's Secret.


The Twelfth Annual Conference on Paranormal Citizen Affairs has called the entire world to Portland, Oregon. Celebrities, politicians, protestors, and special interest groups have flocked to the City of Roses to weigh in on the state of relations between the supernatural minority and the human majority.

Not everyone in town has the best of intentions. Valerie Tate, one of the few remaining vampires in the world, has come to Portland with a very simple goal: to kill Dracula’s brother, Radu Tepes. The murder is her last act in her own attempt at redemption for her sins.

Hitler’s alliance with the supernatural and the occult, most notably with Vlad Tepes, the infamous Dracula, did not win him the war, but it did, for once and for all, establish that Paranormal Citizens (PNCs) existed. The revelation forced a global ‘coming out’, and in the following years, PNCs, like other minorities, integrate into society with varying degrees of success.

One of the great success stories is the charismatic but shady Radu Tepes, Dracula’s younger brother and also a vampire. A so-called hero of the French Resistance, he rose from the devastation of the war to form the Consortium for Concerned Citizens (CCC), a political action committee dedicated to integration. The world anticipates him to announce his candidacy for President during the conference.

But on this fateful Halloween night, a man with an aura like sunlight comes between Valerie Tate and her prey. A former Army Ranger and chaplain, Lance Soliel is no stranger to the carnage of human and supernatural aggression. Tired of bloodshed, he retired to run the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter, a privately funded mission that has been plagued with serious financial mismanagement. With less than twenty-four hours of funding left, Lance has nothing to lose. As a result, he single-handedly kickstarts the integration movement by inviting two homeless werewolves into his Shelter.

Valerie wrenches herself away from watching the little drama to continue her mission. But Radu’s vanity unwittingly saves his life. His fury at being upstaged interferes with Valerie’s tightly structured plan. Valerie scrambles to regain her advantage.

She rescues Lance from a Radu-backed attack on his life. In the resulting aftermath of adrenaline and surprising lust, their attraction leads them into a passionate embrace. Lance’s repressed sexual desire for dangerous women erupts; Valerie’s own dark and mixed sexuality explodes furiously to the presence and scent of a salvation bringer.

As attracted as he is, being involved with a vampire would ruin Lance’s career and expose his own past. Rather than consummate the attraction, they delicately interrogate each other during a drive in Valerie’s classic muscle car. Lance attempts to discover Valerie’s personal secrets and Valerie probes his past. They stonewall each other, but he reluctantly agrees to let her become his bodyguard. Valerie plans to use Lance as the bait in her trap for Radu.

Radu doesn’t rest in his attempts to remove Lance and the other powerful figures in his way. Violent and personal attacks break out all over Portland as the Conference begins.

The attraction between Lance and Valerie blossoms under the pressure of constant vigilance for his life, even as their secrets prevent trust. Sexually, they break all taboos and boundaries. Emotionally, Valerie refuses true intimacy by withholding her true identity.

For Valerie is Vlad Tepes, Radu’s older brother. Six hundred years ago, Dracula had been born a woman. Her parents constructed the identity of Vlad for their daughter’s protection. She remained a man until World War II. During the fall of Berlin, Valerie engineered the death of Dracula. For the first time, Vlad hid by revealing her true self.

Lance’s commitment to less-violent solutions convinced Valerie to avoid fratricide. Final death would catapult Radu straight to martyrhood, furthering his unhealthy agenda of world-wide, violently enforced PNC hegemony. That epiphany fuels another: killing only leads to more killing. This radical idea forces even greater change than she was first willing to pursue. But her very existence hinges on this discovery. She vows to use all the skills she learned in the centuries she protected her real gender.

Radu tries to discredit Lance with a dark secret: his best friend, John Janté, had been severely damaged in a supernatural attack that Lance believes was caused by him. The guilt rode Lance his entire life, keeping him isolated and unable to trust his judgment.

What neither Radu nor Lance knows is that John is just fine. So fine, in fact, he has a job at CERN (the European Organization for Nuclear Physics). John arrives in Portland in just the nick of time to refute Radu’s claims that Lance would let someone else suffer for his mistakes.

His stock going down by the minute, Radu makes one angry, last attempt at Lance’s life. He lures Valerie and Lance to a mutual acquaintance’s yacht. Silver knives poison Valerie and throw her into the lake. Radu takes Lance hostage and threatens to keep him as a blood-slave.

John rescues Valerie just as she collapses from the silver poisoning. He charms her with his courage and wit. They ally in order to save Lance.

