C.C. Williams's Blog: Scribbles with C.C., page 18
February 11, 2012
Six Sentence Sunday - 12 Feb 2012
Today I'm continuing with a WIP, Summer of History. In this selection Professor MacDonald is meeting his lover, iconoclastic artist Scott Jackson, for lunch:
Jackson’s Harley stood parked next to the diner’s entrance as Ryan pulled his Camry into the parking lot. Ryan had given the extravagant motorcycle to Scott on his fortieth birthday. While adding to Jackson’s bad boy image on campus, the bike had done little to improve their relationship; the gift had only increased Scott’s narcissistic streak. Talk about a mid-life crisis.
Scott sat in a booth opposite the door, a bottle of Bud sweating on the table in front of him. Great, Ryan mused as he slipped in across from Jackson, primed with alcohol!
Thanks for stopping by! Check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
'Til next time!
Jackson’s Harley stood parked next to the diner’s entrance as Ryan pulled his Camry into the parking lot. Ryan had given the extravagant motorcycle to Scott on his fortieth birthday. While adding to Jackson’s bad boy image on campus, the bike had done little to improve their relationship; the gift had only increased Scott’s narcissistic streak. Talk about a mid-life crisis.
Scott sat in a booth opposite the door, a bottle of Bud sweating on the table in front of him. Great, Ryan mused as he slipped in across from Jackson, primed with alcohol!
Thanks for stopping by! Check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
'Til next time!
February 4, 2012
Six Sentence Sunday - 5 Feb 2012
For today's six I've chosen my just released short One Fond Kiss. We join the action as American Andrew seeks to determine the truth about Scotsmen and their kilts:
Desire, or rather naked lust, made Andrew bold and daring. Waiting until Brian’s regular breaths gave every appearance of his being asleep, Andrew reached out for the hem of the kilt. His hand trembled; adrenalin rushed through his veins. Gently, he grasped the hem, lifting it slowly with his thumb and forefinger. He paused, heart pounding, his pulse throbbing in his ears. Raising the kilt up to Brian's hip, Andrew carefully folded back the woolen material.
Thanks for stopping! Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
Desire, or rather naked lust, made Andrew bold and daring. Waiting until Brian’s regular breaths gave every appearance of his being asleep, Andrew reached out for the hem of the kilt. His hand trembled; adrenalin rushed through his veins. Gently, he grasped the hem, lifting it slowly with his thumb and forefinger. He paused, heart pounding, his pulse throbbing in his ears. Raising the kilt up to Brian's hip, Andrew carefully folded back the woolen material.
Thanks for stopping! Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
January 28, 2012
Six Sentence Sunday - 29 Jan 2012
For this week's six, I've chosen the opening of a work in progress, tentatively titled Dead by Daylight, a paranormal/alternate history romance.
“But, Uncle Thomas--you promised!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t go to the prom.”
Wiping down the stainless steel counter, I scrubbed industriously at a spot I’m sure only I could see. “I said that you couldn’t go with him."
“But, Billy's the one who invited me!”
The spot resisted my attentions as I replied, “Zoey, he’s a shape shifter!”
Thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the Sixers at Six Sentence Sunday.
Til next time!
“But, Uncle Thomas--you promised!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t go to the prom.”
Wiping down the stainless steel counter, I scrubbed industriously at a spot I’m sure only I could see. “I said that you couldn’t go with him."
“But, Billy's the one who invited me!”
The spot resisted my attentions as I replied, “Zoey, he’s a shape shifter!”
Thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the Sixers at Six Sentence Sunday.
Til next time!
January 21, 2012
Six Sentence Sunday - 22 Jan 2012
My story Dog Park has been chosen Best Gay Erotica of 2011 by the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. So to spread the news, here are this week's six:
Life changes.
Dicky Norvaks still goes to the city park at least twice a day, but now he takes Rex for his walk around the big preserve on the edge of town. Years ago Dicky was the animal that prowled through the tall grass, sniffing around the wild brush, skulking among the moonlit shadows; he went there only at night--daylight would have ruined him as quickly as it would have destroyed a vampire. But it wasn't blood he sought. Dicky loved cock--big or small, chubby or slim, cut or not--he loved the way they felt, smelled and tasted. That's why he called himself 'Dicky;' his mother called him 'Albert.'
To read the rest of Dog Park and check out the other ERWA Treasure Chest offerings, click here. Also, be sure to take a look at the rest of the loop for Six Sentence Sunday. Thanks for stopping by!
