A Picture is Worth...

Boy On A Beach, 1912

Here's a bit of inspiration, I hope! Our last two pics generated two great little ficlets, so thank you PD Singer and Ellis Carrington!

Does this young man have a story? Anyone who tells it (100 to 1000 words, and why does no one ever believe short is okay too?  Or are these pics just that inspiring?)  please send it to CryselleC AT gmail DOT com, with covers, news, and links, I'll post them here.

Or does one of the older pics inspire you? Tag "Thousand Word Thursday" brings them all up, they're fair game, even if someone else has written for it. It's not first come/only one served, every bit of story gets appreciated here.

Pretty Monsters by Andrea Speed

Pretty Monsters
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Length: 15 pages

Josh knew the night shift at the Quik-Mart would be full of freaks and geeks—and that was before the hell portal opened in the parking lot. Still, he likes to think he can roll with things. Sure, the zombies make a mess sometimes, but at least they never reach for anything more threatening than frozen burritos.

Besides, it’s not all lizard-monsters and the walking dead. There’s also the mysterious hottie with the sly red lips and a taste for sweets.

Josh has had the hots for Hot Guy since the moment he laid eyes on him, and it seems Hot Guy might be sweet on Josh too. Now if only Josh could figure out whether that’s a good thing, a bad thing, or something in between. After all, with a hell vortex just a stone’s throw away, Josh has learned to take nothing at face value—even if it’s a very, very pretty face.
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Stories generally have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Even stories in series. If they don't have those elements, they are either not terribly well written or they are something else, no matter what they are called. Perhaps a vignette, or a chapter of a larger work. Pretty Monsters from Andrea Speed is a beautifully written something else.


There is little to the story that doesn't appear in the blurb, and frankly, quite a bit of promise of plot that appears in the blurb and not the story. The set-up is quirky and witty, a convenience store near a hell portal, where weird beings amble in and out, paying for chips and burritos, and occasionally oozing on the counter. Hot Guy, aka Colin, finally wanders in after one third of actual text pages go by (there are 6 pages of narrative in this 15 page file). The story establishes that Colin and Josh are interested in one another, and that Colin is a really hot weird being. That's it. This is not a plot.

So what we have here is a set-up and a hook. The story has #1 attached and the publisher's site bills it as the first in a series, but this reads like the first chapter of a serialized novel. Fine, if I know that's what I'm getting into, but that's not what I've been offered here. This introduction is interesting enough that I'd read more; another installment or two should clarify whether these are meant to be stories or merely chapters doled out at intervals.

Consequently, this piece is hard to rate. If I look at it as the opening to a larger work that was of similar quality all the way through, a 5, easy. But since I've been offered a short story that has a beginning but no real middle or end, it loses one point for each missing element. And that's a shame. 3 marbles

Can't Be His by Shawn Lane

Can't Be His by Shawn Lane
Publisher: Amber Quill Press
Genre: GLBT
Length: 34 pages



Exterminator Lonnie "Roach" Raines and ice skater Alexi Summerville have been friends and roommates for years, but they've never taken their relationship to the next level. When Alexi's coach wants him to train for the World Championship in another state, however, Roach is forced to examine his feelings before he loses Alexi, possibly for good.


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Friends to lovers describes Roach and Alexi's relationship; they've known and liked one another for years. Never being single at the same time, nothing has ever happened between them, and it begins to look like nothing ever will. Shawn Lane jolts these two out of their complacent little rut in Can't Be His.


Roach and Alexi are an unlikely pair: a top level figure skater who shares an apartment with an exterminator. They get along really well, both being serially monogamous, more or less, and discovering a shared kink. They've just never quite managed to be single at the same time and get together. Roach is protective of Alexi, and the affection between them is blindingly obvious to everyone around them.

Even a casual date can see the score before Roach does. Alexi's coach understands what's going on and figures it's bad for his skater's career. One advises to go for it, the other thinks there should be several states separating them. Since Roach celebrates Alexi's newly single status by making him listen to drunken screwing in the next room, I was in the "several states over" camp before Chapter 3. Roach may be protective of Alexi but he certainly isn't thoughtful.

