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Friday Snippet: Victor

Continuing from last week’s post.  First draft, subject to the cutting floor and massive revisions, etc.

Mal waited until the other woman left the room as asked, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.  “Did you see the look on her face when you said you prefer the crop?”

Victor took a moment to respond.  Indeed he had seen the flare of darkness in Shiloh’s eyes, the softening of her luscious mouth, and the pink flash of her tongue across those tempting lips.  She hadn’t been repulsed by his admission, not at all.  When he’d regained control of his voice, he answered, “Yes.”

“And did you notice her likeness in the–”

“Of course I did,” he snapped, jerking his legs down off the table so he could pace.

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s complicated.”

“She wasn’t on my staff for Internet Secrets, so it’s highly unlikely that she’s your spy. Her entire body screams submission when she looks at you, she’s perky, creative, and well liked by everyone on her team.  Her instincts are dead on and she’s developed an incredible show that’s perfect for you and VCONN.  If you snapped your fingers and ordered her to heel, she’d be at your feet in a heartbeat.”

He made himself halt in front of the window and jerked the blinds open.  Blindly, he stared out at downtown Dallas, blinking his eyes against the light.  “That’s not what I want.”

“I’m worried about you.”  Mal joined him at the window but he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in her gaze, so he pretended extreme interest in the skyline.  “You haven’t been serious about anyone in years.”

Since Kimberly, echoed in the silence.  Despite his friend’s care not to mention his ex-fiancée’s name, he still winced.  “I’ve dated.”

“You’ve taken women to charity events,” Mal said in a flat, careful voice.  “You may have even taken them to your bed.  But you haven’t taken a woman who knows your true needs and makes damned sure you’re satisfied.”

He couldn’t help the twitch of his mouth into a grim, sad smile that matched the emotions he kept buried in his heart.  “No one can satisfy me.”

With a growl, she thumped him on the back.  “Don’t give me that crap.  You and I share many of those darker urges and you know I’m more than happy with Andy.  He needs me as much as I need him.  He likes me mean and nasty with a flail in my hands.”

“Kimberly knew what kind of man I am.”  Each word sliced Victor’s throat like razorblades.  “We met at Silken.  She still couldn’t deal with the truth.”

“She liked you well enough to accept your engagement ring and enjoy your money for months.”  Mal didn’t bother keeping the disdain out of her voice.  “She used you.  She wanted a top who would tie her up and dedicate hours to her enjoyment, without demanding anything from her in return.  She acted like it was a privilege for you to devote hours to her pleasure.  She never took care of you.  She never loved you.”

“That’s unfair.  I know she loved me.”  Victor closed his eyes.  Kimberly’s delicate face blazed in his mind, an image from the night she’d left him.  Tears streaked her face, her eyes wide, white, rolling with terror while she babbled her safeword over and over, a litany to save her from the nightmare.  She’d sobbed in his arms for an hour before leaving for good, and he’d never forget her parting accusation.  You hurt me.  “She couldn’t handle heavy edge play.”

And I’m always on the edge.  He shook his head ruefully.  The sad fact was that the longer he denied himself, the sharper and more vicious that edge became.

“She couldn’t have loved you, not the way you deserve,” Mal insisted.  “Not if she couldn’t handle your kink.  You’re punishing yourself, V, and I hate it.  I hate seeing you close yourself behind prison bars just because one sub couldn’t deal with the full Master.”

“It’s not just one and you know it.  I’ve trained dozens of bottoms over the years, introduced them to the scene, and time after time, they leave me and move on to another top.  Someone safer.  And I can’t say that I blame them.”

He finally met his friend’s gaze and let all the disappointments and failures of his thirty-six years weigh in his gaze.  “I’m tired, Mal.  I’m tired of breaking in the young ones while knowing full well that they’ll never be able to handle my kind of needs.  I’m too old for this shit.”

“You’re burned out.”

“No.  Far from it.”  Victor smiled and even the strongest, proudest Mistress in Dallas flinched and dropped her gaze.  It took constant control to keep that vicious clawing need buried deeply enough for him to function like a normal human being.  “I’m a sadist in the truest sense of the word.   Why do you think I didn’t make a play for Shiloh months ago?  My brief meet-and-greet interview with her after she was hired almost set my desk on fire.  It’s been pure hell to know she’s been under my power here at VCONN this entire time, close, available, as attracted to me as I am to her, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.  All it takes is one phone call to the police, one trip to the hospital, and I won’t have to worry about this season’s ratings.  I’ll be in prison.”

