Today marks the end of my month of short fiction discussion. I hope you enjoyed the tour of BOYS OF SUMMER, THE TOUCH OF THE SEA, and SWEAT, as well as my scattered thoughts for the last couple of days. The giveaway was fun and I was stunned at the three hundred plus entries for the SWEAT giveaway (holy crap!) on Goodreads. I'll be mailing off copies to the two winners tomorrow.
I wanted to touch on one last thing that I loved about short fiction before the month closed: the homage. Kind of like Easter Eggs in a DVD, I love tucking in little "thank you" messages to the awesome people in my life. In the three stories I spoke about over this month have messages like that tucked inside them.
In BOYS OF SUMMER, I wanted to write about a young man who has a wonderful family vacation tradition. Ryan loves the lake, and the friends he's made there. Three families, the wives of which have known each other for years, go to the same lakeside cabins at the end of every summer. This set-up is an experience that's completely alien to me on pretty much every level. I don't have childhood friends that I see on any basis. My family didn't have any sort of traditional vacations. My mother didn't have childhood friends, and we moved and moved and moved. Also, both Ryan (and the young man he meets, Will), have amazing parents who are supportive and wonderful. So, yeah.
Will's parents are named after my husband's parents. When I wanted to make sure I had the tone of summer cabin vacations right, I asked Barb and Jenn - two of Dan's oldest friends - about it. They'd had childhood cabins, and so I named one of Ryan's friends after Barb. Ryan's other friend - Angie - is also named for the wife of one of Dan's closest friends, who was there the first time I went over to Dan's house with a bouquet of flowers on a dinner date. The fictitious Angie and Barb also have boyfriends named after their respective husbands. Similarly, Ryan's track coach, Ms. Fletch, is named after Jen's daughter, a young woman who I personally feel represents everything wonderful about the new generation. The coach offers to help Ryan set up a Gay-Straight-Alliance, something the real-world Fletch helps maintain in her high school.
In THE TOUCH OF THE SEA, my story is about a young man returning to the fictional town of Fuca, British Columbia (roughly based on a place my husband and I went for our honeymoon) and facing the mystical connection he has with the ocean - a connection that took his mother and made his father move him inland. He's parentless (something I've been told I do a bit too much, and now try to be more conscious about) and I wanted to take a moment to shout out to a woman who was absolutely amazing when I needed to figure out a way to deal with university when things were at their worst with my family. So I named his former teacher (now the mayor of Fuca) after this wonderful woman. I also named one of his friends after my friend Laurie, because the character needed a friend willing to say "Dude, you're being an ass!" and it made me think of her.
In SWEAT, I got to return an honor with one of my stories. In RIDING THE RAILS, Jeffrey Ricker was kind enough to name two characters after myself and my husband, so I did the same in my hockey story (partly also because I believe Mr. Ricker has a bit of a crush on a particular hockey player, the name of which I've completely forgotten). I also tipped my hat to the wonderful Greg Herren with a tongue-in-cheek character name and nickname combo, mentioned my friend and former co-worker Scott as a hockey fan (he's one of the only friends I have who can make sports sound interesting) and also put in a coworker named Becky (after Becky Cochrane) who slugged a guy for being a sexist idiot (the fictional Becky, I mean, not the real one.)
None of those Easter Eggs need to be known for the story to work, but I like putting them in there. It's also a great way to avoid having to come up with names for characters - something I consistently struggle with.
And that's the end of "Short Story Month." Thanks for reading.
Recently, I've been working on (read: staring at while holding a red pen) a very large pile of paper which represents roughly five-eighths of my novel-in-progress, LIGHT.
Wait! But this is "Short Story Month" and I just started talking about a novel! I'm breaking my own rules, you say.
Bear with me.
LIGHT has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Those first five-eighths are now printed because I'm starting the (likely long) process of tearing them apart and fixing them up a bit when I can snatch a moment here and there at work, or on breaks, or other moments between other moments. The last three-eighths are a bit rougher, and I'm going to spend some more screen time with them before I print them and then bloody them up and retype again and...
It's daunting, is the point I'm making here. There's the C-plot I need to fix up (and in many cases write from scratch from my own short-cut notes in the file). I've got work to do on sections I need flush out where I didn't allow myself to go online for research. All manner of bits and pieces like that.
