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The Return

Kristbethke

I haven’t wanted to fully admit it but I’ve been in a writing slump the past couple of months.  Sure I said there was a block, and I admitted to having trouble.  But now I see that it was a real honest to goodness slump.  Yes, I’ve been writing the flash fics, often with help from other people who were presenting me with the prompts and the challenges and the inspiration.  But on the actual working on an MS front?  Nothing.  I got a few words in, twice I started something and got quite a few words, and then…it fizzled.  And I was trying to force it anyway but…

It was the post finished MS mourning period, and I didn’t give it enough time.  I tried to jump into something new too early.  And I wasn’t quite ready to let things go yet, I think.

But I’m writing again.  I’m excited about writing again.  And that feels awesome.   So the flash fics will keep coming, and the new story will keep being written.

Eventually, I need to figure out how to mourn faster.  But for now, the mourning period is done, and there are new boys striving for their HEA.  And that is good.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

Kristbethke

**My Ivan, he challenged me to double drabble.  So inspired by him, here’s 200 words.  Enjoy**

 

The house was silent, which fit his morose mood. It had been a bad day of epic proportions, proceeded by several bad weeks. Murphy’s Law was hard at work.   His luck had to change soon.  He had been trying so hard to do the right thing, the good thing, and everything he touched seemed to backfire. He pulled off his tie and threw it with vehemence across the room. With a heavy sigh, he sat on the couch. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbed hard.

The soft strains of music reached his ears.  It took Christopher a minute to realize something was playing. He sat up straighter, straining to hear. Gradually the volume rose, until he could make out the chords. Instantly, his eyes welled up and he closed them tightly to savor the lyrics. The tears leaked out, tracking down his cheeks. A soft touch on his face had him leaning in. He knew who it was, and he knew why his boyfriend had chosen this song. Christopher curled into John’s arms and let Art Garfunkel’s voice wash over him, knowing he was cared for and he didn’t have to face this alone.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

Kristbethke

**I was issued a drabble challenge. I picked up the gauntlet.  Enjoy.**

 

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins.  With careful movements, he took in his surroundings.  The warehouse was abandoned but he could hear movement.  That didn’t bode well.  A cautious step forward, weapon clutched tight in his hands.  The door was fifty feet in front of him.  He could get out if he didn’t attract attention.  He picked up his pace, gaze trained on the exit.  He wasn’t fast enough.  The creature attacked him from the side.  He swung his weapon, and nearly screamed when the deep voice said close to his ear, “Turn off the video game and come to bed.”

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The Fight

Kristbethke

I’m pretty lucky in that when I sit down to write, the words flow fairly smoothly.  It might only be for an hour or two, but when I’m writing, the words come out of my fingers with seemingly little direction from me.  Then I eventually hit a point where they stop flowing, and that’s where i call it quits for the night.  That’s not to say that it isn’t work, just that it’s pretty easy for me to get the words on the page.

Except when it isn’t.

It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, I don’t know how to handle it.  I’m working on my latest WIP and I’ve put roughly 300 words on the page in the last two day.  I’ve fought for every single one of them.  I’m not sure if the problem is with me or with the story, but my writing mojo is lagging right now.  And the thing that frustrates me the most is that I can see so clearly what is next, what I want to write, and yet, the words are just not flowing.

I’m failing in this assignment and it’s pissing me off.

But I’m not going to stop trying.  I have to wander off to the day job, but when that’s done, I’ll be back at this computer, pounding away at the keyboard, trying to make my guys come to life.  It’s just a rough patch.  And I can make it through.  I hope.

Anyone have any advice for breaking writers block?  My usual methods don’t seem to be working.

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A Needed Break

Kristbethke

Sometimes, unfortunately, life gets in the way of the words.  I try to write anyway, no matter what’s going on, but sometimes…well, sometimes it’s just not possible.

Last week, there was stuff going on in my life, some stressful stuff, and I couldn’t concentrate on much of anything else.  Thing were neglected.  And I let them be.  I had to, or else I would have a bit of a breakdown.  And no one wants that,   So I didn’t write anything, though I still did a bit of brain plotting in the quiet times.  I didn’t even write posts last week because I just…couldn’t.

And even though this week is shaping up to be more of the same, it’s at least a bit less stressful, and I can refocus.  I spent the weekend catching up and getting ahead on some of my responsibilities so I can focus my attention again on where I want it to be.  Eight hours a day are taken up by work, and they have to be, but the rest of the time, that’s mine.