“I know the risks all too well, but that’s why it’s important not to shut yourself off from the people who understand.  You quit going to Silken—”

“For good reason,” Victor said dryly.  “My ex-fiancée married the owner.”

“Which is why I started hosting my own parties, but you always refuse to come.  You can’t just turn off being a Master no matter how much you want to.  Why else do you think Shiloh picked up on your vibe?  You can’t help broadcasting your power, and she’s not afraid of you.”

“Yet.”  He destroyed the small hope that threatened to sprout.  “The green ones always start out interested, but a little bondage and spanking are typically all they want.  Anything heavier sends them running for the hills.  I can’t do the light stuff any more and pretend that’s enough.  I just can’t.  I need…”

He jerked his ponytail tight enough his eyes watered.  He relished the small pain.  It sharpened him, woke him up, made him feel alive and in control.  He needed pain, and if he couldn’t give it to somebody else, then he’d at least give it to himself.

“In her storyboards, did that whip in your hand look like a toy?  What about those stripes on her back?  She knows, V.  She’s offering you a blatant invitation to try her out under the guise of this show.  This is your chance to approach her in a safe, controlled environment.”

“If she freaks out, the show is ruined and the season goes down the shitter.”

“We can do nothing and the season still goes down the shitter.  Or,” Mal drawled out, “Master V and his new sub melt everyone’s socks off and the show is the biggest hit in Dallas history.”

He took a deep breath and let the big picture form in his mind.  He’d always had the ability to scan the field of play in an instant, evaluate the defense, and guess which receiver was most likely going to break free for the big play.  His competitive senses vibrated with excitement.  Win it all and go home with the trophy, or lose and cry in the mud, at least he’d never been afraid to play the game.

He’d been The Victor, the leader who took his team to victory, no matter the cost.

This was the biggest game he’d ever played in his life.  This game was for his heart, and he always played to win.

“Well then.  I guess we have ourselves a new show.”

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Storybuilding: Project Management

By day, I’m a computer programmer (although technically I don’t actually “code” much any more — I do the analysis, write up the design, and hand it off to other people to code) and project management is a key tool we use on every single project.

Now when I said rather glibly yesterday that I needed to work on project management for writing, I was thinking more along the lines of managing multiple projects at the same time.  How to keep one project “in the zone” and still successfully plan or revise another at the same time.  But true Project Management from a business or programming standpoint concentrates more on a single project.  How to get THAT project done, the resources needed, and the timeline to complete it.

Great stuff we can use for Storybuilding!

Since I am trying to storybuild the next major project even while writing Victor’s story, I sat down last night and made some PM notes for the new idea.  Here are a few generic notes I generated that I think any solid storybuilding project should tackle.

Scope and Deliverables

When I sit down at work with the business area, one of the first things we define is the scope of the project.  What *is* included?  What is *not* included?  Why are we tackling this project?  What will the business area gain by doing it now, versus waiting until next year?  Some specific questions to ask yourself:

  • What genre constrictions will this project be bound by? 
  • What specific genre elements will I include or concentrate on?
  • What genre elements — particularly in cross genre stories which I adore — am I going to avoid?
  • Is this one book, or a series?
  • If it’s a series, what is the over-arcing story that ties everything together?
  • For a series, what common elements will be used to keep each book cohesive and united to the rest?
  • What length of story am I considering?
  • What market would be ideal for this story?
  • To the best of my knowledge, are the market conditions favorable for this story?  Is this the right time to pursue this project?
  • Should I target agents or is there a particular publisher I want to pursue?

The next things we iron out in PM are the Deliverables.  Obviously the final products I want are the story, synopsis, query, and submission plan.  But I’m going to focus more on the deliverables of the Storybuilding stage.  In order to position myself to successfully finish this story in a timely manner, what do I need to define?  This is a list of things I’m going to consider:

  • Define the story universe and the key elements of genre that bound it.
  • List all story lines and subplots currently known.  Continue expanding throughout the storybuilding stage.  Aside: in business PM, this can be risky and can lead to “scope creep” where too much ends up getting added to the project, compromising the delivery of the product.  So watch out!  Make sure the storylines always tie back to the Universal theme.
  • Outline the storyarc.  For a series, outline the over-arcing arc.
  • Define each culture, core beliefs, strengths and weaknesses.  Unite each culture to the series theme.
  • Define any underlying mythology.
  • Research any science or historical elements required for the story.