In the ensuing fights, Valerie’s devastating secret is revealed. Radu attempts to reconcile with his sibling, but she has changed too much to try to rule the world any more. As Valerie bleeds out, Lance feeds her his blood and unwittingly shares his own secret.

Lance knows sin even more than Valerie. He is one of the Fallen; a member of the Host that left Heaven with Lucifer. In order to earn his own redemption for his pride, Lance has ridden the Wheel of Life over and over, proving his willingness to serve the lesser beings.

Saving a vampire shows his final humility, and he is rewarded by being given back his wings and sword; the first of the Fallen to re-ascend.

The three heroes embrace, safe but uncertain as to their future. Lance has Divine work to do. Valerie’s quest for redemption has ended with Radu’s disgraces, and John has found people to love and protect. As Lance flies away with his fellow angels, he promises he will come to John and Valerie as soon as he can. John and Valerie hold each other as Lance ascends with the sparkling host.

Rejections and all that.

Dracula's Secret got rejected by Berkley yesterday.

In order to keep myself optimistic and encouraged, I frequently read this quote to myself:

 ###

Here's what I tell my students on the first day when I teach one of my creative writing courses:

You will be published if you possess three qualities- talent, passion, and discipline.

You will probably be published if you possess two of the three qualities in either combination - either talent and discipline, or passion and discipline.

You will likely be published if you possess neither talent nor passion but still have discipline. Just go to the bookstore and pick up a few "notable" titles and you'll see what I mean.

But if all you possess is talent or passion, if all you possess is talent and passion, you will not be published. The likelihood is you will never be published. And if by some miracle you are published, it will probably never happen again.

Quote from Write Away: One Novelist's Approach to Fiction and the Writing Life by Elizabeth George

Since I have both passion and discipline, I feel most optimistic. :) Talent? Time will tell that. :)

Doing the pretty

Surround yourself with beauty.

The Avanti Lounge from Dania Furniture.

Today, The Charming Man and I went shopping for a new bed. For the last ten years, we've enjoyed the bohemian delight of our mattress and box spring right on the floor. But it is finally time to feel 'grown-up', and off to browse the furniture stores we went.

We were both drawn to quirky, fun styles and soon it developed into a game of what personalities would like what kinds of furniture. So! I challenge my friends to play the game with me.

Who would like this style of sofa? Tell me what kind of character would sprawl on such a deliciously unusual piece?



note: Both The Charming Man and I sat on this lovely thing. It's quite comfortable.

Wow, I'm sore.

I worked out very hard today, so I don't have anything bright to say here. Instead, here's some pretty shoes.

Carlos by Carlos Santana Womens Windsor Platform Pump

Primary source research and other wacky hijinks.

Over the holiday weekend (and I hoped yours rocked, too), I got sidetracked by some research. I was figuring out how modern Berlin differed in layout from World War II Berlin, especially what happened to the land where the final bunker was.

(It's an apartment block and playground now. How very cool!)

In the course of looking that up, I found a book called In the Bunker with Hitler by Bernd Freytag von  Loringhoven.

Von L, as I started to call him, was a Captain in the regular Army, and was aide-de-camp to the Army chiefs of staff- Guderian and Krebs. He describes his experiences in the Bunker from July 23, 1944 to April 29, 1945.

It's a fast,  fascinating read, and I suddenly wanted to do a paper on Group Think and the Third Reich. Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes, by Irving L. Janis is one of my favorite books. This would be an amazing study, full of footnotes and quotes (and parenthetical statements).


But alas, there is only so much time in the world. So instead, I'm going to use In the Bunker... as a primary source on Hitler's behavior and personality in the last days of World War II. Some of my notes:

1. Never underestimate the power of charismatic, motivated, deluded idiot.
2. As much as it sucks, it really does help to listen to people who disagree with you.
3. As nice as it is in your own little world where your soldiers are at full strength with plenty of food, ammunition, fuel, and not being killed by your enemy, you might want to maybe, just maybe try playing make-believe.
4. The regular Army really didn't know about the war atrocities. I never understood that before, but after hearing how Hitler ran things, I see how he did it, and why. (Secret meetings with the Nazi party because he didn't trust or like the regular Army men).

This is why primary source research is the most fun of all.

Quote-tastic for the Holiday, part II

"May your walls know joy; May every room hold laughter and every window open to great possibility."
Maryanne Radmacher-Hershey

"Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, and wrapped in time like a husk, a husk of many colors spreading, at dawn fast over the mountain split."
-Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm

A great deal of life consists of hurling ourselves into poorly-mapped abysses. That's how things get _done_. We can try to choose our abysses well, but there comes a time when we have to leap. Daily.
-- Patrick Nielsen Hayden

"anyone or anything that does not bring you alive is too small for you." david whyte

"Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a ****load of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but, Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes."
-Dave Eggers in "The Harvard Advocate."

