Sol Crafter's Blog, page 13
April 27, 2013
Forgot a basic truth until I remembered
So while I was quietly freaking out, it took me until last night to remember these are self-imposed deadlines with only one of the three really, no contest having to happen.
That’s part of my problem. I put too much stress on myself instead of holding to the old adage of “Slow and steady wins the race.”
I’ve never liked the idea of being slow, but steady is the perfect pace. As long as something is happening each day, a story will build itself up, the words will add up, and suddenly a novel will appear.
It’s like magic beans. Something worthless becomes something invaluable. It just needs a chance to grow.
500 words a day x 5 days = 2500 words a week.
2500 words x 4 weeks = 10,000 words a month.
10,000 words x 12 months = 120,000 words.
Sometimes there’s this urge to do everything at once and force a story to submit, but that just doesn’t work. The words come at a slow trickle and refuse to be rushed. Work with that. Gather up what’s willing to be said and build up what you can. Don’t waste the productivity just because a story hasn’t possessed your fingers like Stephen King and decided to be written all in a day.
Seriously, I’ve had that happen before. A story took over and seemed to write itself, 20,000 words in less than five hours. It was like flying. But that kind of thing is rare.
Writing is work. Fun work a lot of the time, but still work.
It’s like building a house. You assemble the pieces, follow a plan, then get down to putting it all together. It’s just that with writing, you have to make the bricks first.
And I’ve been pressuring myself so much to have a finished product that I haven’t been able to focus on putting it together. So what does that mean?
I’m going back to basics. I’m working on this story until it’s done, not until a specified date. I’m finishing up my proofing. I’m editing my story. I’m letting my creativity have some freedom instead of stifling it.
And from the look of things, there should be three written novels in the next month, two edited novels, and that fanfic thing we don’t talk about (even though I’m quietly squeeing at the awesome.)
Stop stressing about writing as much or more than anyone else. Write like yourself at your own pace. All the agonizing is supposed to happen with the editing, not with your first draft.
The first draft is supposed to be fun times with characters you love, or love to hate.
* * *
Read slashy plotty mm stories free at Kimichee
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 26, 2013
Social anxiety is hell
Social anxiety is one of those things where people don’t believe you have an issue. There’s always this sense of “Get over it.”
If that were possible, I wouldn’t have it.
I posted on some forums and now I’m stressing out because no one’s responded. And I’m not really scared of what they’ll say, because most people don’t go out of their way to be jerks.
No, I’m afraid I’ve made a fool of myself on the internet again. Just the thought of thousands of people judging me and deciding I’m terrible makes me afraid. I start sweating and I get nervous and my stomach churns with acid. I can’t stand the idea of being hated even by people I don’t know.
And do you know what helps? Talking about what I’m afraid of. Then step-by-step I work my way through why my fears are ridiculous. And then I think of some things that I can do if the worst happens.
1. There’s billions of people in the world. Why am I bothered by a few that I will never meet? And besides, not that many people visit this forum and that doesn’t mean any of them will care about the topic.
2. Everyone makes mistakes. Delete it if it’s bad, otherwise don’t worry about it. If someone asks what I meant, I’ll just explain or not respond. Seriously, who I talk to is my choice, and that includes not answering if I’m not comfortable.
It’s people that try to come up with excuses that end up building a castle of lies and get into trouble. Just don’t say anything.
3. Don’t feed the trolls.
4. I sounded like an asshole, but even if it became big news on the internet for some reason, a surprising amount of people don’t care. Just be cool, keep my head down, most everything blows over
eventually.
Seriously, social anxiety disorder is hell. But it’s liveable, manageable hell.
* * *
Read slashy stories at Kimichee.
Pick up a copy of “From Diamond to Coal: Arc One,” by Sol Crafer. A mm superscience novel. Meet. Marriage. Murder.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 25, 2013
I appreciate how much better my Kindle has made my life
I appreciate how much better my Kindle has made my life.
I will never give up having at least a laptop, but I’m not chained to it anymore. I have something that more easily fits my hand. I can work outside or thanks to Swype write while I’m walking somewhere.
I use ColorNote to write posts, then email them either to myself or directly to my blog. I’ve nearly completed a novel with it.
And for proofing … The Kindle has become my hero.
I make a mobi file, then use notes to tell myself where changes should be, and the dictionary has saved me a few headaches. I bookmark the page where I left off so I never lose my place. And when I’m all done, I see where changes need to be made and I do a Find & Replace on my document.