I’m working on something new, and I’ve barely broken ground.  I already realize a bit that needs to be fixed.  And that’s good.  I can do this.  I got this.

I just had to remind myself that it’s okay, once in a while, to ignore the writing, and to focus on other things.  I’m adept at working on works in progress, and sometimes the WIP is me and not what I’m writing.  Last week was solely about me.  This week, I can get back to focusing on the bigger picture.  And I’m looking forward to it.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

Kristbethke

“I can’t go another day without a shower,” Isaac bit out, his voice hard and cold as he stared unblinkingly at his partner of thirteen years.

Dylan flinched and looked guilty, but his resolve was all over his face.  He shook his head and actually moved so that he was blocking the bathroom door.   Not that Isaac knew what was going on in there.  The door had been shut for a week, and work was only being done while Isaac was out of the house during the day.

There was a part of Isaac that thought it was sweet.  When he’d started complaining that the bathroom needed updating, Dylan had jumped at the chance to fix it up.  But Dylan had also decided it was going to be a surprise, and Isaac was never one for surprises.  And he was really, really tired of washing up in the kitchen sink.

Isaac eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his thin chest.  “I heard you in there last night.  You came out all wet and clean.  That means the shower is working.  I want to shower!”

Dylan actually held his hands out, warding Isaac off.  “One more day.  Please, baby, just one more day.  It’s just about done, let me finish.  Tomorrow, okay?”

Isaac opened his mouth to protest, to insist, but he saw the look in Dylan’s eyes and he faltered.  Dylan was so proud of himself, and he’d been working so hard.  Isaac could handle one more day, couldn’t he?

He scowled anyway.  “Fine.  One more day,” he agreed grumpily.  Then stalked off to the kitchen to wash up.

 

***

The blindfold was completely unnecessary, as far as Isaac was concerned.  Really, wouldn’t just opening the door be a big enough reveal?  But he played along, because in the end, he was finally getting to see the bathroom.  More importantly, he was finally going to get a shower.

He heard the door open, and then Dylan gently tugged his hand.  Everything smelled like new paint and a slightly of plastic.  He stood still, waiting impatiently.  With a flourish, Dylan pulled the blindfold from Isaac’s face.

Isaac blinked for a moment, his eyes adjusting.  The lighting was soft, though, only the bulbs above the new pedestal sink illuminating the room.  He swallowed hard as  his gaze tracked around the room.  The walls were now a light, soft gray, and the floor tiled to match.  The toilet and sink were both new, their positions slightly different and crammed in close to the small window–which had new coverings.  But when Isaac turned to look at the shower, his heart actually skipped a beat and he sucked in a fast breath.

It was a huge walk in deal, with a small bench along the back wall   There were mulitple shower heads–two that were removable and another that hung above so that it would rain down on him.  It was all chrome, and tile, and glass.  It was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time.  Probably because he wanted to be inside so badly.

The very best part was that it was big enough for two.

Isaac’s grin stretched his wide mouth as he reached out to grab Dylan by the shoulders.  He hauled the man close, kissed the ever living daylights out of him, and then pulled back to breathe.  Seeing Dylan all dazed and pleased made Isaac laugh.  He turned on the water, letting it warm up.  He started stripping off his clothes at record speed.  When he was naked, he went to work on Dylan’s.  Then he stepped inside, and with a hand around Dylan’s wrist, pulled the man in after him.

Dylan’s grin was huge.  “You like?”

“I love,” Isaac said reverently as the water pounded against his back.  He gave a decadent groan.  “And I love you.”

Dylan reached for the soap, slicked up the washcloth, and set to cleaning Isaac.  “Told you it would be worth it.”

Isaac could only agree.

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What Inspires Part Two

Kristbethke

A picture is worth a thousand words. Or so they say. For me, there was a pic that was worth about three thousand.

But this time it took some work.

The pic was chosen specifically. And then I stared at it. For a really long time. I had the barest snippet of a thought. I knew I had to use this pic. But for the longest time, I had no idea how I was going to turn it into a flash fic.

And then one of the characters started talking. Just one sentence. One line. In my head he said “Aren’t you tired of hiding?” And then I knew. I knew where the short story was going to go. I knew what would happen. And I started writing. It went a bit darker than I was thinking, but it ends with hope. And then it got a part two.