My next project is a Story Universe, not a story world.  I’m tying together several different story ideas I’ve had over the years and uniting them by one common theme and unique twist that they were lacking before.  I have folders and notebooks for several ideas already, so the real work this week has been weeding through those notes and making lists of what will stay, and what needs to change in order to fit into the Universe.  Since I do have quite a list of stories that fit inside the same universe, I have to

  • Prioritize.  Which one is the most likely to “sell” the Universe the best?
  • Focus.  I have a wide variety of tastes and interests.  Not all of them will fit into this Universe.  Some ideas, no matter how cool, must be cut and saved for another day.
  • Streamline.  In my mind, each story was separate until this week.  Now they’re united into the same Universe.  e.g. Antagonists can be combined and morphed into something new and more complex.  Sub-characters can cross stories and tie everything tighter.

Requirements

A key area at work where we spend the bulk of our Project Management is defining Requirements.  Now that we know what’s in scope for the project and what the individual outcomes will be, HOW do we get there.  In writing, I see this as the Storybuilding that I already do.  This includes plotting, character development, etc.  

Summary

In the end, this process’s goal is to enable me to estimate and determine a deadline.  At work, if the user area wants a project by year end, the final estimate is a hundred hours, and we have the resource(s) available,  then great!  Let’s go.  However, if the estimate is a thousand hours, then either we need to push the project off until next year, or we need more resources. 

Obviously with writing, it’s just me.  I can’t throw more bodies at my own project in order to complete it by a deadline.

For the new Story Universe, it’s massive, and so freaking cool I can’t wait to dig in.  However, I need to be realistic and smart about how I proceed.  Maybe defining the scope, deliverables, and requirements will help me get it submitted as soon as possible!

After Victor is finished with me, of course.

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Project Management

I always have multiple projects in the hopper at the Evil Day Job — so why can’t I figure out how to manage two or more writing projects?  If I could  worldbuild and plot one project while drafting or revising another, then I could turnaround projects much more quickly — instead of losing Aug. and Sept to plotting out Victor’s story, for example.

What I fear is losing “the zone.”  It was so hard to get Victor’s story into the 1-2K a day rhythm that’s comfortable for me when a project is in full swing.  I certainly don’t want to do anything to mess that up.  Ideally, I’ll finish Victor’s story by the end of Nov. thanks to NaNoWriMo, edit in Dec. and possibly submit in Jan.  But if I don’t get moving on the next project, I’m going to have a lull in Jan., Feb. and March as I work out the next plot.

Of course somewhere in this mess I’d like to complete revisions to Return to Shanhasson and get it submitted too.

TIME.  I just don’t have enough to finish everything I want.  This next project is relatively time sensitive too.  If I dink around too long plotting everything out, I don’t think the idea will be quite as fresh and cool as I think it is right now.

So I guess I’m going to try and apply business techniques to help me figure out a decent balance across multiple projects.  Through October, I’ll be shooting for at least 1K a day for Victor and at least 1 hour work on the new story universe.  I’ll just have to keep myself from getting too focused on any one thing and losing momentum.  I refuse to risk my ability to get Victor’s story done as soon as possible.

Besides, I really don’t want him to use that wicked crop on ME!

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Writing Maturity

As I think I’ve mentioned before, I made the first notes for Victor’s story in the fall of 2007.  I even had about 10K written for possible scenes and took the time to outline the general idea of the show.  Now, two years later, it’s so much easier for me to see how much I’ve grown as a writer since then.

I remember reading a review once (not on my own stories) where the reader could tell immediately the book was the author’s debut.  I always wondered exactly what that meant.  The book had been reviewed favorably, so that wasn’t a bad thing.  I read the book myself and didn’t pick up on anything–but I was a young writer myself at the time.

It’s much easier to understand what that reviewer meant now when I’m going over my old notes and I realize how simple my characters were.  The basic premise of the plot–a BDSM reality show with some unknown leak who might ruin the season–is the same.  While the characters’ names remain, their motivations, personalities, and emotions are much deeper and real.  I had no clue about Victor.  No clue at all.  I had him doing these delightfully vicious things with no idea why.  He had no internal turmoil.  Shiloh was a basic stereotypical submissive all the time.  There were no nuances to her personality.  The bad guy (who I’m changing to be someone else, now) was also basic, stereotypical silliness.

Now I know that if I’d sat down two years ago and wrote out the book for real, that it would have been better than these bare bones.  I would have dug deeper.  But I find it interesting that my first “try” at writing notes was so basic.  I was writing what could have been a risky, edgy book with vanilla characters.

Let me tell you, Victor sure isn’t vanilla.

