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NaNoWriMo or No?

27 Saturday Oct 2012

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Last year, I did it. I won NaNoWriMo. I wrote a 40K word novel in 30 days.

I’m not saying it was a good novel. I gave it to four beta readers and none of them could get through it. Well, I assume they couldn’t. The only feedback I got was “I haven’t finished it yet” and then I don’t like to push when folks are doing me a favor, so I let it drop. The fact that it wasn’t devoured eagerly and commented on either favorably or un- is telling.

It also doesn’t exactly make me want to write that way again.

The one good thing is that it made me get forty-thousand words on paper. It took a lot of hours to do, with an end result that’s worthless to me. I can’t edit it because to me, the story is told. It’s just (apparently) not a very good story. I can live with that.

But I have three full-length novels in progress that have all stalled for one reason or another, and I’ve had very little time to write lately. I’m thinking maybe during NaNo this year of setting aside a block of time every day to write. Perhaps log so many hours on the stories I already have instead of counting the words, and give myself a victory if I can get any one of them into a readable draft form. Hell, finishing all three and having manuscripts to submit to publishers would be an amazing accomplishment, even if I don’t earn a shiny new badge for my sidebar.

It’s for sure that writing is a discipline. I have to do it all the time, every day, or I get out of practice. Even blogging is hard (in case you couldn’t tell) because the words don’t want to come out of my head. My writing seems halting and forced and stilted to me, and the words flow only in messy, lumpy, stringy, scattered bursts.

It will be good to get my head back in the game.

I’m very close to finishing the ghost love story. I need to slow the pacing at the beginning and  flesh out a spot in the middle that also seemed a bit rushed, and put the denouement on paper instead of having it up in my head. It should be easy to do, if I can get my mojo back.

The second novel is gay erotica, a story of an idyllic summer full of man love on a farm. It’s hot. And when I realized what I was writing, I loved the story. I know why the main character is telling his story, and I know what happens, and it’s amazing. Again, it’s all up here. *points at head* I need to get it on the page.

The third one is still mostly idea. It’s based on a true story I found on my Twitter feed, a tale of long-distance lust in the cyber-age. I know what it will look like when it’s done, and I have a framework story around which the main story will be built. I know the characters, too, and they want me to tell their story. It needs the most work, but progress would be good, too.

I have four days to set a game plan. I will keep you posted.

Also From Down the Rabbit Hole

16 Tuesday Oct 2012

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This is one of the last chapters of Down the Rabbit Hole. Alice, at this point in the story has been wandering through Wonderland trying to get into a lovely garden where she witnessed a spectacular orgy going on through a tiny door. Now, having met a very Dominant Duchess and her submissive Cook, petted and stroked a charmingly seductive Cheshire Cat, and had a tea party with a Mad Hatter, she now has found herself back in the garden at last, only now there is a game of sexual croquet being played and the Queen of Hearts is both a sore loser and a sore winner. Frustrated, confused, and a little scared, Alice seeks release without losing her head.

*****

She had hoped Cat would have some idea about how this game was played; or more specifically, Alice wondered how to take part in this delightfully debauched orgy without losing her head. Cat, however, was very busy being the center of attention. The King had fetched the executioner, who was currently in a heated argument about how it was impossible to cut the head off of something that didn’t have a body. The King, for his part, felt quite strongly that if one had a head, one could be certainly be beheaded. The Queen declared in a shrill voice that if something wasn’t done about it in less than no time, she’d have everyone there beheaded, which caused the revelers (who really just wanted to get back to their Bacchanalian festivities) to look quite anxious.

Alice remarked that perhaps the Duchess would be of some help, so the King and the executioner ran off in different directions. But by the time they returned with the Duchess, Cat’s smiling face had completely disappeared. The King and the soldiers ran around everywhere looking for her, but she was nowhere to be seen, so the rest of the party went back to their games.

Left standing quite alone again, Alice found herself growing irritated and the whole of Wonderland quite tiresome.

“I’m very glad to see you again,” said a voice very near to Alice’s left ear. The Knave of Hearts slipped an arm around her waist and led her away from the croquet-ground. Alice was very glad to see him again, though she was concerned at the Knave’s utter lack of concern about being beheaded by the Queen if she should find one of her pets engaged with a guest. But then, she thought to herself, the Knave was a magnificent specimen of man and she was so tired of being treated rudely, that perhaps the risk would be quite worth it.

