The Den of Debauchery's Subannex

My first short story, "Prey," was published in Torquere's Monsters anthology in 2004. Since I am taking the year off, I thought an inventory might be a good idea. See what I have, and what is still with publishers.

In the last 12 years, I have written

18 Novels (50,000+ words each, so about 1,000,000 words)
Nikolai, rewritten as Nikolai Revenant^
Niko-Chan
Anthony^#
David#
Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists^
Terror of the Frozen North^
Barbarossa's Bitch*^
Heart's Bounty*^
Power in the Blood*
Hard Reboot^
Spellbound Desire^
Wild Hunt
The Sweet Science*#
Shell Shocked^
Alive on the Inside^
Glad Hands^
Privateer's Treasure (originally Kestrel on the Horizon)^
Heart of a Forest^

89 Novellas and short stories (3000-30,000, about 700,000 words total)
( Read more... )

(* indicates the rights have not yet reverted, ^ indicates co author, # is unpublished)

It's not a bad body of work. I have some unfinished series. As well as three children's books and three more shorts under a pseudonym.

Since I am apparently serious about writing the steampunk boxing story.



A bit of the opening:
She stopped. Flossie would worry. Lillian scribbled a note to her maid and left it propped on her hair brush. “Dear Flossie. I've gone out and about in disguise. It's a bit of a lark, and I shall be home before morning, so do not fret yourself. Lil.”

She secured a moneybelt around her waist and headed out to the fights. Her hand trembled on the latch of her bedroom door, from excitement and fear both. She knew this could ruin her forever in her hometown.

No women were allowed at the illegal boxing matches. It was unseemly and dangerous. She'd paid her driver well to listen to the men's gossip and let her know when one was. He was adamant in his initial refusal, but she claimed she only wanted to make a couple of wagers, through him, so he relented. He would be horrified if he knew she was going to one, even in disguise.

Lillian let herself out the back door, taking care not to let it shut loudly, slipped down the back stairs and across the yard. The big prairie night stretched above her, with a million stars and a fat orange moon low on the horizon. Every shadow lay in stark relief and she imagined anything from coyotes to the local sheriff waiting to fall upon her. She made her way out of the little town and to the place where a gypsy wagon was parked.

It was a long walk and the boots she had bought had thin places in the soles that didn't match her feet. She kept walking, carrying herself as tall as she could. A man wouldn't slink and cower. He would walk. And tonight, she was a man.

A large black tent had been put up, and two big men stood at the door. Lil held onto her bribe and marched up, like the young man she was pretending to be. She named herself Standing Elk and was prepared to say it if asked.
Standing Elk wouldn't be afraid, even though the men were bigger than he was. He walked right in, slipped the bribe into the hand of the guard and took a place not far from the double fighting ring of stakes and ropes.

Doing the 1000 words has really helped. The muses are less tempermental, progress is being made.

That doesn't mean all is sunshine and roses here in Angel's Head.


Scene 1

Nick (whining): I'm tired of being straight. This cyberpunk sucks. Write on Nick and Corban. Better yet, watch The Experiment again. Or A Matador's Mistress. You've been holding that over my head for weeks.

Me: You get Adrien Brody in the Tightest Pants In The World when you finish the cyberpunk. Here, have a Nicole Kidman movie instead. *puts in Billy Bathgate*

Nick: *grumbles, then looks up* Whoa, whoa, back it up.

Me: *obliges, running nude scene in the three way mirror for him again*

Nick: I....I get That? Guuuh! Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusssssssssssh! *faceplants*

Me: Sigh. You're not only an inveterate cock-gobbler, you're apparently a pussy hound. Now, since we know, there will be no more complaints and you will finish the cyberpunk?

Nick: *nods* Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusssssssssssh! *faceplant*

Scene 2:

David: *replays earring-cutting-out scene for me*
Me: Oh stop. We're almost there. Be good and I'll let Corban fingerpaint in the blood.
David: Really?
Me: Be good
David: I'm very, very good, dear girl, but type faster.

Scene 3:
Me: I'm really not ready to write that WWII novel
Frank, Arthur, and a random Nick: We are! *gives me opening scene with Hank coming to visit Frank and give him a heads-up about construct conscription*

Scene 4:
T: Ever getting back to Manhunt? How about the Studio one? I like that one.
Me: You would. Just because you get to fuck everything that breathes in your direction.
Nick: *looks all scared in his overalls and glasses as T holds the pitchfork to his throat*
Me: Boys! How many fingers do you think I have to type with?

Scene 5:
Anthony, all crucified: Not enough. Come on. Your stuff is out of contract with Phaze by now.
Josh, holding the camera: Yeah, get him off there. Let's get Passion Hearts done.

The chorus comes up: Edward and Charlie, the flower fairies, everyone. They all want me and they all want me now. Loved, but spread too thin.

I have contracted for a minimum of 65,000 words of vampires, to be delivered by Sept 1. Yes, there is an advance involved.
I am terribly excited.

So, in the interests of making my world believable, and my vampires not complete idiots--except those whose brains have rotted, of course--I have been noodling.

Vampirism is a virus. It incubates in its host from the time of the initial blood ingestion, for anywhere from three days to a month. Vampires do bite, and if they drain the victim during or after the exchange, it's a three day incubation. In case of accidental ingestion, the virus will incubate up to a month, during which time it replicates in the RNA, gradually causing the host to "die," then return.