One last point that I realized after reading another debut book a few weeks ago.  For the most part, I enjoyed it.  The worldbuilding was great.  The plot was one I’ve always been tempted to write myself (and yeah, I have a few stunted starts around that basic premise somewhere in the depths of my files).  The writing was good.  But in the end, the book left me yearning for something…more.  Really, it came down to a single decision for the protagonist:  would she stay with the hero or not.  She wavered between angst and more angst for chapters.  Duty, responsibility, duty, we’re too different, I can’t have him even though I want him.  And then, in the final pages, she makes a choice — with another character’s help — and races back to her lover’s arms.

[And yes, I know I’m guilty of this myself.  Shannari does pretty much the same duty vs. love angsting in The Rose of Shanhasson, my first book ever.  See my point?]

Great.  HEA, right?  But I couldn’t help but wish those 100-200 pages of passive angst and moaning woe is me had been tossed out.  The story I would have liked to read would be:    I want this man, and I’m  keeping him.  Even if I have to wage war to do so.

Which I’m pretty sure will be the basis for my next new project.  *winks*

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A Victor Snippet

I’ll try to get back into the habit of posting Friday Snippets.  Since it’s Victor all October, November, and December (if needed) until this book is done, you’re stuck with him.  You might get something else briefly, but only if I get an alien vampire bunny idea by the end of the month, and not all snippets will be as long as this one.  Eventually, I’ll get far enough into the book that you’ll only get a few paragraphs at a time so I don’t give away the farm.

This section follows the one I posted a few days ago and is the first planned section in Shiloh’s POV (although I may or may not end up with blog entries eventually).  What I absolutely love about this section is how Shiloh plays Victor, leading him exactly where she wants him to go.  She might be submissive in the bedroom, but she’s a determined little fireball!

“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Connagher.”  Nerves made Shiloh talk faster than usual.  “I’ve been working on this idea for months.”

For you.

Standing at the head of the conference table–just inches from Victor Connagher himself–she found herself practically babbling.  From a distance, he commanded an aura of impressive power.  Up close and personal, she felt his presence like an thunderstorm tearing the sky with constant lightning.

With his sleek suit and ostentatious cowboy boots, he played the part of the wealthy Texan CEO impeccably.  Yet no matter how hard he tried to appear civilized and suave, there was something barbarous hidden behind his corporate shields.  His hair, for one, was highly rebellious, falling in a glossy black tail down his back.  He kept it pulled back tightly, accentuating the harsh planes of his face, but her fingers itched to tug that hair loose and muss it up.

She wanted to muss him up.

Her instincts insisted that the expensive suit and business-like demeanor were merely a front.  Beneath his calm, controlled façade hid the star quarterback she knew he’d been years ago before an injury forced him to quit.  That man liked to be sweaty, dirty, and just a bit bloody as he battled toward the endzone.

Now if he only likes his sex the same way.

As their sexy lineup implied, everyone at VCONN was open in their sexuality.  Everyone except the CEO.  His incredible charisma and sex appeal screamed make-me-whimper Dominant, but she couldn’t be sure.  It wasn’t like she could simply walk up before her boss’s desk, strip off her clothes, and–

Shuddering, she pushed that favorite night-time fantasy into the back corner of her mind and concentrated on her pitch.  “VCONN has already established a reputation for envelope-pushing programming about sexuality, while managing to portray alternative sexual practices in a positive and healthy light.  It’s a fine line between edgy sex and porn, but VCONN has succeeded.”  Deliberately, she paused and met his hooded gaze.  “For the most part.”

His left eyebrow shot up but otherwise he remained implacable.

She’d used the past months to study Victor Connagher with the single-minded dedication of the most besotted submissive.  It only took one glance at the trophy case in the lobby displaying all his awards and championships to realize that he hated to lose.  She needed to bait him into accepting her challenge—without squashing her like a bug.

“One area where VCONN could stand to improve is education.  Obviously, no one wants to watch a sex ed class, but with some high-interest reality TV and titillating challenges to balance the educational information about BDSM, I think America’s Next Top sub could take VCONN to the next level.”

“Reality TV’s been done to death.”  He dusted invisible lint off his trousers in a careless slapping swipe of his palm that made every muscle in her body go on high alert.  He had big, powerful hands that would torture–or please–exquisitely.  With those magnificent hands, he could break her into little pieces like kindling and she’d go with a smile on her face.

“Not a BDSM reality show.  Nobody’s risked it.”

“It’s a hot idea.”  Ms. Kannes’ rich, exotic voice matched her coppery skin perfectly.  Shiloh hadn’t needed to see Malinda’s pictures all over the Dallas bondage club to recognize a formidable Mistress.  With her unusual amber eyes that pierced to the bone, she could make anyone, man or woman, scurry to do her will.  Anyone except Victor Connagher.  “My worry is getting contestants in quickly enough.  And what about the set?  We’re on an extremely tight timeframe.  To be frank, the only reason you’re getting a shot at this season at all is because we had a last-minute cancellation.”