There was actually very little story for the page count, about 6200 words divided into three chapters over 34 pages, some taken up by a beginning excerpt and various credits at beginning and end. Most of the really interesting action happened off-screen. The unfortunately named Roach, which I could see as a nickname for a man with cans of poison but it provided endless small icky jolts when applied to a leading man in a romance, tells about his encounter with the wasps afterward when getting first aid, but we don't see him in action. Alexi's skating is over and barely described after we find him wiping away the sweat. There's dialog and then sex.

The story missed the potential in the contrasts and similarities between the willowy but strong artist/athlete and the tatted, gruff working man. I liked the premise and their discovery of a shared kink, but the execution of Can't Be His didn't provide enough for this reader to fall in love with. 2.5 Marbles

Just Lucky Like That by Andy Slayde and Ali Wilde

Just Lucky That Way
Andy Slayde and Ali Wilde
Genre: Paranormal
Length: 144 pages/37500 words


Just because Zed Roxbury is hearing voices doesn’t mean he’s insane.

And if he is, all of his friends are joining him. Surely doing a favor for a friend should bring good karma, but a fun 4th July holiday turns into much more than anyone could have anticipated when bad luck dogs Zed. And the voices are just a small part of it. Could the opal brooch he finds have anything to do with it? Or perhaps it’s just Zed’s irresistible allure…

Maybe the past should stay buried.

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I was a little confused by this story at first; the blurb led me to expect something paranormal, and while I finally got it, it took a while. Just Lucky That Way opens with Zed and Alex heading to a moderately remote farm where they intend to spend the Fourth of July weekend helping a group of friends renovate an old farmhouse.


This group of young-twenties are sorting out their lives, pairing off, and there are old and subtle tensions within the group. The dynamics were interesting – Zed and Alex are well accepted by the group, and indeed, Zed had dated one or two of them in days gone by. His troubled past is alluded to, and Alex's frailties are also exposed but accepted. I was waiting for voices, but they all belonged to the various friends.

The farm has a mystery attached that goes back to the days of Prohibition; when Zed finds an opal brooch while cleaning out the barn, he attracts the unwarranted attentions and assumptions of the ghost who once owned it. This ghost has a lot of opinions, very strong desires, and the means to achieve them. Once the ghost manifests, the group gets cleared out and the novel assumes a tighter focus.

I got the uneasy feeling that this could have been two stories, or that I was missing something. The extended prologue, some 60 pages setting the scene and characterizations, read like a "Breakfast Club" sort of novel, and while I was enjoying it, a great many of the interesting issues brought up didn't get any further treatment. Zed's high-school suicide attempt, while clearly painful, didn't feel connected to any plot arc. Alex's fear of the water got explained in a small info dump late in the book, though it could have been worked into the narrative. Once the ghost showed up, very little of the early story seemed pertinent at all. Alex and Zed begin as an established couple, and while the relationship is threatened, the paranormal influence in that threat didn't seem clear or especially needed.

Another place it felt like I was missing some backstory was where the ghost shoes up. While everyone is frightened by the manifestations, there isn't much disbelief or denial. Has this group met the supernatural before? There's no mention. The ghost is dealt with, after much trauma and danger: a couple of improv ghostbusting methods play out well.

Zed is a simple guy on the surface: he loves Alex and has a bit of a kink for public sex, but more complex things stir in him. I would have liked to know more about his internal journey from persecuted and suicidal to out and happy, but that arc was background more than story. His interactions with a secondary character hinted at trouble in paradise. For a man in danger, Zed had a lot of mental power to spend on contemplating sex with other guys. Alex, with fragile health and a great fear of the water, was both sweet and feisty, he had to be both strong and resilient to take everything Zed and this story handed him.

The writing gives us their relationship, sometimes in bald statements, sometimes in beautiful writing. I would have liked more of their relationship brought out in illuminating passages like this:

“Why didn’t you date him?” Alex scrambled to his feet and pulled Zed to his.

Zed shrugged. “Don’t ever tell him, but he was a poor substitute for who I really wanted.”

“Good answer.”

“But when Johnny Depp took out that restraining order against me, I settled for you.”