Don’t let fear decide how you live, what you wear, what you say, or what you do. Identify your fear, understand it and accept it, and move on.
--Coco Graham

A bad reputation can set you free. After all, if you've already declared yourself to be a pot-smoking, acid-addled slut, your opponents are forced to oppose your ideas on their merits, rather than strategically revealing your hidden depravities. Shame is no weapon against the shameless.
-- John Perry Barlow

(so when people get snippy about writing romance, just smile and agree. "Why, yes! I am shameless!")

Inspirational Quotes.

Every one has quotes they pin up on their wall by their desks. As we close in on American Thanksgiving, I want to highlight the most important gratitude of all - that of love.


For one human being to love another:
that is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks;
the ultimate, the last test and proof,
the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

"Some day after we have mastered the winds, the waves and gravity, we will harness for God the energies of love; and then for a second time in the history of the world, humans will have discovered fire."
-Teilhard de Chardin

The subject tonight is Love
And for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact I know of no better topic
For us to discuss
Until we all
Die!
-Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

"Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love."
-Leo Tolstoy

"Any thought that is not filled with love seems unholy."
-André Gide

"Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who treat you spitefully."
-Jesus Christ

"Right now, we are appearing as the very light of consciousness, alive as love, although we may require some training, like an artist would, to fully offer our self as love's gift."
-David Deida from "Waiting to Love"

"There is no remedy for love but to love more."
-Thoreau

"When I love, I love so much, it's dangerous."
-Nicole Kidman

"To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's
sweet."
-Pablo Neruda

When I think of you,
fireflies in the marsh rise
like the soul's jewels,
lost to eternal longing,
abandoning my body
-Izumi Shikibu

Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden,
little flower with its perfumed stamen,
singing, sipping from the stream of you --
sunset, moonlight -- our song continues.

-Ikkyu Sojun

Celebrate what you have, every day.

A dream gave me the idea for this poem. I wrote the first draft as soon as I woke up. :)

Making Cookies

c. Linda Smith

I wrap my hand around yours and kiss your neck as we
cream butter and sugar together.

Your sari is bright and soft under my mouth as
we dance in time to your limp
to the refrigerator for eggs.

Vanilla haunts the walls
as the oven works magic.

You always
forget melted chocolate burns.
I lick your tongue all better.
Your sweetness surpasses all others.

Someday, I will lose you to the rot in
your bones.

But not today.

Today, these cookies are perfection.

My body is a temple.

Picture from National Institute of Massotherapy

I'm giving myself the present of a massage and facial today.

What presents do you like to give yourself?

Surround yourself with beauty.

I think a lot of writers have this tedious self discipline and denial attitude towards their writing. That you have to get up at 3 am or force yourself to work in order to actually finish the book.

As an eternal contrarian, I think writing is self care. I do it because it makes me feel wonderful, and therefore, I want to do it a lot. And denial breeds resentment, not joy.

So in practicing what I preach, I indulged myself in some personal beauty.

First, I got a gorgeous henna this past weekend. Sorry for the view of the sink, but that's where the light was good. :) Isn't this a beauty??

Then yesterday, I painted over a semi-circular window in our house. This window faces south and it can get quite bright in that room. I took down the fabric I'd stapled there years ago, and came up with this little confection.

Inspiration

These are the pictures that inspired Rachel and Rod:

 Doesn't she look like trouble? I see her as a rebel and daredevil.

And he looks very uptight to me. :) The kind of guy who never misses a chance to do sit ups, fill out paperwork, and dot every lowercase j.

The coolest thing about writing?

Is the odd-ball stuff my brain throws at me.

I've had this beginning rolling around in my head for a while:

“Get a load of her,” a man’s appreciative voice came across the bar.

Rod Wachowska looked up at the entrance of the club. And trouble brought all his carefully constructed fictions tumbling down.

Rachel Albin stood in the doorway, her black tuxedo jacket cut to her navel and her skirt up to her butt cheeks. And just like he had twenty years ago in high school, Rod got a present in his pants.

And from here I have some vague ideas about a reckless woman with a secret deathwish and the By-The-Book man who yearns for her. 

Give-away!

I've painted a new one-of-a-kind fan. 

Be the first person to tell me, here on this blog, in what city is the Topkapi Palace?