“I’ve already worked through the contestant angle,” Shiloh added quickly.  “Part of my research and planning stage was to meet with the local BDSM club’s director.  We could easily make use of Silken’s facilities and their more experienced staff, as well as ours.”

Mr. Connagher’s eyebrow climbed even higher, at odds with the subtle rumble of intensity building in his voice.  “Do you mean we should ask VCONN employees to participate as contestants?”

“Reality show is a misnomer,” Shiloh replied calmly, even though every nerve in her body was humming.  She had his attention.  The hook was baited and he was nibbling.  She couldn’t haul him in too quickly or she’d lose him entirely.  “Even long-running reality shows control their settings and select their contestants very carefully.  We know our goal is positive education combined with the entertainment factor of a reality show, so we pick contestants we already know portray the right attitudes and knowledge about BDSM.  It’ll be much easier if we take volunteers from your staff.”

“You’re suggesting we stack the deck.”  Ms. Kannes was unable to hide the gleam of interest in her eyes, but Mr. Connagher was impossible to read.  His eyes were too dark, solemn and intent—the better to see her every weakness.  “I’m assuming you’ll have some sort of prize for the winning contestant.  How do we keep everyone happy when only one person wins?”

“It’s a BDSM show.”  Shiloh let a sultry smile curve her lips, but she didn’t look directly at him.  She didn’t trust herself not to plop down into his lap.  “If we set up the correct challenges, everyone will go home extremely happy regardless of who wins.”

He checked his watch, warning that his patience was almost gone.  “Either this is a reality show or it’s not.  There has to be a winner, and I won’t stand for cheating among my own employees.”

“It’s a dual competition.”  Shiloh fought not to blurt out her response in a desperation plea.  “We’ll have submissives competing to win the Dominants’ favor, but also a single Dominant could win the title of Master, if he selects the correct submissive to win it all.”

Ms. Kannes laughed. “By God, Victor, it’s brilliant.  I could compete as one of the Dominants, with my submissive as one of the contestants.  Patrick could compete too, and that would give us another two or three submissives, depending on who’s in his stable right now.  If we can get another couple from Silken, then we’d have an interesting mix of newbies and experienced players.  The experienced ones would be teaching the rest, as well as having a little friendly competition among us all.”

Frowning, Mr. Connagher shook his head.  “There’s not going to be much drama between you and Patrick–you’re too evenly matched and know each other too well.”

Shiloh let out her breath and took a step closer to him, waiting until his gaze swung to her.  “That’s why you should compete.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth flattened into a hard slant, and his shoulders squared, chest broad and muscular in a universal signal of male dominance that his suit couldn’t conceal.

Her heart froze a moment and then exploded into a rapid, thunderous pace that made her ears roar.  He didn’t refuse outright, though, which gave her the courage to continue.  “The show needs a Master with a capital M.  Someone who’ll really bring the competition to a peak.  Based on our demographics, it should be a male, and preferably, his submissive should be female.  It will be even more exciting if he’s unattached, so the unowned submissives all feel like they have a chance of winning his attention.  The ultimate prize, then, will be the Master’s collar, not money like the typical reality show.”

Evidently he didn’t like that idea at all.  Silence stretched out, painful and heavy, his midnight eyes locked on her.  Her mouth went dry and her heart hammered, but she stood her ground without blinking or flinching in the wake of his intensity.  She didn’t even dare breathe.

“You presume, then, that I’m not only a Dominant, but also a man who’d be interested in a giggling, immature submissive who’s incapable of any sort of serious play.”  He blew out his breath in a low snort and turned to the other woman.  “As though I’d give my collar to someone just because they thought they’d won a television show that we set up from the very beginning.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Shiloh squeezed her hands together so hard she felt her nails digging into her skin.  She fought to hide the fierce elation burning through her.  He might be dismissive, but she’d been right all along.  He did have a collar, he was a Dominant, and if she played this right, it’d be impossible for him to back out.  The competitor in him demanded excellence in all things, even a reality show.

Feigning indifference, she shrugged and turned away from the table.  “Then perhaps you can recommend another Master.”

Shuffling through her carefully researched boards, she moved the most important one to the front.  Her best friend and roommate—who just happened to be a graphic design artist—had helped with the artwork.  A masked man stood on a dais, dressed like an English riding master with a wicked-looking whip in his right hand.  Despite the costume, the man bore a marked resemblance to VCONN’s CEO.