The two have known each other back into toddlerhood, and have recently transitioned from friends to lovers, another piece of backstory. A line here, a line there explained it, but I couldn't help thinking there was an entire earlier book. I would read it: while I was confused by the conflicting directions this story took, each section was strong enough that I'd sit down with more work from this writing team. I just wish the early promise of the book had been followed through more. 3 marbles

A Thousand Word Thursday Story by PD Singer

Breakfast

The calendar had tormented Tommy for the last three weeks, ever since Jude had flown out of Heathrow to São Paulo. Phone calls were no substitute for the warmth of his lover in their bed or the skill of his hands in the kitchen – Jude had probably forgotten more about food than Tommy would ever know.
 
To hear the huskiness in Jude's voice from the other side of the Atlantic describing the joys of bolinhos and pastels doused in hot sauce for breakfast made Tommy want that desire for himself. He'd never be the fiery peppers in anyone's meal; no, he was just plain old Tommy Bell, landlord of the Good Man, and would-be chef. He wasn't in Jude's league, and every time Jude flew away to film another set of episodes for his show, Tommy worried that he'd find someone more exciting in a far-flung place and wouldn't be flying back.

 
But those calls, just about every day, said yes, yes, Jude would return. Tommy hadn't been best pleased when Jude tried instigating phone sex with his voice slurred from one too many caipirinhas, but he'd gone along with it, desperate to feel connected. Other nights, when Jude's voice was clear but his belly overstuffed with moquecas or grilled piranha, they didn't try for arousal, but talked about things that mattered. Best of all, there had been calls when Jude had not overindulged in anything on behalf of his show. Then they'd talked, and then their voices had dropped; they'd made love to one another with words and their own hands across the thousands of miles of Atlantic.
 
Jude's nights in Brazil kept Tommy awake into the wee hours, but he didn't begrudge the lost sleep. There'd be no call tonight—Jude had caught the red-eye express from São Paulo. 
 
Tommy looked around his little flat above the pub, knowing he'd have to go downstairs eventually to prep for lunch, but Jude's plane had landed in Heathrow while Tommy was at the market. Jude would need to find his luggage, get through Immigration, and catch the Express to Paddington. He couldn't possibly get here for at least another twenty minutes. He'd be tired, rumpled, and hungry after the long flight. He'd need breakfast.
 
The whole world fed Jude with things weird and wonderful; what could Tommy give him? Would beans on toast be one more unfamiliar thing to choke down, one more meal that said, "You are a stranger here"? Tommy checked the pantry in his little kitchen, where breakfast was the only meal he ate. Weetabix, no, not special, and his hand didn't even pause on the tin of coffee; he'd not push Jude to stay awake after eight hours of sitting bolt-upright in a flying pilchard tin.
 
He settled on shirred eggs, throwing the little ramekins of egg and butter into the bain marie¸ closing the door on the oven to let the egg set up. That should be familiar enough, shouldn't it?
 
Jude would have other hungers, too, but would he be too tired? No matter, Tommy would be happy to do nothing more than dip the bread soldiers into the runny yolk and hold them to Jude's lips, perhaps seasoning them with a kiss. 
 
Jude might have slept on the plane. He'd still be tired from traveling but... Tommy checked the clock, thinking of traffic from Paddington to the pub. Not long... He stripped, replacing the apron, hoping. Footsteps sounded on the stairs—Tommy posed against the table to study a cookbook chucked open upside down. Jude's key turned in the lock, the squeak announcing the door swinging open.
 
Lifting his eyes from the unreadable words, Tommy watched the smile spread across Jude's face. He couldn't hold the tableau one moment longer—dashing across the tiny sitting room, Tommy flung himself into Jude's arms, clutching, pressing, opening his mouth to the onslaught of Jude's tongue. 
 
The first desperate kiss broken, Tommy buried his face into Jude's neck, inhaling faint traces of tropics and the tang of the journey on his lover, whose hands lay hot against Tommy's back. Jude's cheek rubbed hard against Tommy's head, and his ribcage expanded past a normal breath—that should fill him with the scent of Tommy and baking eggs, with the scent of welcome.
 
"Oh, Tommy." Jude held him more tightly, swaying him slightly; Tommy could feel him pressing his lips against skin. "It's good to be home."

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Aw…  Jude and Tommy come from PD Singer’s Dreamspinner short, Prep Work, which was a 5 marbles/5 divas review.  

 

PD has a new one out! Maroon: Donal agus Jimmy is fresh from Torquere.