Life changes.
Dicky Norvaks still goes to the city park at least twice a day, but now he takes Rex for his walk around the big preserve on the edge of town. Years ago Dicky was the animal that prowled through the tall grass, sniffing around the wild brush, skulking among the moonlit shadows; he went there only at night--daylight would have ruined him as quickly as it would have destroyed a vampire. But it wasn't blood he sought. Dicky loved cock--big or small, chubby or slim, cut or not--he loved the way they felt, smelled and tasted. That's why he called himself 'Dicky;' his mother called him 'Albert.'
To read the rest of Dog Park and check out the other ERWA Treasure Chest offerings, click here. Also, be sure to take a look at the rest of the loop for Six Sentence Sunday. Thanks for stopping by!
December 31, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday - 1 Jan 2012
In order to kick off the new year and kick-start my muse, who's been on holiday break, I've chosen the opening of a work in progress, Ark:
Luk was born into a world in which he had no place. As a child he was unaware of that fact, raised as he was with other children in the nursery, where they ate, slept, and studied together, unaware of their impending difference.
At first the light olive tone of his skin had merely amused his pale, milky companions; while the tight black fuzz which had begun to grow across his head seemed to concern the Matrons somewhat more, although they never said as much. They would simply cluck their tongues while covering the stuff with smelly cream and washing the lot away, all the while shushing his juvenile questions. By his tenth year the Matrons had given up on the cream and simply clipped the stuff weekly. At twelve he learned it was called hair--no one had had hair since the Ark began its long Journey.
Happy New Year and thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
Until next time!
Luk was born into a world in which he had no place. As a child he was unaware of that fact, raised as he was with other children in the nursery, where they ate, slept, and studied together, unaware of their impending difference.
At first the light olive tone of his skin had merely amused his pale, milky companions; while the tight black fuzz which had begun to grow across his head seemed to concern the Matrons somewhat more, although they never said as much. They would simply cluck their tongues while covering the stuff with smelly cream and washing the lot away, all the while shushing his juvenile questions. By his tenth year the Matrons had given up on the cream and simply clipped the stuff weekly. At twelve he learned it was called hair--no one had had hair since the Ark began its long Journey.
Happy New Year and thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
Until next time!
December 4, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday - 4 Dec 11
For today's entry I've chosen six lines from my short story, The Prisoner, which appears in Richard LaBonte's forthcoming Best Gay Romance 2012, available in January from Cleis Press.
At first I hadn't recognized Charley--he'd changed so much from our days at the Academy. Gone was the vulnerable boy's face, shadowed with inexperience and bright with expectation. His face had filled out; ten years of life lay like a mask across his features; but the voice, soft and insistent, had remained the same. I had a hard time listening to him. While he spoke of joining the Marines and doing several tours of Iraq and Afghanistan, I shut my eyes. And there I saw his young 18-year-old face as it had been when we had lain together in the dark—intelligent and beautiful but innocent of the evil that men do.
Thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the Sixers at Six Sentence Sunday.
At first I hadn't recognized Charley--he'd changed so much from our days at the Academy. Gone was the vulnerable boy's face, shadowed with inexperience and bright with expectation. His face had filled out; ten years of life lay like a mask across his features; but the voice, soft and insistent, had remained the same. I had a hard time listening to him. While he spoke of joining the Marines and doing several tours of Iraq and Afghanistan, I shut my eyes. And there I saw his young 18-year-old face as it had been when we had lain together in the dark—intelligent and beautiful but innocent of the evil that men do.
Thanks for stopping by! Be sure to check out the rest of the Sixers at Six Sentence Sunday.
November 26, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday - 27 Nov 11
For this week's six I'm continuing with A Summer of History. For Ryan, as one new door opens an old one begins to close:
“Look, Ryan, sex and love are two different things: I have sex with people I find attractive--and that’s all it is--just sex. I thought that I’d built a life with a guy that I love--and who loved me back--and that’s supposed to be you! But maybe I was wrong.”
Ryan started to reach for him. “Scott, don’t--“
The painter shrugged away, grabbing his keys as he walked out of the studio, “I’m going out--don’t wait up.”
As always, comments are welcome! Thanks for stopping by.
Be sure to check out the rest of the entries at Six Sentence Sunday.
“Look, Ryan, sex and love are two different things: I have sex with people I find attractive--and that’s all it is--just sex. I thought that I’d built a life with a guy that I love--and who loved me back--and that’s supposed to be you! But maybe I was wrong.”