It does not end decay, merely slows it over centuries instead of years. A fresh vampire will be ravenously hungry for the first month as the body adjusts to the new life. The first century of a vampire's life is its most powerful, but the more established vampiric organizations are designed to squelch competition during this period. A two hundred year old vampire is at his peak. A three hundred one is slipping. A four hundred year old vamp is rotting out. By 500, they tend to be mindless things, devouring and ravening. Anything beyond that is pretty much a snapping skeleton held together by leathery sinew, eating out of habit to feed organs long decayed away. The organizations usually put them down at the first signs of blatant decay.

Sun exposure hastens the decay. Vamps are destroyed by fire, a stake to the heart and destruction of the brain. They have slightly greater strength than humans. Running water, garlic, holy symbols, roses, seeds, lemons with spikes, none of those work.

Should a vampire sire a child during the incubation period, the virus lies dormant in the child's cells. (the incubation is not long enough to conceive and carry) Most of these live out their lives and die of old age. Should such a child meet a violent end at any point in their life, they return almost immediately, not as a vampire, but as an Undying, a revenant with powers of regeneration. These are very rare, less than 100,000 in the whole world. Being immortal eventually drives them insane. Every Undying has at least two diagnosable mental illnesses, of a type more severe than personality disorders.

The Council of Eternity tries to find and train the Undying to hunt vampires. They also try to create a support network to deal with culture shock and constant change. They have about a 50% success rate in recruitment and training. The support network is less successful. The Undying do not work and play well with each other, since too many diagnoses in the same room always gets ugly. The Council, in recent years, has begun GPS chipping the Undying, just behind the ear. There are some who have taken the training and gone off on their own.


So, where have I gone totally off the rails?

I've noticed it more lately: men coming into women's spaces and telling them "you're doing it wrong. Do it MY way."

I'm sure it happens all the time, every day to every woman, but two recent incidents stick out.
1)
On Dear Author, they refer to it as the Lee and Ann Show. The ongoing argument between Ann Sommerville and Lee Goldberg about the legitimacy of women's writing, particularly fannish writing.

Lee Goldberg has a noted antipathy to fanfiction. This is likely because he makes his living writing pro-fic and when people give away the same profuct, his sales fall. He cloaks it in terms of theft and copyright and such. But at base, he is anti-fanfiction. He has never said a word about fan films or any predominantly MALE way of interacting with the text, only fanfiction, which tends to be dominated by women. He especially loathes slash, mocking it mercilessly in ways that reveal a deep-seated vein of homophobia, which is a majority-female pursuit.

Lately, he's taken to pointing and mocking at erotic romance e-book sales on his blog. This is another field written by women for women. Why isn't he going to Tor and telling people like John Scalzi that Old Man's War is never going to do anything in e-book? Oh, yeah, because it's so much easier to sneer at some unknown woman who just sold Hot Manly Lovin'.

He has flat out said that fannish writing should be consigned to trunks, and that women should really try writing something useful.


2) On a certain writer's LJ, a certain male reader made the comment she was "wasting her talent" writing erotica, because it doesn't sell. The conversation moved to a different LJ. His whole attitude came off "silly, stupid women, let me show you how to make real money." He ran down the romance and erotuic romance genres at every turn and did eveything but scream "you stupid bitches, do it MY way!" He was polite enough, but it was Nice Guy(tm) polite, superior and condescending with a side of "I can't let them provoke me."


In neither case was there respect for the stories women are telling, or even the concept that they have stories to tell. In no wise would any of this have happened on a true-crime forum or any other male-dominated genre. Because clearly they have the pen-is, which makes them superior writers.

It reminded me of the Elmore Leonard rules (here, learn to write like ME), but blunter.

My writing life got more complicated.

We got a Revise and Resubmit rejection from Samhain on Lord Withycombe and the Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists.

All right.
This month:
Edits to Niko-chan
R&R Lord Withycombe
Finish Shell Shocked
Keep plugging on Alive on the Inside.

November:
Nick and Corban OR Chain-male

Now if we'd just hear on Robin!
(mustn't be greedy, we just finished second edits on Glad Hands.)

( detailed list )

Total 212,888/230,000 (to make 300,000 this year)

Current work:
editing Glad Hands
editing Niko-Chan

1) Pre-edits, Meanwhile back at the ranch
2) Edits, round 2, Nikolai
3) Writing, Shell-shocked
4) Writing, Chain-male
5) Writing, Novel length of Showdown at Yellowstone River?

?holiday single shot
?Two of swords
Strongly considering dropping these. Will decide in a week or so if still cannot make them work

House:
Laundry
declutter FR
declutter study
declutter bedroom

I could not brain today. I had the dumb.

Mudd is compiling, so Open Office is not reading .rtf files. fuckses.


~~~
Writing money thoughts

Dark Roast pays quarterly.
Phaze pays 45 days after the end of each monthly reporting period, for checks of $25 or more.

So, royalty schedule:
Jan, April, July, Oct:
15th, Torquere, Phaze (with affiliates!)
EC, check cuts around the 25
30th Dark Roast

Feb, Mar, May, June, Aug, Sept, Nov, Dec:
15th, Phaze (if over $25)
EC, check cuts around 25th.

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch" is DONE!
well, rough draft is at 10088.
Need some more nerves before we go out on the big zombie raid.