Contestants knelt in an arc before him, all in submissive positions, head down, some stretched out prostrate before him.  Two others stood on the steps to the dais but lower than him, a man and woman, also in Victorian riding wear.  Despite their higher position than the contestants, they inclined their heads to the man above.

In bold letters across the top, the board read: One Master to rule them all.

“V,” Ms. Kannes breathed out, her eyes bright.  “You’re perfect!”

“I don’t want to do it.”  Yet he stared at the board, his right hand opening and closing into a fist, as though he ached to reach out and grab that whip.  “There’s no way in hell I’m unleashing that side of me on a bunch of–”

Shiloh pulled out the next storyboard and his voice fell off.  In this sketch, a woman knelt at the Master’s feet and leaned against his legs.  One hand was wrapped around his thigh, the other fisted in his shirt as though she was trying to climb his body.  Her face was pressed against him with her hair pulled aside to bare her back.  Long red stripes marked her skin and the Master’s whip curled around her vulnerable body with the heading: One sub to please the Master — in any way he wishes.

He ground out, “It’s all wrong.”

Shiloh’s heart plummeted and her shoulders slumped with defeat.  She’d gambled everything on this show.  If he didn’t like it, then she’d totally misunderstood every single signal she’d picked up from him. She’d even had her friend stylize the winner after her, a deliberate message to him, if only he were paying attention.

She’d planned this stupid show down to the smallest detail, dreaming about winning it all.  Wrapping herself around him.  Learning to please him in every single possible way he’d ever dreamed.  Winning him.

Her eyes felt hot and dry, and her bottom lip trembled.  It was ridiculous to be heartbroken over a man who’d never touched her.  Never looked into her eyes and burned with need.  Never taken her on a long, hard ride to a sweetly painful submission they’d never forget.

“You came very close, Ms. Holmes.”

She whipped her head up.

Victor Connagher gave her a hard smile of teeth and dominance that wound her heart into knots and sent icy chills dripping down her spine.  “I can live with the English riding style.”  He kicked back in his chair and propped his limited edition Lucchese boots on the edge of the conference table.  “But this Master only uses a riding crop.”

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Story Magic

No matter how many stories I write, I’m always amazed and humbled when the Magic happens.

I know it’s there, somewhere, lurking beneath the muddy characterization and swampy plot, but it’s easy to forget.  Covered in stinky mud and slogging along, lost and confused, it’s hard to remember the wonder until I catch that magical gleam in the night.  Sometimes it’s just a tiny firefly, but still gorgeous as it bobs and flutters, gently illuminating the way.  Other times it’s an explosion so fierce I have to turn my head and shield my eyes, swearing those tears are because it’s bright, not because I’m so moved by the incredible beauty.

I was working through the kinks (har har) in Victor’s story, sweating about my lack of wordage this month and beginning to worry whether I was going to be able to pull this story off at all, when it happened.  Something shifted just a little and everything clicked into place.  The scene I’d been struggling with suddenly made perfect sense and tied back perfectly to his backstory I already knew.

It was beautiful and gave me exactly what I needed.

And yeah, I might have shed a happy tear or two.

Win it all and go home with the trophy, or lose and cry in the mud, at least he’d never been afraid to play the game.

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A Victor Snippet

To be honest, I think some of my difficulties with Victor’s story lie in my uncertainty about he’ll be perceived.  He’s not an easy, likeable man to write.  One of the first clues:  I didn’t know what kind of clothes he wore, but I knew from the very beginning that he prefers a riding crop.  *wince*  So I’m going to have to work hard to make sure he comes across as wickedly sexy and not cruel.

In many ways, I know him much better than I know Shiloh.  I know what his hang-ups are.  I know his deep dark fears and they’re very real and play a huge part in the story.  I’m beginning to fall into the rhythm of his story — and it is his story — so I think it’s time to crack open the door and let you have a sneak peek.

This snippet is from Chapter One as of today but may be revised or even end up on the cutting floor before I’m finished.  First draft only, you know the deal.  I’m playing around with the title, too.  I was going to call this story Gifted, but that’s not feeling right.  I think a play on the saying “to the victor belong the spoils” might be fun.  Belong to The Victor, maybe?  Oh, hell if I know.  We went through probably 50 titles or more for Dear Sir, I’m Yours, before we got it right.  Anyway, this snippet gives you a clue to why I first called this story “ANTs.”

Without further ado, Victor.

“We have a spy.”  Victor Connagher, CEO of Dallas cable channel VCONN, paused the show playing on the large flat-screen television hung on the wall behind him.