World War I sucked.

Dulce et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.



Note: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - it is sweet and right to die for your country. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country.

Use asbestos gloves with this one!

Mike is as turned on as I am. He gasps and with careful hands, piles my hair on top of my head so he can see my lips work him. The feel of his fingers on my scalp sends jolts down my nipples and makes me moan around his flesh.

Todd’s balls slap my lower lips as he works in and out of me. He clenches my hips hard once, then spanks my upturned ass. Surprised, I squeal and buck. The men block my motions, but not my low moan of arousal.

“I see you picked up some new tricks,” Mike murmurs in my ear and tightens his hand in my hair.

Both ends sting. In a really good, dog howling, down and dirty, let’s-get-nasty kind of way. Excitement pools in my belly at the restriction. Todd’s hand falls again and again. I can hear Todd alternately swearing and muttering something about making me not able to sit for three days. Juices surge down my thighs.
The extra moisture isn’t wasted. Todd’s diabolical thumb, completely soaked, inches a path into the dark, forbidden area of my anus. Suspended between the two men my body spasms with electric shocks.

Mike’s cock starts leaking in my mouth. His prized control is waning. I don’t know how much more I can take. I speed up my sucking to match Todd’s rhythm, knowing both men are sprinting toward the finish. I have a suspicion their orgasms will trigger another for me. I’m already trembling, barely able to keep myself on my hands and knees. It won’t take much to make me scream.

A loud speaker blares. “Shoppers, the store will be closing in five minutes. Please take your purchases to the cashier. Thank you for shopping at J. C. Penney’s.”

Maybe it was just saying Todd’s employer’s name but he lost it on the final word. Mike is seconds behind him. I’m nearly there. Todd figures it out and reaches for my clit.

“Oh, sweet fucking God,” I scream into Mike’s hip. The boys hold me up as I hang between them, shaking as the explosions leave me helpless and limp.

Oh, yeah. I’ll never despise JC Penney’s again. Hell, I’ll shop here five days a week, and twice on Saturdays from now on.

For the next sixty seconds we remain frozen like an artsy wax tableaux. Then we all move at once.

Todd draws back and zips his pants. “You’ve got to go.” His hoarse voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Really?” Mike asks, moving in a languid way designed to drive Todd as crazy as it used to make me when my mother’s footstep neared. “You don’t want another round?”

Todd’s head pivots on his shoulders as he searches the store. “Wait in the dressing room.” He points toward Sportswear. “It’ll take me a few minutes.”

“We’ll meet you there.” Mike says to Todd’s back as he hurries away.

“Have you lost your mind?” I demand as I adjust my clothing.

Mike chuckles. “I didn’t hear you complaining. But no, we’re not meeting Todd-o for another round. We just want to give him hope and a good story to tell. Besides, you still want to thank me for a lovely night.”

Warning - this is HOT.

“Nice, aren’t they?” Mike says casually.

I tilt my head back to see the hands squeezing my breasts belong to a dark haired young man with a name tag. I squint. Todd. If Todd is twenty, I’d be surprised. I glare at Mike whose response is an easy shrug. Mike and I are going to be talking about this, I can tell you.

I remind myself revenge is a dish best served cold. And right now, I’m very hot.
“Roll over.” He kneels by my face, his erection still firm in his hand. “Mr. Wiggly needs your soft lips and Todd, here, needs to sell this mattress or get a reward.”

Todd grunts at the mention of the reward. Mike tosses the younger man a foil pack and waits on me.

Mike knows I chafe at orders, so I take my time. I sit up, adjust my skirt and halter. I narrow my eyes at Todd, sizing him up. There’s a promising bulge in his chinos. Like the conspirators we’ve always been, both Mike and I grin. Todd grins back. He’s got a toothy, naughty smile, like a young Dennis Quaid. My pussy swells at the sight. This could be fun.

I roll onto my hands and knees and edge to the corner of the bed. Todd is the only one not undressed, but he’s fast on the draw. He hikes my skirt over the small of my back and reaches between my legs. Todd tips my ass up and spreads my cheeks, obviously taking a leisurely look at my pussy. I wiggle at him only to hear the condom packet rip.

My hand slides around Mike’s hard erection and remember why I’ve been excited all week. He’s got the most perfect cock. A shapely, thick head tops his veined shaft with hot red temptation.

I dream of his penis, even when I’m awake. My cubicle often wafts female arousal from my frequent fantasies. Thank heavens I’m stuffed in an unpopular corner by the stairwell.