I can, however, see the light at the end of the tunnel. And that tunnel is measured in short stories.
(See? I got back to the topic at hand.)
Word counts terrify me. When I write short fiction, I try to just write the story, and then look at the numbers after I feel the story's first draft is a go. This has led to some rough moments: "Heart" lost a cat, for example; I had to give up on an idea for a micro-short because I just couldn't get it down to 1,200 words; the original idea I had for a story for RAISING HELL is now an outline for a Triad novel. When I started writing LIGHT, I started to worry in the opposite direction. I didn't think it would be long enough, and indeed, the very bare-bones version clocked in around 60,000 words. I believe 80,000 is a more comfortable number for a "light read" novel. I gaped at my computer, astounded. 20,000 words? That couldn't be possible. I mean, fine, there was quite a bit of backlog stuff I had to fix, but... I was so dejected.
Then I realized that most of my short stories, which I generally write a rough draft in one or two sittings, generally clocked in somewhere around 5,000 words.
So that'd be the equivalent of four short stories worth of output I was getting upset over.
Huh.
Suddenly that's not so scary. Yeah, it's not the same thing. It's not like I can just ram four short stories onto the end of a novel or something like that. But a solid brainstorming session allowed me to realize that my character was having a pretty linear time of things, and that a loop or two would be more interesting, as would expanding on something I'd been pondering from the get-go as a way to include more of his support network in the story. Better, both those things would make his character stronger and the story - I hope - more entertaining. Because who wouldn't want to try to juggle saving the world, starting a new romance, and dodging a mad-man while your best friend decides she wants to date your brother?
So I'm trying to remind myself that end-to-end, the four stories I've written with the Triad characters top out over 28,000 words. That those guys seem to want to be a novel, too, is also encouraging.
Not bad for a short story writer.
But definitely time for another pot of tea.
When I was in New Orleans for Saints and Sinners, I bumped into Chelsea Station, via Jameson Currier. Chelsea Station is a new magazine (two issues thus far) which of gay writing. It's not limited to fiction, or even prose - it features poetry, memoirs, essays, reviews... You name it, so long as it in some way relates to gay literature or gay men. Having perused only about a quarter of my copy so far, I can definitely speak to the quality thereof.
This is the second gay magazine featuring short fiction (among other things) that I have really enjoyed. The first being Icarus Magazine, which devotes itself to gay speculative fiction. I'm sure that between these two magazines alone I could set myself up for short fiction (and reviews, poetry, art, etc) for most of my pleasure reading time (especially short-break times, like a dip in the tub or waiting rooms). I've encountered new authors in Icarus that I've since collected in book form - and though I do not believe that the only function of a short story is to tease you into buying the novels written by the same author, I do think that's an added bonus to enjoying the short fiction form.
When I was young, I had my various science fiction magazines, and occasionally some mystery ones, too. I like that now that I'm a grown - and gay - man, there are options that speak more to me. If you'd not heard of these two, I hope I've piqued your interest.
Saints and Sinners is over for another year, and as always, I loved it.
The first year there was a Saints and Sinners Short Fiction Contest, I sent in a short story called "Last Call." It was an urban paranormal story with a magic-wielding detective trying to figure out who was trying to kill an incubus - the trouble being, of course, that everyone who'd ever met the incubus would pretty much have a reason to do so. It was well received, but didn't win or place in the anthology, and I didn't mind a bit. The money for the entry fee went to Saints and Sinners itself (a worthy cause) and I got a chance to polish up the story.
"Last Call" eventually found a home, and will be appearing in MORTIS OPERANDI in the future. I got my contract just this week.
The second year, I sent a more contemporary story instead. "Hometown Boy" was about a young man returning to his hometown after becoming a success, and trying to make sure the past held no sway over him. It was a labour of love, that story, and an ode to my high school friend Rachel, who died of brain cancer and with whom I shared a very strong "we survived high school" bond. It was a finalist in the contest, and was placed in that year's anthology. I'm man enough to admit it made me cry that it saw print for such a great cause, and in the name of such a wonderful woman.
This year, I didn't send in a story. I just didn't quite pull together my idea fast enough, though I got one the day after the deadline, which I've noted and will definitely submit for next year's contest.