Secret Fantasies blazed in neon across the screen with the tagline “On the internet, any secret fantasy can be a dream come true.”

“It’s certainly no coincidence that KDSX is running a spot announcing a new show remarkably like our new fall lineup, down to the same idea of secret identities and baring all secrets online.  What’s the name of our show still in production?”

“Internet Secrets,” Malinda Kannes bit off each word.  As the show’s producer, she was taking the leak the hardest.  “I’m sorry, Victor.  We’ve kept the show very quiet, even inside VCONN.  It had to be someone on my production staff or the show itself.”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, projecting a calm and controlled attitude.  Inside, though, he burned.  He’d built VCONN up from a third-rate cable channel running Grandma’s Cooking and Bob the Garage Guy to a smoldering, risqué adult show that everyone in Dallas tittered about–and tuned in eagerly each night to be shocked, appalled, and yes, aroused.  Internet Secrets was supposed to be their premier fall show to conquer KDSX, their number one copycat competitor.

Evidently copycat wasn’t good enough for them any longer; they had to steal his shows outright.

“Internet Secrets is scrapped,” Victor announced.

Mal didn’t argue, although two red blotches blazed on her cheeks.  After years of friendship, he knew that she’d be working her boyfriend over hard tonight, much to his enjoyment.  There was a reason that VCONN aired such politically incorrect and sexy shows: Just about every single one of VCONN’s employees enjoyed a secret kink, starting with the CEO.

Victor leaned forward and pinned each of his employees with his gaze one by one.  Mal met his gaze evenly, but the others paled and dropped their gazes after just a few seconds of his intensity.  Out of guilt?  Or simple respect to the years of power he’d built here as CEO?  He couldn’t be sure.

“We need a new show,” he said softly.  “Only a handful of people will work on it.  That way it’ll be very easy for me to identify our spy.”  He couldn’t help but smile, then, even though he knew it betrayed the consummate businessman mask he wore.  He’d relish punishing their leak with his own hands.  “And we need this new show in production today.”

“What a coincidence,” Mal drawled, some of her ire at losing her pet project fading.  “I have someone waiting outside to pitch her latest idea.  I thought it was pretty hot myself.”

“Excellent.  The rest of you are dismissed.”

Unspoken, his distrust hung in the close, tight air of the conference room like a discordant note.  VCONN was a small but prosperous company, and he hated not being able to trust his own employees.  His gut protested that his management team was solid, but at this point, he couldn’t risk it.  He refused to throw away their fall season, even if he must hurt a few kind souls who were innocent.

However, his resolve weakened as soon as he saw the person who’d come to pitch the new show idea.

Shiloh Holmes shook Mal’s hand and with a bright smile, turned to him.  He felt the impact like a quarterback sack from his blind spot.  She was one of those people who managed to brighten up the room as soon as she entered.  Literally, it felt as though someone had yanked open the blinds and let the Texas sun come pouring into the darkened cavernous room.

Meeting his gaze head on with a saucy little grin that tightened his groin, Shiloh took his hand and it was all he could do not to squeeze his fingers incrementally until she cried out.  He had a feeling it wouldn’t be a whimper of pain, but a welcoming purr of desire.

He forced himself to release her and shot a dark gaze at Mal, who wore a particularly smug little Cheshire smile.  Why all these cat metaphors? He growled at himself, but he knew, oh, he knew.  From her very first interview at VCONN nearly a year ago, Shiloh had reminded him of a purring, tawny kitten winding around his ankles.  A kitten that simply begged him to pick her up by the scruff of her neck and carry her home.

Frustrated, he reached back and jerked the ponytail holding his shoulder-length hair tighter.  The CEO of the company could not come onto one of his employees without opening himself up for sexual harassment charges, let alone a boss with his particular proclivities.

Watching her set up her storyboards, he tried to pinpoint exactly what attracted him so strongly.  It was more than her honey-brown hair that curled and bounced about her face, her dark chocolate eyes, and her lush, curvy body.  She was attractive, yes, but he’d known or worked with many other beautiful women who’d never tempted him like Shiloh.

No, it was the way she managed to meet his gaze directly, even with her head tilted slightly in come-hither shyness–or a position of unconscious surrender.  Her bubbly personality was warm, open, and charming, yet she also managed to throw down an unspoken challenge at him.

Try to break me.  I can take whatever you give me.

Surrender and challenge at the same time–a dichotomy that compelled him to investigate.  Clenching his jaws, he breathed deeply, forcing that thought away.  She couldn’t possibly know about…

He read the title of her proposed show and caught himself tapping his fingers on his right thigh.  Maybe she did know after all.