She walked along and was so engrossed with weighing the pros and cons of having a bit of sport with one of the Queen’s favorites that she didn’t realize the Knave was talking to her. She was startled when his voice sounded quite close to her ear again. “You’re thinking about something. I can tell because you forgot to talk. There’s a moral in that somewhere, only I can’t think of what it is right at the moment,” he said.

“Maybe there isn’t a moral,” Alice offered helpfully.

“Everything’s got a moral, if you can find it,” he said, squeezing closer up to Alice’s side as he spoke.

Alice was enthralled by the nearness of him, because he was so very handsome, and because his erection was growing as they walked along and it occasionally brushed against her hand to remind her of his desire for her. “The game’s going on a little better now,” Alice said, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” the Knave replied, “and the moral of that is, ‘A change of scene can change one’s character.’”

“I don’t think that’s quite right,”Alice said, confused. “Isn’t it ‘A change of scene does not change one’s character?’”

“Same thing,” the Knave said, smiling. “And the moral of that is ‘Every truth has two sides.’”

How fond he is of morals! Alice thought to her herself. They rounded a bend in the path and found themselves outside the croquet-ground and on the edge of a large field.

“How are you finding Wonderland?” he asked.

“I find it a bit…frustrating,” Alice admitted, as the Knave slipped in behind her, pulling her fast to him and pressing his hard cock against her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s very trying to fit in when everyone here is afraid of being beheaded by the Queen.”

The Knave chuckled, his deep voice sonorous and pleasant. “Yes, she can be unpleasant to those she does not trust, and she trusts no one. And the moral of that is ‘It is safer to know one’s guest before offering hospitality.”

Alice was having trouble following his logic, but his hands were sliding over her body and she was having trouble forming a logical thought anyway. He carefully undid the buttons of her dress and with a shrug of her shoulders, it fell to the grass.

She turned and faced him, running her hands up his smooth chest, over his hard nipples and around his thick neck. She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply, and he responded by opening his mouth and taking her in more deeply. He wrapped his hands around her ass and pulled her tightly to him, his cock hot and hard between their bodies.

She stripped his vest off of him, and leaning back, pulled him to the grass. He lay between her legs and took her breasts in his hands. She gasped as he bit her nipple gently, pulling it with his straight white teeth while he smiled beguiling at her. He sucked the pink tips into rock hard points and licked and teased them with his tongue. He slid lower down her body and she lay back in the cool grass, closing her eyes and throwing her head back as his mouth found her yearning pussy.

He kissed the shaved lips gently and slid his tongue in between the soft folds. She parted her legs for him and moaned as his lips made contact with her clit. He sucked gently at the hard little nugget, teasing it with his tongue and his teeth. She ground her cunt against his mouth, trying to get him to possess her entirely.

He slipped his strong arms beneath her legs and flipped her, turning her ass up and spreading her cheeks with his hands. He sucked at her sweet, eager asshole and she moaned again, tossing her hair over her shoulder and reaching down between her legs to diddle her clit. He sucked at her juicy cunt, so wet and ready it was practically dripping into the grass beneath him.

He knelt behind her and slid his huge cock into her and she cried out with delight as it filled her to the hilt, stretching and opening her. His balls swung and smacked softly against her clit and she reached under and squeezed his scrotum gently, scratching the soft skin gently with her nails.

He ran his hands over her round ass and held her hips while he stroked his cock inside her. She was moaning aloud, growing louder and louder as he churned inside her, working her pussy and bringing her once again to the brink of orgasm.

A flock of birds took sudden flight, but Alice paid them no mind. She was on the edge of coming, closer than she’d been since she’d followed the White Rabbit down that stupid hole and she was not going to stop now, not for anyone.

Suddenly, the Knave pulled out of her and she cried out in frustration. She flipped on her back in time to see two of the Queen’s soldiers taking him roughly by the arms and pulling him away. His cock was purple and rampant and shining with her juices, but he only smiled placidly as he was led away from her.