The winner of this year's short fiction contest was "Wasted Courage" by Jerry Rabushka. Set in New Orleans, it's a the bittersweet tale of a colliding of two men. I don't even want to tell your their names, as there's a wonderful scene where even names are a revelation. The language is beautiful - and so perfectly New Orleans - as is the weight that presses on the chest of the reader.
I haven't finished the rest of the stories in the anthology yet, but I got to listen to the finalists read from their stories when I was at the festival, and each and every story whet my appetite for the rest of the tale. No doubt the whole anthology is solid, as it has been every year. Big thanks to Queermojo for printing these anthologies, and to Saints and Sinners itself for having the contest and doing that one more thing for the authors that love it so much.
(You can get the anthology here.
Leaping through the stories two-by-two in SWEAT has brought me to the finish with this entry. Grab a towel so you'll be ready to mop your brow once the last two tales are done.
Joseph Baneth Allen's "Goran's Run" is a wonderful story with a sweetness to it I wasn't expecting. A young man's life changes when he catches a home run ball and gets to meet the batter who sent it careening into his hands, Goran. But years later, when that young man - now a prominent reporter and author in the sports industry - tries to find Goran, he hits dead end after dead end. Unraveling the mystery and moving forward entwine, and the result was a lovely and gentle touch.
"Changing Lanes" by Max Reynolds focuses on one of my favourite themes: that of a second chance. When a stupid stunt and the enfolding accident robs an athlete of his basketball hopes, his "back-up" plan of swimming (alongside physiotherapy) falls into place. Unfortunately, one of the other swimmers, Ramirez, provides a burning distraction that no amount of cool pool water seems to sate, and soon we're wondering if the narrator is about to make another mess of his life, or if there's some hope for him - and Ramirez. This was a great way to end, on a story that was as much a beginning as a complete tale.
And that's it for SWEAT (minus my own two tales, of course). Three anthologies in one month - I hope you've enjoyed my trek through them, tale by tale. I'm not entirely sure what I'll come up with in the last few days of May for "Short Story Month" (I'm happy to have suggestions).
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
A little like yesterday, the next two stories reminded me of another often shared experience of gay men - the awkward "is-he-or-isn't-he" stage of longing for someone. Is the object of your crush gay? Are you completely wasting your time? Is that wink for you? That smile? That glance?
Damn there should be an instruction manual.
"The Ravishing of Sol Stein" runs from this place - specifically a gym - and relays the experience of "should I or shouldn't I?" with realistic vim. Sol Stein is a fellow who sweats - always sweats - and our narrator is enamored from step one. I loved the slow boil of this story, and the way it boiled over - and it left a real grin in place.
Similarly, Mark Wildyr's "The Rice Man Cometh" has at its core the miscommunication that can so often occur - did he mean what he did, or was that an accident? Why is he suddenly cold - did I overstep? Again, the slow boil here has a payoff, and as a duet, the stories really struck the nerve of how awkward it can be in the world of athletes, where being yourself - if yourself is gay - isn't likely to be easy or obvious.
But in both cases - as in real life - it's worth it.
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
One of the things that I think most gay men share is the memory of that adult in their life upon whom they had their first crush. The father of a friend, the teacher - someone who snuck into their fantasies and was in a very real way forever associated with that sense of "I'm different" that comes with the dawning self-awareness of being gay. That line is crossed with this realization. I remember a friend's father being one of the first men to really talk to me like I wasn't a complete disappointment and alien version of what a boy should be. He was handsome, bearded, and very smart - he didn't see my head-down always reading, always drawing, always writing ways as something exasperating. He also liked to mow the lawn shirtless, and that was a very good thing. He shared books with me (books his daughters didn't want to read) and later in life my friend mentioned that her father had been saddened that she'd never dated me - though when she explained why, he'd asked if I'd found a boyfriend, and was very pleased that I had.
Take that wonderful relationship and add erotica to the mix, and you end up somewhere around Logan Zachary's "Put It In Me, Coach." Here, the narrator - who has had rather a crush on his friend's father for ages - reconnects with the man after the death of the son and friend. Their relationship trembles on the edge of a shared sit in a hot sauna, and Zachary moves the tension along with sweaty, steam-filled moments. Lines are crossed, and the result is hot.
