Apologies for the tardiness of this next installment; I let other priorities distract me from my goal of releasing a chapter a week. I will endeavor to be more prompt, promise, especially as things are about to REALLY heat up… Crossing the street, they approached the dark building that housed “T.S. Enterprises” according to the[…]
Submission is a definite kink of mine. So I have some definite ideas about what I think it is. These may differ from yours, and if so, that’s fine; write your own damn entry. This one certainly has come both in response to other people’s views as well as my own experience in relationships. “If[…]
Editor’s note: If you’re new to the series, start here. If you’re wondering about the chapter title, well, it’s a work in progress, remember? In fact, as I was editing this, I found myself questioning whether it really merited being a “chapter” at all – that maybe it should have just been tacked on to[…]
In case you’re late to the party, I’ve decided to force myself into editing That Damn Book (aka “Kumir”) by committing to releasing a chapter a week here online, for free! This is definitely a Work In Progress – feedback is welcome and appreciated! If you missed it, Chapter 1 is here.
The cold morning wind blew the paper litter around the woman’s legs as she walked with an easy stride out of the coffee shop and turned into the alley. The shadows were graying with the slow creep of dawn, and her unruly blonde hair, skin and leathers seemed to glow with a rainbow of pewtered shades. She held the whip loosely in her right hand, the coils making a dull tap with every step as they bumped against her leg. As she passed her toppled bike she spared it an ironic half-smile, but made no move to set it upright. She looked down the alley, now empty, neither bikers nor bums in sight. She stood there, weight balanced, as though she were waiting for something she knew was going to happen.
Sudden flashes of red light slashed over the alley walls, and she glanced over her shoulder to see an ambulance pulling up. A vague logo emblazoned with “St. Antoine’s Free Clinic” was barely visible under the street grime covering the side. The driver, eyes crazed by too many stimulants and too little rest, looked at her through the rolled-down passenger window. His scruffy beard was a shade darker than the sandy blonde receding hairline that straggled down to his collar. There was a distinctly Jesus-like aura to his hopped-up alertness.
“Hey, lady! You don’ wan’ be there, lady! They takin’ Mr. Doukas’ woman home, and you even look at her, they cut you! Bad!” His voice was a frenetic staccato, but there was a feeling of genuine care underneath. “They cut the last fella whut looked down that alley, and it was bad…real bad. Doc Jonesy had to take care of him.” The driver looked down in mournful remembrance. “That guy, he used to be so pretty…Doc Jonesy can’t make him pretty again. Best he could do was make his face-parts work again.” His face looked sad as a basset hound. “Mostly…”
Jane thought for a moment, and then smiled at the driver. “I bet I can guess your name.”
The driver smiled beatifically back. “Really? That’d be a neat trick.”
“It’s Jonesy, isn’t it?”
The man shook his head with puppy-like eagerness. “Nope!” As she frowned, he laughed with manic glee. “It’s Crew Chief Jonesy!”
Her smile widened at that. “Ah. Yes. Your turn to be crew chief, I guess. Double shift?”
Crew Chief Jonesy’s smile kind of dwindled. “You know it, lady. Every fucking day.”
The woman’s smile turned thoughtful. “You really used to care, before the speed, didn’t you?”
The man grinned happily at her. “Still do! That’s why I’m on it – there ain’t no other drivers, and somebody’s gotta take care of business. Just dropped off another chica from the Toy Shoppe. She split her –” suddenly he stopped, eyes looking wildly up, then worriedly back at her. “Wait. Am I doing that TMI thing again? Doc Jonesy told me I needed to stop talkin’ so much…”
Jane waved a benediction to the driver. “No problem, Chief. And thanks for the warning about looking down here. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” At a sound from down the alley, her head snapped around with a raptor’s speed, and she saw a group of Incubikers exiting into the alley from a side door, a separate silhouette tall and slender in the midst.
“It’s Monique!” Jonesy whispered reverently from behind her. “Mr. Doukas’ woman. I’m tellin’ ya, lady, ya shouldn’t be here.”
The A-to-Z Challenge was a blast, and you can even hear it read, all twenty-six posts, by one of the sexiest voices out there on the Ropecast.
But the fact is it was a distraction. It’s a way for me to ignore the writing I should be doing – erotica, non-fiction, essays, I got a head filled with ideas. Including a full-length novel, roughly set in the same universe as Nawashi and Jujun, which is in need of some editing.
So I’m going to let you, dear readers, put the pressure on me. I’m going to release the chapters as I edit them, serially, here on this blog. Absolutely free. Oh, if you want to tip me some over there on the sidebar, I won’t turn you down, but I promise I won’t leave you hanging. Over the next few months, once a week, a chapter will be revealed here on the blog right up until the bitter end of the ambulance lights driving off into a snowy night (yeah, I gave it away a bit there, but what do you expect for free?).
At the end, the book will be released in actual print form, probably with some additional edits, one or two expanded scenes, maybe a little additional erotica just to make it worth your while. One of the nice things about self-publishing is that you have options.
However, letting the story languish is not an option. So let me invite you into a somewhat decrepit corner of Detroit – not the current city-in-rebirth, but the city when it looked like it was dying. Sit down, grab a coffee, and let me tell you the story of the Kumir.
RACK, SSC, PRICK, YKINMKBYKIOK (that’s Your Kink Is Not My Kink But Your Kink Is O-K), WIIWD (What It Is We Do), there are so many clever acronyms and sayings we use in the community to try and make sure that everybody has a good time. My favorite, though, is simply this: Don’t Yuck My Yum.[…]
Pussy. Cunt. Vagina, if you want to sound like a 14 year old. “Gash” is simply rude, and any of the supposedly descriptive ones – hairy clam, for example – just seem at best ludicrous and at worst scary. If you use “vajayjay” I forbid you from reading this blog ever again. Seriously. Just leave.[…]
…also known as “that damn book.” It’s written. It’s even been edited somewhat by a couple of sets of smarter eyes than mine. But for some reason I keep procrastinating actually re-writing the parts that need re-writ, juicing up the parts that need lube, and generally whipping it into shape so that I can publish[…]
Follow
Follow