Maybe I’ll upgrade to a better and fancier tablet, but the Kindle has been a great introduction for me. It’s given me a taste for what I want a tablet to do and I didn’t have to sell my soul to afford it.
***
Read slashy stories at Kimichee.
***
Have an excerpt of “Fierce,” by Harper Kingsley. mm contemporary.
EXCERPT:
Rating: teen+ to be safe
Being on location was one of those things Simon used to love but that now made his stomach churn nervously. He didn’t really like being out of his safety zone, but it was something he felt had to be done.
Looking over and being able to see Byron Hughes standing with the rest of the crew made him feel better. His bodyguard had a gun and was willing to use it. He was perfectly safe.
“All right, Simon, in this scene you and Colby are entering the Dragon’s Tomb,” the director, Paul Bleek, said. “Just like in practice, you bring the gun up and it’s just ‘bang-bang-bang.’ Colby, you get hit and fall down, knocking over the Orb. We all good?”
Colby nodded and Simon said, “We good.”
They were standing in front of the archway leading to the “Dragon’s Tomb,” a temple built by the set designers in the middle of the desert. It was already hot and Simon could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead and sticking his clothes to his skin.
Waiting for the cue, he flashed a smile at Colby. “So what’s it like being the male Lara Croft?”
Colby Jackson gave his world famous grin. He really was amazingly good looking, a tall African-American with a leanly muscled body and a perfectly trimmed beard. “I feel very pretty.”
They’d never worked together though they’d known each other for years. It had only been because Colby asked so nicely that Simon had even accepted the role of “Percy Walden,” assistant and sidekick to itinerant explorer “Nicholas Blaine.”
“Places!”
“Let’s Indiana Jones this bitch up,” Simon said, earning himself a laugh.
Dressed in black pants, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a flak vest jangling with all kinds of faux-weaponry, Simon already felt like he needed a break and they hadn’t really even started yet.
“All right… Action!” Bleek called.
Simon drew in a deep breath and hurtled forward and kicked the stone door down with a grunt. He had a gun in his hand and he didn’t hesitate to run forward into the tomb. His head moved back and forth alertly and it seemed natural to bring his gun up and start shooting.
An Asian-looking tomb all shining with gold and jade. Dangerous looking men in lots of brown and gray clothing toting machine guns as they worked at stripping the place bare of treasure. They dropped what they were doing when he started shooting them and brought their own weapons up.
There were screams and shouts and the plink-plink of misses near his head and feet as he jumped, rolled, and dodged until every one of them was dead.
He stood from his crouch and turned to Colby. “It’s clear, sir.”
Colby sauntered in, his lips forming a disappointed moue. “Really, Percy, did you have to come charging through like a bull in a china shop? Perhaps some of these gentlemen would have liked the chance to surrender before you shot them in the face?”
Simon holstered his gun with a shrug. “We’ll never know now, will we?”
Colby smiled and started to say something, then hesitated. His expression congealed, his brows coming together, and he raised his right hand to his left shoulder.
“Sir?” Simon took a step toward him.
Colby pulled his hand away and there was blood on his fingers. He half-turned and there was a giant, bleeding wound in his back. “I think I’ve been shot,” he said calmly, then his legs wobbled and he stumbled sideways before collapsing. His flailing arm knocked against the pedestal and the glass Orb trembled and fell with a crash against the floor.
There was a puff of glittery dust that obscured everything.
/EXCERPT
The post I appreciate how much better my Kindle has made my life appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 24, 2013
My trees are pollinating
The maple trees are sending out little white and yellow specks of dust. Just a rippling tide floating out of the air. Tiny dry specks that can be blown away.
I should write that. A society so advanced they use plants to breed. Your DNA added to some beautiful tropical flower and allowed to pollinate other flowers. Then a zygote for human implantation or budding pops out. To walk in and see a baby suspended in a large pod, floating nourished in a fluid filled pocket.
It’s like Aeon Flux in the connection to nature.
I wonder why people don’t breed plants as organic machines.
Genetically modified to do whatever we want naturally.
I’m not seeing living spaceships quite yet — how long can a giant clam hold its breath? — but I can imagine sting shooter plants, oxygen mask plants that fit over your face, and living houses with edible carpet and walls (think Chia with like hemp seed worthy growth.) People would never have to be hungry or homeless again.