Ryan started to reach for him. “Scott, don’t--“
The painter shrugged away, grabbing his keys as he walked out of the studio, “I’m going out--don’t wait up.”
As always, comments are welcome! Thanks for stopping by.
Be sure to check out the rest of the entries at Six Sentence Sunday.
November 19, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday - 20 Nov 11
For today I've chosen a work in progress, A Summer of History. These are the opening lines.
Ryan reached into the mailbox. Heavy linen paper nestled among slick circulars and junk mail, standing out like a prince among beggers. As he pulled the pieces from the small box, Ryan held his breath. The cream-colored envelope screamed, Important! while gold-stamped lettering in the return address declared the sender as The Forsyne Foundation. Anticipation clawed at his stomach; his hopes and dreams hung in the balance. Hand trembling, Ryan slid a finger beneath the flap and pulled out the contents.
Thanks for stopping by! All comments are welcome.
Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
Ryan reached into the mailbox. Heavy linen paper nestled among slick circulars and junk mail, standing out like a prince among beggers. As he pulled the pieces from the small box, Ryan held his breath. The cream-colored envelope screamed, Important! while gold-stamped lettering in the return address declared the sender as The Forsyne Foundation. Anticipation clawed at his stomach; his hopes and dreams hung in the balance. Hand trembling, Ryan slid a finger beneath the flap and pulled out the contents.
Thanks for stopping by! All comments are welcome.
Be sure to check out the rest of the loop at Six Sentence Sunday.
Writer as Reader
I've always been a critical reader--and not just in the sense of thinking about the subject of what I'm reading!
However, since I've started producing my own product, my experience as a reader has changed. I continue to line edit, usually with the response of "How could they have missed that?" but I now find that I am more critical of plotting, description, development and the myriad other small things that comprise a story. Typically it's with a "Huh?"
That type of response used to be almost exclusively reserved for product from small indie publishers. It was understandable because they didn't have a fleet of line and content editors and proofers. However, those types of responses are becoming more and more common in large press products. And I must give credit where due--it has become much less in small press product.
So these experiences drive me--as a small indie publisher--to create the best "physical" product I can, constantly seeking to have greater quality.
None of this is to say that my new awareness is focused entirely on the negative aspects of what I'm reading!
I often find myself re-reading a particularly lush and visual description or relishing witty and sharp dialogue. In these cases I take to heart that such moments are things to strive for in my own writing whereas in the past they were simply moments to enjoy.
Having become a "producer" versus simply being a "consumer" has made me both more aware of the quality of that which I consume and more driven to produce the quality that I want to consume.
'Til next time!
However, since I've started producing my own product, my experience as a reader has changed. I continue to line edit, usually with the response of "How could they have missed that?" but I now find that I am more critical of plotting, description, development and the myriad other small things that comprise a story. Typically it's with a "Huh?"
That type of response used to be almost exclusively reserved for product from small indie publishers. It was understandable because they didn't have a fleet of line and content editors and proofers. However, those types of responses are becoming more and more common in large press products. And I must give credit where due--it has become much less in small press product.
So these experiences drive me--as a small indie publisher--to create the best "physical" product I can, constantly seeking to have greater quality.
None of this is to say that my new awareness is focused entirely on the negative aspects of what I'm reading!
I often find myself re-reading a particularly lush and visual description or relishing witty and sharp dialogue. In these cases I take to heart that such moments are things to strive for in my own writing whereas in the past they were simply moments to enjoy.
Having become a "producer" versus simply being a "consumer" has made me both more aware of the quality of that which I consume and more driven to produce the quality that I want to consume.
'Til next time!
November 12, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday - 13 Nov 11
In celebration of signing the licensing deal with TLA.com, I'm going back to what got this all started: my first sale following a twenty-odd year hiatus, The Pick Up Game.“Hey!” A voice pulled me out of my concentration, tearing me away from the basket and the free throw I was lining up. Wiping sweat from my forehead, I shaded my eyes against the afternoon sun. Jerry Gresham stood on the grass, holding a ball on his hip. The low sun cast an aura around him, pouring golden light over his bronze body.
My lungs stopped working.
Thank you for taking the time to read! As always, all comments are welcome!
Be sure to visit the rest of the Sixers at Six Sentence Sunday.
Scribbles with C.C.
Miscellaneous jots and scribbles from the author's addled brain.
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