I love it when the muse takes over like that. When I’m not certain, exactly, what’s going to come out of my fingers. When I’m really able to just roll with what I see in my head and the scene takes shape before my eyes as words on the screen. When what I’m actually seeing translates to the page.

And next week, you can see what happens. On Friday, I’ll explain more.

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What Inspires

Kristbethke

I’ve talked about it a bit before but I want to do it again. The way my mind gets an idea, the way I get inspired, is something that continually surprises me.

The smallest thing can set me off. A phrase, an action, a picture. And then it’s like a scene is playing in my head. Sometimes I don’t even know much about the characters. Or the story as a whole. It’s just a scene. The story develops, or doesn’t, from there. A lot of them turn into flash fics. You may remember, back towards the beginning, the story of a man coming home to discover his roommate had decorated the whole house with mistletoe in the middle of July. Adam and Jamie were inspired by a pic of two guys kissing under the mistletoe. I saw that pic, and then my brain showed me a different scene. Of Adam coming home, the house decorated, and him being shocked because it was summer.

I always roll with what my brain shows me. Maybe it doesn’t amount to anything. Maybe it does. Sometimes it lingers, and sometimes it’s just a flash in the pan. But who am I to question what my brain sees? It’s given me some good stuff that provides both you and me with a few minutes entertainment.

Tune in Wednesday to hear about my latest inspiration.

Flash Fic Friday

Flash Fic Friday

Kristbethke

They unseasonably cool temperature meant that Kyle wasn’t even breaking a sweat as did yard work. He was very particular about the way things should be done, and he worked hard at keeping everything nice. It was also a chore he loved doing. Which worked out well, because it was the one thing I really loathed. I’d scrub the bathroom everyday if it meant I didn’t have to weed. There were bugs in the weeds.

I stood at the front window, peering out at him and watching the muscles play beneath his tight shirt as he worked. The good thing about the weather was that Kyle was comfortable as he worked outside. The bad thing was that he hadn’t lost his shirt, and that was my biweekly eye candy.

We had mutual friends, so when my building went condo and I’d either have to buy my place–which I couldn’t afford–or move out, they suggested I talk to Kyle. He owned a large house and was looking for a roommate to help defray some if the cost. We hit it off, I moved in, and we’d been getting along great for the last two years. It had worked out perfectly.

Except for the fact that is fallen in love with him.

Kyle was a solid, loyal, all around good guy. And a walking wet dream. But I never got the feeling that he wanted me too. So I kept my feelings to myself and tried to forget about him by hooking up with random guys and dating anyone who showed an interest. But even that was getting old. And in the last few months, I hadn’t done anything with anyone but my right hand.

Kyle finished his work, gathered his lawn care equipment, and headed around the side of the house to put it away in the shed. I faded from the window. By the time he entered the house, I was sitting at the table, a large glass of ice water ready for him. He grinned at me as he took a large swallow.

“I need a shower,” he said conversationally. He stretched his arms over his head to show off a tantalizing bit of skin at his stomach. “Wash off all this grime. Care to join me?”

I started and stared open-mouthed, sure I had heard him wrong.

His smile softened and his eyes filled with affection. “You’re done with all that running around. I know it. So it’s time for you to give us a chance.”

I should explain. I should tell him that he was the reason that I’d done those things. But I wasn’t stupid. We could have that conversation later. He was giving me the sign if been waiting for and I wasn’t about to pass the opportunity up. I stood, grinned, whipped off my shirt, and raced him to the bathroom. He chased me, laughing.

My heart was light. Finally.

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When The Idea Strikes

Kristbethke

So we all know I’m a combination plotter and pantser. I write what inspires me, I know the basic gist of the plot, I sort some stuff out, and then my characters take on a bit of a life of their own. So when an idea slams into my brain, I need to start writing it provided I can figure out the basics.

This idea came from a snippet of a scene my brother told me years and years ago. It’s always stayed with me. And last week, I remembered it out of the blue, replayed it in my mind…and then I saw what happened after.

So with his permission, I started writing it. And I got the first two chapters written with little problem. Okay, there was one problem. At about 4K I realized one of the character’s names needed to change and I had to stop for the night because I had no idea what his name was. And once I figured it out, I realized that the other guy’s name should change too. So I did that too. So now I’ve got my guys, their personalities, and the basic plot.

It wasn’t what I intended to work on next. I had this whole other idea and it was good and I was excited. But this? This just won’t leave me alone. So this is what I need to write right now.

And, at least for right now, I’m calling it Ghostwalker.