Of course, before we have a bunch of botany miracles we need to be able to handle our pesticides. Our worst science seems to be the unsafe testing of chemicals and the release of horrible toxins without knowing the results. So I could imagine the horror of coming back to your house dead, one side just withered and nearly burned away.
And if you had a plant house, you’d have to be careful what you ran down the drain. The house would use your gray water as nourishment, so you would have to watch what soaps you used to keep from killing it with chemicals. Maybe it would always be richly oxygenated too? Though hopefully not to spark equals explosion levels.
Honestly, the future seems scary to me.
***
Read slashy plotty stories at Kimichee.
***
“Heroes & Villains,” an mm superhero action adventure novel, is coming out August 14th from Less Than Three Press.
The typical story of a boy dreaming of being a superhero … Then getting pissed off and throwing it all away to become the world’s most legendary supervillain.
Darkstar x Blue Ice.
You know you want some.
The post My trees are pollinating appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
There are times when I’m completely manic.
There are times when I’m completely manic.
You don’t realize how powerful it makes you feel. It’s like the really good drugs … And just like them it’s super dangerous. Like careening off a cliff dangerous.
One minute it’s all laughter packed into your chest, everything looks vibrant and bright, and you’re completely in love with yourself. You look in the mirror and you’re just BEAUTIFUL and you feel STRONG. And you go out partying or whatever and it feels like you can do no wrong and nothing will ever be able to hurt you.
Then somehow, all unknowing, the world changes — or maybe it’s you. You’re the one that changed.
And for a little while everything is too bright and too frightening before shrinking down to an expanse of solid gray. It crushes in on you before you catch your equilibrium and for some length of what feels like forever, you’re completely broken off from all that’s good.
And it takes a while to recharge, to climb back up to the heights of magnificence. Sometimes the gray tries to cling to you, to take away your every joy. But you have to find something you love and cling to it.
You need a reason to stay strong for when you’re screaming from the rooftops or hiding in your cellar. A dog, a friend, a family, or a lover.
You need something. Or it drives you manic.
The post There are times when I’m completely manic. appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 23, 2013
Red Bull
I can’t explain the logic of it, but I flip my Red Bulls upside down for a few seconds before opening them. Not really a shake — as I don’t want to make a mess — but enough to stir up the flavor. Yes, even I am baffled by my own thinking, but I do it anyway.
It’s part and parcel with the whole thing that has me obsessively checking my email two minutes after I post a story. As though anyone would have even read it yet, much less had a chance to post feedback. (That’s the best thing about TTH. There’s always someone there to comment like practically immediately. FFnet gets me some weird comments, while AO3 is beautiful, but people don’t comment as much. The kudos are nice though.)
Basically I’m a praise monkey. Say something nice enough and I churn out more updates. It’s like a switch goes off in my head and I enter Eager To Please Mode and I have all this fresh interest for whatever story.
I am the Red Bull. And sometimes I just need to be flipped.
* * *
Read stories free at Kimichee Feedback can get you awesome rewards, and not just karmically. Acknowledgments, dedications, exclusive first reads. Disqus lines are open.
* * *
Currently on the lookout for a beta reader. As you can tell I have a pretty all right grasp of the English language. My problems are repetition, double wording (“the the” seems to be a fave), and a tendency to either not describe anything or be too flowery. It will most likely be a chapter at a time and we can set up a schedule around your availability.
Stories in need:
Altredes [LB, YA, genhet, State Rule] – novel length, broken into 10,000 word chunks to be serialized, rating teen. Exclusive.
From Diamond to Coal [SC, mm super science] – series of arcs, about 50,000 words each, chapters (aiming for 8 per arc), rating teen+. Kimichee.
Idlewile [HK, pop idol, slashy asexual sci-fi, State Rule] – novel length, chapters, rating teen+. Kimichee.
The Brand [HK, mm fantasy romance, m/m/m] – novel length, difficult prose, rating mature for sex. Exclusive.
Dude, There’s a Body In Your Bathtub [subtextually slashy, humor, gangsters] – rating mature for violence. Exclusive.
Paradigm Shift [HK, mm sci-fi, State Rule] – novel length, chapters, fascist society, non-descriptive birth mpreg, rating mature just for the possibility. Exclusive Park POV, LJ.
Doggy Style [SC, mm contemporary with crazy magical event] – novella length, chapters, rating mature for language and sex. Exclusive.