A different line features in Jeffrey Ricker's "Finish Line." Filled with a realism that many of us see all too easily in the mirror, we find Elliott realizing that he's approaching the "middle age" point and none-too-happy about the physical slide he seems to be undertaking. Joining a gym and impulsively choosing to run a marathon, he meets his trainer Jeremy, and the two begin to train together with this goal in mind. Soon, though, Elliott starts to wonder if the relationship is entirely professional, or if there may be a mutual interest afoot. Events, of course, inspire to throw the occasional wrench in the plans, but "Finish Line" has a lovely romance to it (as well as some fun sweaty moments tucked between) that definitely keeps you running for the final ribbon.
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
So here's the thing about hockey. One of the two stories I wrote in this anthology is about hockey. I thought that as a Canadian residing type fellow, I should probably represent hockey when it came time to spin a tale for SWEAT. Turns out hockey players are well and truly ready to represent - Jeff Mann's earlier tale, as I said, featured one of these ice type gladiators, and the next story up is Jay Starre's "Hockey Stars on Top."
"Hockey Stars on Top" has a playfulness to it - three very athletic (and very horny) young men play around with their positions and betting on outcomes of games. There's even a Quebecois entrant in their fun, and my Canadian identity gave Starre a mental fist-bump the first time la belle province was mentioned.
From hockey we move back into wrestling (another favourite in the anthology), and we get one of the stories I liked the most in the happiness department. "Johnny Laredo" by Aaron Travis has a gentle touch (though the sex, of course, scorches). There's a "falling in love" tone to this tale, and a fun and amusing meet-cute for the couple in question. Hoping for a signed photo, Tom sends a note to Johnny Loredo from his fictitious son - and Johnny Loredo's manager decides to make a PR moment out of it by delivering a reply in person. It was a fun set-up, and the journey made me smile.
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
There's nothing quite like a vacation followed by two days of meetings. It's a little like whiplash, or shifting mental gears without popping the clutch, or another car related metaphor that someone who actually drove a car would know.
That's why this entry is a bit later than most. On my tour through SWEAT, I was often surprised at where the authors went with the theme - the next story being a case in point: "The Bull Rider" by Jay Dickingson. I've been to the Calgary Stampede twice in my life (when I was younger, and not aware of just how cruel to the animals much of it was), and so when the jock of this story was such a bull rider, I had more than a few mental pictures from my youth of the hyper-masculine Albertan cowboys to pull from. Oh, cowboys.
Dickingson's story is probably the tale that had the meanest punch of the anthology for me. That isn't to say it isn't sweaty and hot in all the right ways, it's more to say that the element of religious intolerance and angry self-loathing (projected onto others) was at times painful in a way that rang true.
"Phenom" by Todd Gregory follows, and I can honestly say - and my friends can back me up here - that this is the first time I have ever found baseball interesting. Ever. Where "The Bull Rider" had a dark cruelty, "Phenom" has a lightness to it alongside the passion. When a long-time fan of a baseball star sees that the man at the local bar might just be the athlete in question, courage is plucked, and a good time looms. I loved the conversation that sparked their evening together, and the final sentiment is sweet.
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
The next two tales in SWEAT are a reminder of just how different two authors can approach the same theme - and also a reminder of how that's a good thing.
I have a love of all things urban fantasy. It spins back to my earliest reading experiences with Roald Dahl, Tolkein's THE HOBBIT, and then Christopher Pike, and Charles De Lint. I love our world with a trace (or dollup) of magic. I hadn't expected to find something with this tone in SWEAT, but was very pleasantly surprised to find it.
"The Wolverines" by Nathan Sims tells the story of two men - a journalist and a warrior against the forces of evil - who are enjoying a high school football game where the players have completely changed from being losers to slamming through the competition. The journalist things they might be juicing, but the warrior soon realizes that something darker might be responsible. Sexy is mixed in liberally in this paranormal story, which has a lovely twist of mystery as well.
Next up is "Rematch" by Jonathan Asche. Two years after high school, a man passes by the first boy he ever messed around with, Kieth. Both played basketball, and when Kieth suggests a pickup game, they play - and while the memory of their flings replays, the game heats up. In as much as I was a little on the edge of my seat wondering where this would go, I really appreciated the realism involved.
Magic and memory - the two tales are nothing alike, but both are hot.
(Reminder: I've currently got a Goodreads giveaway for two copies of SWEAT. You can click here to enter the giveaway, the winners of which will be drawn at the end of the month.)
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