The best jobs in 1911 Belfast are in the shipyards, but Donal Gallagher's pay packet at Harland and Wolff doesn't stretch far enough. He needs to find someone to share his rented room; fellow ship-builder Jimmy Healy's bright smile and need for lodgings inspire Donal to offer. But how will he sleep, lying scant feet away from Jimmy? It seems Jimmy's a restless sleeper, too, lying so near to Donal...

In a volatile political climate, building marine boilers and armed insurrection are strangely connected. Jimmy faces an uneasy choice: flee to America or risk turning gunrunner for Home Rule activists. He thinks he's found the perfect answer to keep himself and his Donal safe, but shoveling coal on a luxury liner is an invitation to fate.

***

Available now at your favorite ebook retailers.

Paul Dot Go by Robin Anderson

Title: Paul Dot Go
Author: Robin Anderson
Cover Artist: unknown
Publisher: Nazca Plains
Genre: bizarro
Length: 200 pages
Rating: 1 star out of 5

Review Summary: A poorly-written descent into the bizarre and revolting; best avoided.

Blurb

Meet WILLIAM (WAN.W) WANDSWORTH, portrait painter extraordinaire, whose diverse backgrounds for his carefully selected subjects (and to their cost) vary from a converted country barn, a startlingly ‘reinvented’ and ‘mechanised’ chrome and mirrored 14th century Italian castle, a refurbished Victorian candle factory and last but not quite least, an eerie cemetery where clandestine midnight assignations could and do go horribly wrong. Added to this bizarre palette is a vibrant clashing of cocks, personalities and multi talents when the larger-than-life artist crosses paintbrushes with the likes of ruthless interior designer HARRY HUMPHRIES and boy wonder pop idol TOMMY TYLER. Aiding and abetting WILLIAM in his determination to become ‘a legend in his own time’ is his hand-picked coterie comprising the sinister dwarf duo, PAUL and NELSON, the olfactory major domo SKIDS along with his bête noir, the rapacious RUFUS, plus the dark, dubious PRINCE ALBERT. An innocent victim caught up within the artist’s ruthless ambitions is the long-suffering MIC SANDFORD whose infatuation with the aforesaid HARRY sees situations ranging from loss of body parts and even a soul or two.

Prepare for a fast, twisted rollercoaster ride - part scenic and part terrifying – of jealousies, perversions and violent revenge but always within the presence of the darkest of humour. As with WILLIAM’S nemesis PAUL GAUGUIN - the original PAUL.GO – this reincarnation is an acquired taste; for some a feast of unsavoury delights and for others a banquet of despair.

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The road to hell is paved with good intentions: I was moved to read this book because of some misguided willingness to try an author unknown to me from a press I didn't recognize. Further checking showed books from Lethe Press and Silver Publishing under Robin Anderson's name, although it may not be the same person, and by the time I researched Nazca Plains, it was too late; I was committed to finish it. The blurb, seen in depth a second time, had all the clues to send me running; I plead not considering that bizarro fiction might be submitted for review here. Learn from my error.


The names in caps is a convention from query letters to agents; the blurb might have been ganked from such a letter, so I read on. The first fifty pages lull one into complacency: the story has a prologue that reads like a horror novel, and then backs up three years. The body of the story begins innocuously enough with a fey and talented interior decorator acquiring clients, discussing same with his clique of employees and hangers-on, and all of them drinking like fish. The dialog is very twee and self-congratulatory, as Harry and all think he's the best thing to hit the inside of a house since paint was invented. Once Harry has a falling out with potential client William Wandsworth, returning his advance, the story descends into mass reshuffling of who sleeps with whom, an occasional who rapes what, and general acquisition of revenge in varied and vile ways. Wandsworth devotes the rest of the book to making sure none of the rest of the cast of thousands, aside from his loathsome sidekicks, is happy.

The plot is tissue thin and exists primarily to organize the assortment of despicable tricks and occasional bodily harm into a timeline. Wandsworth's overblown sense of entitlement suggests he compare himself to Paul Gauguin, something not at all supported by the text aside from the peculiar method of signing paintings. He believes that it's his right to spend years creating torment for everyone, something he's willing to devote most of his time and fortune doing. There are aspects of the horror originally promised in the prologue, but they don't maintain the promise and devolve into the merely horrible and somewhat ludicrous. The promised dark humor comes across as scatological: humor may be subjective but this created zero chuckles.