Bad ass beta perks: dedication, acknowledgment, short prompts filled, eternal love and gratitude (which does not expire), ebook copy of the project when it’s all done.
Explainy*:
Exclusive = coming out as an ebook first. Either self-published or submitted. ff = female/female. Femslash.
genhet = general fiction stories.
HK = Harper Kingsley. Mix of mm, ff, genhet, plot over porn, perspective pieces. Kimichee = site where I serialize stories. Then self-published for ease of reading.
LB = Lisa Bailey. YA, genhet.
LJ = LiveJournal.
mm = male/male. Slash.
Novel length = 60,000+ words.
Novella length = 20,001-59,999 words.
SC = Sol Crafter. Largely straightforward mm stories. Usually HEA/HFN. Short story = 0-20,000 words.
slashy = hints of slash, but no hard proof. Relationship more than romance.
* this is a personal explanation for how I’m using terms. YMMV elsewhere.
The post Red Bull appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
Cut scene from Allies & Enemies
Half editing this monster (Allies & Enemies) in my spare time. I like this scene, but it’s most likely going to be cut because it doesn’t really serve a purpose. I just thought it was cool.
I was thinking I might turn it into a one-shot or the opening scene of someone else’s story. There’s gotta be other prisoners of these guys looking for a chance to shine, or at the very least reclaim their lives.
EXCERPT:
Rating: teen+ (language, description of gore)
*** = small spoiler for A&E removed.
He’d given up that life. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He’d made promises and commitments. But that was all in the past tense. He was in the moment, in the now, and there was the thunder red of rage-rage-rage burning across Vereint’s brain.
All this time, Warrick had been so great about following the rules. So why did he have to fuck up now?
Vereint had come back to an empty cabin, a TV still showing GNN and a note. Warrick had seen something and it reminded him of some unfinished Blue Ice business, so he’d gone off to handle it.
Vereint’s panic as he chased after Warrick had gradually turned to burning anger. Didn’t Warrick understand what putting himself in danger did to Vereint? The sense of helplessness and suffocating worry?
Vereint wanted to scream in Warrick’s face, but he knew he would probably end up on his knees begging him to never leave him again. And that patheticness only made him angrier. Never in his life had there been anyone to bring him so low as Warrick could.
By the time he reached the warehouse, he was mostly cool. Then he broke the lock and slid open the door.
Warrick was dead.
There was blood everywhere in a butterfly spray, and at the center the torn cocoon. Flesh splayed open in pink and white ridges of muscle and tendon. Eye sockets blackened and exposed amongst the brain matter. Warrick’s face was pasty and still, his shattered lips still parted around where his teeth had been kicked out.
Vereint sucked in a hissing breath and his hands clenched into claw shapes at his sides. He was going mad. The world was a riot of bright reds and softer pinks and the glistening lengths of intestine. The image before him was soaking itself into his brain. Becoming the truth of his existence.
Then he noticed that the Blue Ice uniform was wrong. It was one Vereint knew for sure had been ruined in a fight with Behemoth. He’d thrown it away himself, which had been a real hardship. It had been his favorite.
Just that quick he knew someone was messing with his brain.
It was as though someone had snapped a new lens on a camera, everything coming into focus. He could still see the mind fuckery of the illusion, but it was hollow and thin, all the emotional impact sucked out.
There were two men in black three piece suits standing next to a card table. They were laughing and joking, placing bets on how long he would freak out for.
As his mind started working again, Vereint’s eyes were drawn to the vibrating silver device on the table. He’d only ever heard about them, but he was pretty sure that was a Psiren. It sent sound waves focused to some frequency that could force the human brain to experience different emotions. The feelings drawn up were so strong that some people experienced correlating hallucinations.
Vereint tried to make his body convey terror and grief and was glad of the ski mask he’d pulled on before leaving. He’d never been that great of an actor, which is why he usually let Warrick do the lying for the both of them.
His eyes slid to the back of the room where he’d spotted the glint of a blade pressed tight against the real Warrick’s throat. Warrick wasn’t moving, was flopped limply, but Vereint could see the minute quiver of his breaths. He was pulled across the over-sized lap of a man that had to be a good fifteen hundred pounds.
Vereint recognized the man as Jericho Slim, sometimes called the Knife Man because he could do horrible nightmare things with a blade. He could draw them out of his flesh like gall stones. He would gag and a blade would come out from between his lips or sometimes it would just be slivers. It was said he could spit his Needle Darts faster than a viper and he could hit a target up to two hundred feet away.