America’s Next Top sub: Submit to the Master.

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The Slowest Chapter One

So it’s taken me half a month to write Chapter One in Victor’s story.

*hangs head in shame*

I have no excuse.  It’s just one of those stories that’s taking me awhile to develop.  There are so many threads to drop into place, so many things that need to be established, others that need to be hinted.  I can’t say it’s even finished, neither, because I was going to try and include blog entries throughout the story, just like Dear Sir was sprinkled with letters.  I don’t have my heart set on that detail so if it doesn’t work fine, but the blog thing ties to Shiloh’s static trait, so I think it’ll make sense…

If I can actually get her to write those blog entries in such a way that they’re useful for this story!

Victor, the bastard, wasn’t very cooperative.  I still don’t have a perfectly clear imagine of his wardrobe in my mind, although he did finally show me the boots he wears.  That’s his trademark and an important element that’ll come up later in the reveal.

It’s weird.  I thought this would be an “easy” story to write since I already knew the external plot — but the characters themselves are giving me fits.  I think what I need to do is put their theme song on a continuous loop for an hour and just let them scream out on paper until I finally feel that perfect connection with them.

Time is Running Out, guys.  I would really like to have the first three chapters well in hand by the end of this month and the plot well positioned to finish this book for NaNoWriMo next.

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Country Bonfire

I burned my boob at a bonfire tonight.

We had a long day planned with an hour and a half drive north to Granny’s for an early birthday, and then a bonfire at my Dad’s tonight.  We slept in, which was wonderful, and finally got everything loaded in the van around 11 am.  I ran into Wal-Mart to pick up stuff for smores while That Man ran over to Uncle J’s and Aunt BB’s apartment (conveniently located across the street from Wal-Mart) to walk their dogs.  Middle Monster went in with me because I was supposed to get her a reward of paper (long story).  Of course I forgot the paper, and she didn’t remind me until I already had our cart unloaded, and because she was nagging me about her paper, I forgot to get the ice for the cooler.

So I ran all the stuff out to the car, went back in for ice and paper.  (Trip #2 to Wal-Mart)

We finally got out on the freeway headed north when I said, “hey, did anyone get the bag of coffee on the table?”  Of course not.  So we decided to make a quick trip to Target so I could get a bag of Caribou.  I mean, we planned a nice dessert for Granny, which just wouldn’t be the same without coffee.  In pulling off the freeway, we were almost in a horrible car accident (it would have been at least a ten-car pileup), so we missed our exit and had to hit the next one.

FINALLY, we have coffee and we’re back on the freeway, now out of city traffic.  About that time, Littlest Monster, who was in the very back of the van, said, “Mom, I don’t feel very well.”

Uh oh.  I passed back the Target bag (sans coffee) and made the monsters switch positions.  We made it another few minutes down the road and Middle Monster yells, “MOM, SHE’S THROWING UP!”

So not even 5 miles north of Springfield, we pulled off the road and I dragged Littlest out of her booster seat.  About half of her breakfast hit the bag, while the rest went all down her shirt, seatbelt, and seat.  Of course I didn’t pack a spare set of clothes!  At least I did have napkins, but no wet wipes.  I cleaned her up as good as I could and stripped her shirt off.  She wore her jean jacket and we headed back down the road.  (She was fine the rest of the day — just carsick from riding in the back of the van.)

Of course she got cold, so we had to turn on the heater, which only served to heat up the puke smell.

After another 20-30 minutes of smelling puke, we pulled off the highway in Bolivar for trip #3 to Wal-Mart where I bought her a shirt, Febreeze, wipes, and trash bags.

Four hours after leaving the house, we finally pulled into Granny’s house for dessert and coffee.  We visited until almost 5 pm, when Uncle J called, wondering how to get to my Dad’s for the bonfire.  We loaded up the kids and rushed over so J & BB could follow us down the gravel roads to my Dad’s, where he had three horses saddled.  The monsters rode about an hour, and then we started the bonfire.

It only took diesel fuel and three cups of gasoline to get the wood lit (we had 4-6 inches of rain Thursday).  Breezy as the sun set, the blazing fire was more than welcome….until something HOT hit my throat and rolled down my neck to lodge in my BRA.  I was doing the jig, fishing around in my shirt, flashing everyone, and couldn’t get the burning thing out, so I raced inside the house and ripped my shirt off.  I have blisters down my neck and all over my boob where a piece of burning rock danced a jig down into my bra.

Other than the puke in the car, 3 trips to Wal-Mart, a trip to Target, and the burns on my boob, it was a wonderful day in the country!