Alice sat alone in the grass, confused and angry. She was momentarily too angry to even spread her legs and rub her clit to relieve herself of that elusive orgasm. She sat motionless until the sound of an approaching crowd brought her to her feet. The White Rabbit ran by her. “Come on! Come on!” he shouted excitedly. “The trial is beginning!”

“What trial?” Alice said, hurriedly picking up her dress and attempting to pull it on as she ran.

“Come on! Come on!”

So Alice ran.

*****

What happens in the courtroom? Well, there’s lots of “interesting” testimony from the witnesses, and Alice makes her last stand for satisfaction. To find out how things “finish” for Alice, you can read the whole story of Down the Rabbit Hole on Kindle, Nook, or in paperback. 

I’m Coming Out

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

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Well, technically, I came out.

Yesterday.

I write under a pen name and an assumed identity. I’m like the Batman. And I’m like a lot of erotica writers who have their own reasons for writing as someone else.

I imagine a lot of them are like me. I’m a mother to young kids. I’m active in my church. I run in circles where sex is not the main topic of conversation as a rule. And mostly, it’s sometimes hard to explain what it is I do, and why.

But on my main, regular, “real life” blog that is connected with my main, “real life” business, I came out as an erotica writer. I told the world that I’m a secret, closet composer of dirty little stories. So far it’s been mostly an assortment of “good for you!” and other encouragements, and a bit of surprise, but no one  has come right out and condemned me for it.

In the logical part of my brain I know there’s no reason why they should. What I’m doing isn’t wrong. I’m open about sex. I enjoy it. Within my own lifestyle and my own sexual habits, I’m really above reproach.  But I’m gun-shy, and I think I know why.

A few years back, I was teaching religious education classes, preparing 9th and 10th graders for Confirmation. I’m well-versed in theology and Church teaching and more than qualified to teach it. I’m married, monogamous, I’m raising three children in the Church, I sing in the choir and serve as cantor–for real, I’m more than qualified.

One day on the Facebook I was reading a religious-based news feed and I commented as myself on a thread where they talk about a bishop somewhere being put out that a church-run college was teaching a class on gay marriage in the upcoming semester. He was appalled, as were all of the people posting and voicing their moral outrage. A school has no business teaching anything that is contrary to church teaching! How dare they!

Well, I didn’t see it that way. I live in NH. Gay marriage is here, and it’s here to stay. It’s spreading, too. It’s only a matter of time before it’s the law of the land. And people who object on religious grounds had better suck it up. So I said I thought it was a good idea to teach about it, since it’s here. It’s real. It’s a thing. And what a great opportunity to dialogue about that kind of modern morality in context of church teaching, blah blah blah.

Trust me, I was articulate as fuck.

Not long after, I got a call from the Bishop’s office. The director of religious ed for the whole diocese got an angry email about me from a woman in fucking MICHIGAN. She apparently read my comment, followed me to my Facebook page, saw that I was a religious ed instructor, and went directly to my Bishop to say I should be summarily dismissed.

The woman on the phone had the misfortune to catch me on a day when I was feeling feisty. She had not read my comments. She hadn’t read the article I commented on. She didn’t know the woman from Michigan’s name. But she wanted me to explain why I was behaving immorally in public.

I managed to not say, “Cunt, what the shit?” But that’s about the best that can be said, because I went up one side of this woman, down the other, and then back up the other side again for good measure. I’m pretty sure when she got off the phone, she was wishing she’d never called. I was calm, but I was PISSED, and the bitch knew it.

Luckily, it never even got to my pastor’s ear until I told him, and he laughed like hell at it and congratulated me for standing my ground. I didn’t get in any trouble, per se, unless you consider a thwarted attempt at a dressing-down “trouble”. The crux of my argument was that when I teach Confirmation class, I follow the curriculum. I teach them what the church teaches and let them make up their own minds about whether they believe it or not, just as I’ve done in my 43 years of faith. I keep my personal beliefs separate.

And separation works well for me, or it has until now. I guess after that episode, I found that keeping things separate and more or less hidden from one another is a good way to go. People who are prudish about sex don’t need to know about my proclivities, and people who are here for the pussy don’t need to hear about my latest knitting achievement. (Which, by the way is a Cthulhu cock sock, so there is a bit of overlap, I will admit.)