Even though he was sure he was faster than Jericho Slim, Vereint didn’t want to risk the guy getting lucky. It was better to play it safe and maneuver the situation to where he’d have better odds of keeping Warrick alive.
After what he figured had to be a good five minutes, Vereint let himself sag to the floor with a low moan. From what he knew, an improperly used Psiren could cause catatonia in people that had experienced severe psychological trauma in the past.
He was worried about Warrick. ***. Being hit with the effects of a Psiren could give him permanent damage.
Vereint was pretty sure he was going to be killing some people today.
“He’s passed out,” the skinnier of the two men at the table said.
“Wonder who he is,” the other one said.
“Who cares? He’d down and out,” Skinny said. “What do you want us to do with him, boss?”
Jericho Slim had a surprisingly sweet voice for a man that was so large. It was the kind of voice that could have done commercials or read off movie times. “He must be working with this one here. Bring him to that chair and get that stupid ski mask off. Let’s see what kind of fish we managed to catch in our trap this time.”
Vereint kept his eyes closed as he was patted down, then hung limp as he was hauled up by his arms and tossed onto a hard wooden chair. It was one of those kind that had a rocking chair back and he could feel the knobby round spokes pressing against his spine. He let himself be lashed in place by rope, though a minute flex of his muscles let him know he could break free easily.
He felt the ski mask get ripped off his face and let his head flop forward when it was released. His chin was grasped by a slightly sticky hand and his hair was shoved out of the way as his face was turned toward the light.
“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?” Not-Skinny said. “He should make good money on the market.”
“Someone might pay a lot of money for a face like that,” Skinny agreed. “Are we going to sell him, boss?”
“We’ll find out when he wakes up,” Jericho Slim said. “If he’s got more to him than a pretty face, we could get a better price.”
Racking his brain, Vereint didn’t remember Jericho Slim ever being caught up in the flesh trade, but it looked like the man had changed professions. He would wait until they were put in some sort of cell or something and he could just carry Warrick away rather than risking something happening.
“Are we going to sell that one too, boss?” Skinny asked.
“No,” Jericho Slim said, stroking Warrick’s hair. “This one here’s a special case. I think I’m going to keep him for myself.”
It was a struggle for Vereint to remain unmoving. His mouth wanted to snarl and he was nearly trembling from holding himself still. He didn’t want to know what Jericho Slim wanted with Warrick and there was no way he was going to let anything happen. He would just have to make sure he was both strong and decisive when he made his move.
He kept his body completely limp as he was lifted up roughly by hands under his arms. His heels scraped the floor as he was dragged toward a door at the back of the warehouse.
The route incidentally took him passed where Jericho Slim held Warrick.
Opportunity knocks and the devil rocks.
/ EXCERPT
Read some of my other stories free at Kimichee.
Examples: The Panic Pure, From Diamond to Coal, Idlewile.
“Heroes & Villains,” by Harper Kingsley will be returning August 14 from Less Than Three Press. It’s a superhero mm romance action adventure story. You know you want some…
The post Cut scene from Allies & Enemies appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
Anonymous comments on LJ
So I shut off anonymous commenting on my LiveJournal. I was suddenly getting a lot of weird spam messages because I’d joined the rankings. There were hundreds of screened comments and there was just no way I could get through them all. LiveJournal never told me they were there, so I probably dropped the ball responding to some legitimate comments too, which makes me feel bad.
Anyway, to test this out I logged out of LiveJournal and tried to comment on a post.
“Error: this user has turned off anonymous commenting.”
What the heck, LJ? That’s so stupid. Why would that be the first option, especially when it’s turned off? There’s all these commenting options — OpenID, Twitter, Facebook — yet the default is Anonymous when someone clicks from the front page.
It’s like they’re actively discouraging commenting from non-LJ users.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 22, 2013
A day enjoying nature
-Overalls. Seriously, they’re dorky, maybe a little ugly, but sometimes they just seem perfect.
There’s nothing like pulling on some overalls, my big clunky work boots, and just going out and digging around in the yard. There’s nature and dirt and just not giving a crap about anything but the moment.
-Been editing some projects, writing on others, and basically spending a lot of time by myself. I’m just grateful the sun decided to shine some because I needed to get out of the house and breathe some fresh air. So far it’s been great.