Pressing my lips around him, I inch forward. Pre-cum dew covers the shiny head making it easy to encompass him. He groans. I open my eyelids wide and look up at him. It’s his turn to throw his head back and work his jaw. Satisfaction ripples up my spine at the knowledge he is as helpless in his lust as I am in mine. Sighing, I lose myself in the sensation of smooth skin and sweet-salty hot hard flesh in my mouth.

The sound tells me Todd’s zipper is metal. There is a moment of adjustment before he plunges inside. Normally I’m the kind of girl who likes at least a little warm up. But tonight that’s already been taken care of. And how! He slides right in and I squirm against his lengthy cock.

Todd has twenty-year-old finesse. What he does have going for him is a long strong stroke that finds sweet spots with no help from him. He’s pretty good now, but in a few years, he’ll be devastating. He pumps hard, more interested in his satisfaction than in mine. Although he may be hurrying to avoid the possibility of the unemployment line if we’re discovered.

I clench around Todd’s thick erection and shudder. Mike in my mouth, a hard nearly teenager in my cunt – this is the very definition of heaven. I can barely breathe, but I don’t care.

Bringing sexy back.

Time to get back to the naughty story!

Part One is here. Part Two, here.

Part three: Right here!


I’d normally roll my eyes at his juvenile taunt, but I’m halfway there already. The sheer naughtiness of our scenario has primped my pump, so to speak. I pinch my pleasure. The intense sensation makes me arch my neck against the cool mattress cover.

I open my eyes a fraction. He’s still out of his jeans, and he’s breathing hard. I shudder at the look on his face. I shove two fingers in me, and my pussy clenches them hard. It wants something else to hang onto. I’d gotten wet the minute he opened his apartment door for me and now I’m getting what I need. I pet my clit and grind against my fingers. Breath wheezes through my teeth.

"yeah, like that.” He leans over the bed, breathes me in. Bracing one hand beside me, he gives his penis a twisting caress. “Stroke your clit like a little cock for me. Jack it.”

I obey. My head rolls back and forth against the mattress, lost in the sensations. Clenching my jaw, I hold back a sound. It might have been a wail, or even a groan, but it doesn’t matter. Five days of tension, since his out-of-the-blue call, have me reaching my crest.

My hips come off the mattress as I dig my heels in, tucking them almost under me. I’m spread so wide my thighs tremble. Lights strobe under my eyelids.

After all these years, Mike’s looking at me again with his hot blue eyes. I haven’t felt this aroused in I don’t know how long. My mind screams. Give me what I need. My body rolls toward orgasm. I’m so close to my peak.

“Open wide, baby,” he whispers and strokes my chin. “Take me deep.”

But I can’t. The sandalwood scent of Mike’s crotch is my final trigger, and then I’m too far over the edge to relax my jaw.

“Oh, Jesus,” I moan. My body clenches in convulsions. My neck arches against the mattress as the orgasm sends hot electric shocks up and down my torso.

I pant as my vagina ripples, mostly sated, but still hungry, against my fingers.

Hands push my black halter top aside, clasp my breasts, and knead. Clever fingers twist my nipples.

Breathing takes all my concentration. I need to force my eyes open, though. Mike is waiting on me. I’m dying to know what my performance has done for him.

Sometimes, a girl just needs some saddleshoes.

Are these NOT the most darling things ever???

The places I work: part three

Yesterday, I worked at Insomnia Coffee Company.  This quirky, fun space is filled with other people on laptops, music, and really really good coffee. Like, Vienna levels of good coffee!

The places I work: part two

Crazily enough, sometimes I like to work at home. Yesterday I worked at my dining room table.

I like being surrounded by the paintings that I've made for the house.

The one on the right is based on a Persian textile detail.

Something about spreading out on the table makes me feel relaxed and homey.

This is a picture I painted that is in the living room, but I can see it from the dining room when I work there.

The places I work.

I like variety. I work best when I feel permitted to work wherever I want. I could be at my desk, at a library, a coffee shop, or even the sofa with my computer on my lap. This week, I'm going to showcase a few places I like to work.

Yesterday, I went to the Hillsboro Public Library.  I particularly like this location because it is in a beautiful building with great staff. It overlooks a complex of ponds and walking paths and has abundant natural light. I also used to work for this library system, and several of the librarians still know me. They are always interested and encouraging of my new career.

The view from the window.

 I like being places where I am inspired by other people working. Also, it's encouraging to see all these books that have been published. They tell me that even though writing is hard, it is worth it.

I usually take off all my jewelery when I write. I'm not sure why.

More groovy places coming up!