The Cthulhu cock sock. If you’re interested in my “real life” and care about what I’m knitting, click the pic to get to my other, not so super-secret blog. I think I’m entertaining even when I’m not talking about cocks and cunts.

I’m coming to the point where I know it would be easier to write and promote myself as me, but part of me thinks that while more people know J. A. Reynold’s real identity, keeping her life here separate is still a good idea. People who don’t want to know, don’t have to. They can remain ignorant, and blissfully so. Crossing the streams hasn’t been an issue for most of my friends so far, and hopefully, that’s how it will go.

I’m not keen to have to defend my writing, but the fact is that I’m a published author now, and I suppose I need to be able to stand up for myself when necessary. Because the stories keep coming.

So to speak…

Lunch Break

03 Monday Sep 2012

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His lunch break is only a half an hour, and she lives an hour and a half away.

Once a week he slips out of the office at lunchtime and they meet up somewhere away from prying eyes. He’s found a secluded spot behind a closed gas station, in the shadow of a crumbling whitewashed cinder block building, hidden from view by a rusted and sagging chain-link fence and tall, overgrown weeds. There’s no time for renting a comfortable room somewhere. She can’t chance her husband finding a receipt from a no-tell motel, even if there were any close and discreet enough to his office, and she has to get home and get the smell of sex off of her before the kids get off the bus. He can’t risk the temptation of a rented bed and willing partner, so it has to be quick.

And dirty.

It’s never a problem.

They slide into the backseat of her car, kicking aside a bike helmet and a few rumpled, coloring books. The waxy smell of crayons and the orange remains of fish-shaped crackers serve as less-than-subtle reminders that they’re no longer a couple of teenagers, even though the urgency with which they come together is adolescent–heedless and hedonistic. His hand is inside her shirt almost immediately, pulling her breasts out and tugging at her nipples, making her gasp. She can feel how hard he is through his pants, and she fumbles with his zipper, struggling to free him.

He laughs and says, “Let me,” and deftly pulls his cock out, stroking it like he does in the short phone-cam-recorded videos he makes just for her. She watches them after her husband and kids are in bed, and records some to send to him, taking pictures and writing him long, detailed emails about her sexy, dirty, hot, funky fantasies.

She doesn’t want to leave her comfortable life, and neither does he plan on abandoning his family for her.

Friends with benefits, the kids call it, and it suits them perfectly.

She pushes his hand out of the way and leans over, taking him in her mouth with no warning or explanation. None is required. He moans, running his hands down her back and gathering up the soft fabric of her skirt and pulling it out of his way. He finds the black lace panties she put on just for him and slides his hand inside, running his palms over the soft curve of her ass.

She’d love to keep sucking his cock, to taste him as he cums in her mouth, but there can be no long, drawn-out lovemaking between them, and a quick blowjob isn’t going to be enough. Not for either of them. Not today.

He guides her to his lap, pulling her panties to the side as she straddles his cock, taking him inside as far as he can go. He fills her perfectly and they sit together like that for a minute, his hands pushing her clothes out of the way, hers around his shoulders as his mouth finds her nipples. She squirms and grinds against him as he sucks them into hard, aching points.

They move together, his cock deep inside her, hitting all the secret, hidden spots that he knows will drive her wild. And it won’t take long. The pent-up desire and frustration needs an outlet, and like a current through a grounded wire, it’s found a short path through them. She tells him she’s close and that she’s going to be quick, her words a frenzied whisper in his ear.

His mouth is on hers, her hands twined in his hair, pulling him to her, his hips thrusting against her. He is determined to make her come first, and she’s in no position to argue with him as she feels the pleasure build to its breaking point. With a powerful throb, her orgasm bursts inside her like a bubble, and as she clenches tightly around his cock, she drenches him, soaking his open pants and crying out. She’s breathing hard, and so is he, and grabbing her hips, he drives hard into her…once…twice…and then he comes, his cock exploding, his hot cum mixing with hers in a slippery, ecstatic mess.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she says with a laugh, sliding wetly off his lap and running her thumb over the purple love bite starting to form right beside her left nipple.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says, kissing the spot before pulling her shirt back into place. “See you next week?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”