My dog has happily been chasing rabbits and running around all crazy. He likes having some company during his outdoor adventures.
There are so many things I’m grateful for. I try to hold those things close to ward off the things that try and bring me down.
A smile may start off fake, but it becomes real the more it’s used.
~ Pax
The post A day enjoying nature appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
NOVEL: From Diamond to Coal, by Sol Crafter [mm science fiction] – Chapter Nine
Title: From Diamond to Coal
Author: Sol Crafter
Genre: science fiction, mm romance
Rating: teen+
Summary: Picks up from the end of Arc One [available from Amazon or Smashwords] William and Alan are coming back from their honeymoon, dealing with police, and basically getting their lives back together.
CHAPTER NINE
The car pulled up in front of the brownstone and William barely waited for the door to be opened all the way before leaping out. He didn’t really want to go inside, but a big part of him insisted that it was better to just get the horror over with than to let himself linger in misery.
“So they’re already waiting for us inside?” he asked Byron Hughes.
The bodyguard shrugged. “Looks like. O’Rielly says the police are very insistent on talking to you.” He slammed the car door shut behind Alan and walked with them across the sidewalk to the front door. “The detectives I dealt with seemed pretty good and they made it really easy, but I don’t know if they’re who you will be answering to.”
William patted Byron’s broad shoulder. “It’s all right. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’ll be able to get on with the rest of our lives.”
“Why do I feel as though I’m dealing with some kind of pod person?” Alan asked.
William grinned at him, and it was only a little fake. “You did fall asleep on the plane. Maybe that’s when I was replaced.”
“Way to give me nightmares.” Alan mock-shuddered. “I think I saw this movie once and Nicole Kidman ended up shooting James Bond in the leg.”
William gave him a disbelieving look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, though I find your aggressive nerdiness oddly adorable.”
Alan grinned at him, seeming happy that William wasn’t clawing up the walls and gibbering with woe over their upcoming interview with the police. “Well, thanks for that.”
Alan wrapped his arm around William’s waist as they walked up the short steps to the front door Byron held for them. James had already ducked inside, moving fast enough that William had to wonder if he should be insulted or not.
He focused instead on how hard Alan was trying to take his mind off of the awfulness to come. It was another sign that he’d made the right choice when he’d fallen in love with Alan.
William leaned back in Alan’s arms, letting himself be soothed by the safety Alan presented. The scent of Alan’s cologne made William sigh in relief.
“You gonna be okay?” Alan breathed in his ear. William was sort of bent over to accommodate their difference in height and they probably looked ridiculous, yet William didn’t care. “We could probably put them off for a day or two if you’re not ready to do this now.”
William shook his head. “We should just get it over with. They’re already here and waiting.”
“Okay,” Alan said. “Just let me know if it’s too much for you.”
William kissed Alan on the side of his face. “I’m glad that you care, but it’s going to be all right.” He swept his hand over Alan’s blond hair, smoothing down the flyaways. “I mean, this whole talking to the cops thing is freaky, but it’s gotta be done.”
Today the lobby was manned by a man with short cut brown hair and a left eye that always seemed to be looking to the side. “Welcome back Mr. Neeley, Mr. Trent. I hope you enjoyed your trip. Congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thank you.” William gave him a nod. He recognized the man’s face but couldn’t place the name; he made a mental note to bone up on the employee files. “We had a wonderful time.”
Byron hit the button on the elevator and the doors slid open. He put his hand out to hold them open, a patient expression on his face as he waited for them to board. He was used to dealing with William’s short attention span and spent the bulk of his time trying to keep William on task.
They rode the elevator up to their floor and William fought to keep from rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently. Alan hated when people got all fiddly and just before an interview with the police wasn’t the time to push things.
Licking his lower lip, William fumbled out with his hand until he found Alan’s and clasped it tight. He stared at the floor numbers as they clicked passed and tried to push away the discomfort he felt in his stomach at the thought of what was to come.
After Melissa died–was brutally murdered by a knife-wielding madman–there had been hours and days of police interviews. William had had to go over the series of events frontwards and backwards until his throat had ached from the words and he’d wanted nothing more than to hide away forever. It had been the kind of experience that had burned its way into his brain.
Now he was revisiting that horrible time in his life by talking to even more police. It was the kind of experience he happily would have missed.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the antechamber where a man and woman were sitting on the red couch, two mugs in front of them on the cherry wood coffee table along with a beige colored file folder and a blue pen.