Characterization is slightly deeper; a few characters' voices stand out, but most fall into the general morass of "those to be tormented." The distinction is further blurred by a plethora of names beginning with "H" but keeping them sorted out was actually a moot point: I detested most of them. One or two, like Mic, were only unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with Wandsworth and his minions, and those I felt sorry for. Some of the characters do pair off into long-term couples, which unfortunately only makes them into bigger targets.

Style, sigh. Words do not mean what this writer thinks they do. An "olfactory major domo" turned out to be only odiferous; there are dozens of examples. Characters snigger, smirk, laugh, and camp their sentences rather than speak. By the time they finish "camping" their lines, it takes 2-3 pages to impart one tidbit of information. My copy was an ARC and may not have had a final currying, but extra words, typos, and absent commas did not improve the reading experience.

If the point of bizarro literature is to shock, it did. I waded through the musical beds, incest, shit-flinging, ear-severing and all, after another good long look at the blurb made me decide that I really had been warned, though I had not realized it at the time. "A feast of unsavoury delights" covers a lot of territory. This story, in any "I have not made promises to finish it unless something horrible and unwarned for crops up" scenario was a DNF even before page 84. That's where the bestiality scene caused me to part ways with my lunch. The author may be satisfied that his work here is done.

Readers of Carlton Mellick III may possibly find something to like here; the rest of us should be reading something else.

Galen and the Forest Lord by Eden Winters

Galen and the Forest Lord by Eden Winters
Publisher: Torquere Press
Genre: Fantasy, GLBT
Length: 119 pages


By the time Galen Olaf-kin woke up and smelled the spiced ale, it was too late, and he never finished the wicked deed for which he stood trial. Banished from his home, he flees to the forest, taking nothing but the unwanted infant he's rescued. Perhaps the legends are true and the forest lord will take them both in. The lord is said to give sanctuary to outcasts, but none of the stories mention the naughty, tempting things he whispers, or that he shares Galen's forbidden passions.

Lord Erik rolls his eyes at the prophecy that says when human hands deliver a babe to the forest, he’ll meet the mate destined to reunite forest folk with humankind. What interest has he in a child? The handsome human who brings the babe is another matter entirely, and a little thing like destiny won't stand in Erik's way of claiming the golden-haired Galen as his own. Or will it?

Sometimes prophecies are overrated, legends incomplete, and heroes not always the sharpest swords in the scabbard.

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I've learned to read Eden Winters' stories with a box of tissues nearby, because either I'm going to cry or snort my drink. When I read Galen and the Forest Lord, I should have put my ice tea down.

This story takes a very tongue-in-cheek look at the standard were-wolf tropes, making them fresh and funny. Just disclosing the forest-folk's wolfhood and playing with Galen's disbelief and fear was good for a LOL. The unwanted infant he's carrying is Galen's ticket in, and the source of considerable comedy.


The story does start more seriously, with some very important issues being decided, such as dispensing Galen's patrimony and punishing a young woman suspected of breaking the mores of this medieval feeling society. With just the discussion over whether Esja could have really done what she's accused of, the author signals that this isn't going to take the grim path. Everything after that is a comedy of errors.

Lord Erik isn't a shrewd leader though he can be guided into the paths of shrewdness if it's done delicately, as Jarl and Eydis manage to do – he's young and randy, befitting his rather earthy subjects. (The banquet scene is a good place not to be holding liquids.) Galen's a fish out of water, fully convinced he's going to be eaten for dinner, but he manages to adjust his sense of right and wrong to encompass ways different than he's grown up with. The two of them are cute together, each trying to understand the other's incomprehensible ways. Between them, they manage to make a hash of things, right an old wrong or two, and find what each of them has wanted all their lives.

The medievalness isn't strict, but the twisted modern sayings are funny because they aren't overdone. (Is that a tuber in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?) The dialect is a little overwhelming in places, but remains understandable.

If you like your werewolves tall, dark, and brooding, this isn't a good story for you, but if you like a story that refuses to take itself too seriously and resolves in a charming HEA, Galen and the Forest Lord will entertain you. 4.5 marbles