William felt a surge of relief that they hadn’t been let into the apartment. He didn’t know how he would have handled seeing them inside his safe haven waiting for him. It was bad enough that they were in the antechamber, the room that he would have to pass through every time he came home.
Seeming to sense his apprehension, Alan squeezed William’s hand and moved a bit in front of him, taking the forefront on talking to the cops. “Hello detectives, I see you’ve got some coffee there. Has everyone been taking care of you?”
The detectives stood up, the woman a few inches taller than the man. She had a no-nonsense expression and her bobbed hair had been slicked back away from her face, highlighting the lack of makeup.
“Representative,” she said, giving Alan a respectful nod before glancing at William. “Mr. Neeley. I’m Detective Alison Warner and this is Detective Dennis Greer. We’re sorry to be bothering you today, but we really should get the questioning out of the way as soon as possible.”
William glanced around for somewhere to sit down, and before he could say anything, Byron was there carrying a spindly legged, high-backed chair in each hand. William reached out and took one, sitting down in front of the coffee table. “Thank you,” he said.
Byron gave him a nod and a tiny smile before setting the other chair down for Alan’s use.
William looked at the detectives. He didn’t see a whole lot of antagonism toward him, not like the last police that had questioned him. Then again, he’d been the main suspect in Melissa’s murder and he hadn’t had a fortune at the time. He’d been just a scared kid still reeling from the death of the girl he loved and no one had felt the need to show him any kindness. The apologies later hadn’t meant a whole lot to him.
He twisted his hands together in his lap and fought his leg’s need to jitter. “I don’t really know what to say about what happened. There were several attempts made on my life, then I beat the guy up when he, I assume, tried to kidnap me. I mean, I got things like his name afterward, but I’ve never met him before.”
“Actually, you have, though you don’t remember it,” Detective Warner said.
William raised his eyebrows. “I have?” He tried to think of he remembered Damien Prince at all, but there was nothing.
“Prince worked as a janitor at your university,” Warner said. “It seems that he’s been following you since then.”
“I was fifteen years old.” William blanched at the idea of some man following him around in secret for all those years of his life. There was the soft warmth of Alan’s hand against his and he quickly twined their fingers together. “That’s so creepy.”
“It’s more than creepy,” the detective said. “Prince was an incredibly disturbed individual.”
“Was?” Alan asked.
Warner shared a look with her partner. “Damien Prince committed suicide in holding. Somehow he managed to hang himself before the guards knew what was happening.” There was a note of discontent in her voice.
“Is it bad that I’m glad he’s dead?” William asked. His voice sounded thin to his own ears, but that’s kind of how he felt on the inside, as though he’d been drawn thin. Just thinking about Prince made him feel helpless and afraid; which he hated more than anything.
“It means that you’re human,” Warner said. “He attacked you and terrorized you and threatened the people you love. Hating him is a perfectly normal response. Have you thought about arranging some sort of counseling or anything?”
She was giving him the sympathetic gaze he’d never enjoyed receiving. That “You poor thing. You’re so damaged” look that made his skin itch.
“Not yet,” Alan spoke up. “We just got back today.”
William rubbed his chin with his forefinger. “Was this man really following me around for years?” It was a creepy idea: To imagine that someone had been watching his every move and he had never noticed.
He thought that he would be arranging more than just one permanent bodyguard. And Alan would accept heightened security practices. It was just common sense in a situation like this where they could be murdered at any turn.
William didn’t realize he was starting to shake until Byron grabbed his shoulders from behind in a friendly squeeze.
William forced himself to relax.
Byron left his hands there for a few seconds, a reminder that William wasn’t alone. Then his hands slid away, yet William was reminded that he was safe. Damien Prince was gone.
“I don’t think I’m handling all of this very well at all,” he admitted. “Do we really have to rehash everything? He was caught red handed and now he’s dead. Can’t my part in all this be done?”
Warner looked surprised for a moment, then understanding. She nudged her partner. “Just a few things more and we’ll be out of here,” she told William.
He sighed but nodded. They were just doing their job.
When the detectives finally left, William let himself be led into the apartment where he immediately headed into the bedroom and changed.
He’d thought about going to the lab, but he really wasn’t in the mood anymore. He felt like he deserved sweatpants and grilled cheese sandwiches.
“Are you okay?” Alan leaned against the counter to watch William putter around in the kitchen. He had this worried expression on his face that William tried hard to ignore.
“Probably not.” William laughed and put slices of bread in the toaster. “This whole situation is so fucked up.”
“Do you want me to call and arrange some therapy?” Alan asked. He was just throwing the idea out there; there was no pressure behind it.
“No. I don’t want to go to a therapist.” William put a slice of cheese between two pieces of toast and put the plate in the microwave for fifteen seconds. The cheese bubbled. “I can handle what happened.”
“Well, the option is always open,” Alan said.
William looked at Alan for a moment, then a smile quirked his lips. “Keep being you.” He offered the sandwich to Alan, who took the plate with a “Thank you” and pulled out one of the tall barstools.
William turned around to make another sandwich for himself. He also broke out the dill pickle spears and the ketchup.
“You want another one while I’m in here?” he asked. “I could do you some bacon or sliced turkey on it?”
Alan laughed. “I haven’t even started this sandwich. Just get over here.” He slapped the seat of the stool next to him.
William grabbed his sandwich out of the microwave and sat down next to Alan. “Do you want to watch a movie with me?” He broke off a corner of the crust and nibbled on it.
Indecision moved behind Alan’s eyes–he probably had a million things to catch up on–then he smiled at William. “Sure. I’ll watch something with you.”
William gave a quiet sigh of relief and bit into his sandwich. “Thanks.”
* * *
It was obvious that William was spooked, but there wasn’t a whole lot Alan could do other than be there. It just sucked that they both had such intense careers that tried to pull them apart. Carving out the time for their honeymoon had been a miracle of scheduling.
Alan wanted to spend every moment with William until all the shadows of fear disappeared, but he had work to do. He was a congressman; it wasn’t like he could blow his job off forever.
“Are you going to be all right while I’m gone?” he couldn’t help asking again.
William gave him an impatient look. “Dude, I’ll be fine.”
“Did you just call me dude?” Alan shook his head. “Whatever. Make sure you call me. Unless I hear your voice once a day I’m going to assume the worst.”
William blinked. “Are you scared to leave me alone?”
“What? No. I know you’re completely self-sufficient.” Alan put his hands up defensively. “I know you can take care of yourself.”
William looked at him for a long moment with a faint crinkle between his brows. Then his lips twitched in amusement. “Why do you have to worry so much all the time? I’ll be perfectly fine and I will call you so much that you’re going to get sick of the sound of my voice.”
William stepped close and wrapped his arms around Alan’s waist. His breath was warm on the side of Alan’s neck. “I’ll call you.”
Alan blinked the itch from his eyes and pressed his forehead against William’s. “I will never get tired of the sound of your voice. Call and text me all the time.”
“I will call the fuck out of you,” William promised.
“Okay.”
/CHAPTER
From Diamond to Coal
Title: From Diamond to Coal
Author: Sol Crafter
Genre: science fiction, mm romance
Rating: teen+
Places you can purchase a copy of ARC ONE: Smashwords or Amazon
Landing page: From Diamond to Coal
Summary: William Neeley is a genius. At the age of 15 he started Cyber Angel Industries and has since completely changed the face of the modern world. From personal shielding technology to enhanced musculature to home electronics, William has a finger in every pie and is quickly becoming the world's most wealthy individual.
He shares his life with his husband, Alan Trent, and their young son Morgan.
William always strives to maintain his image of "normal life," though he is diverted at every turn. Whether he's posing half-naked on billboards, creating massive death rays, or Alan is becoming the President of the United States, or Morgan has grown wings, or he's accidentally torn a rip in the space time continuum... he will always say that his life is nothing but normal.
Welcome to his world.
ARC ONE:
Chapter One -- 2218 words (9 ms pages) Chapter Two -- 7258 words (30 ms pages) Chapter Three -- 3810 words (16 ms pages) Chapter Four -- 3936 words (16 ms pages)
Chapter Five -- 8045 words (33 ms pages) Chapter Six -- 4093 words (10 ms pages) Chapter Seven -- 6135 words (15 ms pages) Chapter Eight -- 5101 words (21 ms pages)
ARC TWO:
Chapter Nine -- 2356 words (10 ms pages) Chapter TenChapter ElevenChapter Twelve
Chapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter Sixteen
The post NOVEL: From Diamond to Coal, by Sol Crafter [mm science fiction] – Chapter Nine appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
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