The Movie Inside My Head

Many writers talk about "seeing" a movie of their story in their head. I don't know if every writer is like this, but I'm one of the "movie inside my head" people. It's tempting to transcribe what I'm seeing, but that doesn't quite work. I can tell when other writers do it, especially new writers, because they get bogged down in the details. I tell new writers tat what they're aiming for is a Impressionist's painting of the scene, not a technical diagram. If someone gets to the point where they're mentioning which hand is doing what (His left hand rested on her shoulder as he swept her bangs from her eyes with his right hand.) then they're micromanaging their characters and need to back off.

But that's not exactly what I meant to talk about. Helen and I are in a quiet period with our project because we both have things to wrap up first. I told her I was having visions, which is just another way of saying I'm getting brief flashes of story moments, like teaser trailers in a movie theater. So she told me to go ahead and run with it a bit. This time, for the first time, the movie in my brain is animated. That probably has a lot to do with the genre we plan to work in. We're aiming for Yaoi crossover.

I whipped up four pages on the opening sequence last night and sent them to her even though it will be a couple weeks before she gets to it. Any writer who has been in the thrall of a strong scene knows why I had to write it down. Sometimes after I come back to something I hate it, but this one is in medias res, as any good opening should be. It's got a bit of mystery (several), conflict, danger, action, drama, and shows a glimpse of the main characters in their "normal" life just before everything goes to hell. It is in keeping with the elements we talked about, but doesn't go too far into the story, so it's easily changed.

Restraint

No, dears, not the kind of restraints you'd expect of me. No rope, leather, or metal. This time, I'm thinking of mental restraint. It's something I'm going to have to get used to if I'm going to work with a co-author.

I so used to taking story ideas and mulling them over in my own weird leapfrog tangential fashion that as Helen and I lobbed killer plot bunnies of doom at each other, I started building Frankenbunny with bits and pieces of the ones that splatted and stuck to the wall - so to speak. (If you're getting grotesque mental pictures of spaghetti sticking to the wall, but it doesn't look quite like spaghetti, and there's some red sauce involved, I apologize. No real plot bunnies were harmed, or disinterred and used for parts in my laboratory.*)

Correct me if I'm wrong, but when you're working with someone, it's not quite cricket to grab the parts that look appetizing (sorry) and run off chuckling with fiendish glee. She's busy. I'm busy. We won't be free to pursue this until March. So I keep having to tell myself to have some mental restraint and not take off running with the story, because we have to develop this together. And I don't want to get to emotionally invested in my ideas before I know hers.

But it's hard. Some of those plot bunnies are giving me the come hither look. Even worse, they're beginning to seep into my dreams.





* as far as you know

It Never Gets Old

My YA novel is going to the printer today. *Extreme happy dance of joy* This is novel 3 for me, with 4 soon on the way, but it never gets old.

Writers seem to gripe about their covers a lot - sometimes with good reason - but my publisher has a form that allows us to have input (but not final say, of course) on cover art. For this novel, I simply wrote, "I have no idea." What they came back with is just breathtaking. I'm so happy with it. And I'm even happier that I didn't try to come up with an idea because I probably would have just mucked it up.

For several reasons, I'm not mentioning the novel title here, nor telling you what pen name I'm using, but if you know me and you want to see it, you know how to reach me.

Killer Plot Bunnies of Doom!

Writers who work together amaze me. I have no idea how they do it. Last year at Saints and Sinners, I asked Timothy Lambert and BeckyCochrane lot of questions about how they work together. Poor dears. It probably felt like an interrogation. But talk about gracious! I learned at lot from them.

I also pepper Chris Owen and Jodi Payne with questions from time to time. (Look out Myc and Shanye - you may be next!)

The closest I've ever come is working on an anthology Beth Wylde is editing for Phaze. She gave us the setting and a couple main characters and let several writers run with it. I had a somewhat similar idea last year for an anthology and even pitched it and got it accepted, but had to drop it (with the blessing of my publisher, thank goodness) for my YA novel.

So I'm fascinated by people who can co-write, but didn't think I'd ever seriously consider it. But... it's too early to talk about anything, because we're still brainstorming like crazy about what kind of project we might possibly do if we can get it together, but Helen Madden has been a friend for years now, and we come up with eerily similar stories from time to time. I can't remember the title of her story (she'll hopefully post it in my comments) about a man who meets a Goddess at a bar at the end of the universe, but I remember reading it on the Erotica Readers and Writers Association Story Time list at the same time I was working on She Comes Stars. I swear we didn't talk about it beforehand, but as soon as I read hers, I thought "She's going to hate me forever because it looks as if I'm ripping off her idea." Luckily, she didn't hate me forever, but ever since then, when I get hit by a great story idea, I run through her stories and make sure she didn't get there first. She usually does. Her novel Demon By Day and my novel Chaos Magic have some elements common. (They're both great reads, for one.)

Even if it never amounts to anything, this creative conversation between us is spawning plot bunnies like a tribble on shore leave. For every one she lobs over to me, I'm sending a couple back. Result? I'm up to my knees in killer plot bunnies of doom.

Book News

My editor D.L. King sent the cover for Where the Girls Are: Urban Lesbian Erotica. It's not out until June, but the cover is too cool to wait. My story Don't
Fuck With Country Girls will probably make you laugh if you've ever had an internet hook-up go horribly wrong, and wished you could have gotten some sort of revenge on the psycho who wasted your time.




In other good news, Haunted Hearths and Sapphic Shades, or stories from it, seem to up for a slew of awards from the Golden Crown to Gaylatic Spectrum. Whoo-Hoo! Editor Catherine Lundoff is working her butt off to create buzz for this book. My story is Words Like Candy Conversation Hearts. Don't let the sweet title fool you. My ghost is malicious.

The Galley Slave

Now I guess I should have taken a pic of the muscle queen muscle-bound non-dancer from Thunder Down Under, because nothing says galley slave like a sweaty, shirtless steroid case.

Of course, that's not the kind of galley I mean. I got the galley proof of
one of my novels from my publisher and I have to read through it for
mistakes.

I hate writing a synopsis. Blurbs are a little slice of hell. But galley reading? Dante's 6th,at least. You can't fix anything at this point but the little things
such as wrong words and those punctuation problems that appear out of
nowhere.

Does anyone else hate reading their own writing after a while? I've already read this thing about a zillion times, so one more shouldn't matter, but I'm dreading it. I have to act as if I've never read it and see what's actually on the page, not what I think I wrote. It's very slow going. It helps to read it aloud, but my voice is going to give out.

I'd love to hand this over to someone else to do, but only the author can proof a galley. Too bad. I could use a set of real galley slaves, and a golden barge so I could spend my days sailing the mighty Los Angeles River instead of, you know,
working.

The Thunder From Down Under

Or why I'm an Epic Fail as a Girl.

This weekend, I went to see The Thunder From Down Under show in Las Vegas. Since I always critique the shows I see, now you get to read all about it.

Let me start off by saying the drunk Whoo-Hoo! chicks in the audience seemed to love this show. So if your idea of fun is getting drunk while sitting in a room full of other drunk women and shouting Whoo-Hoo! every time a guy rips apart his shirt to bare his sculpted, waxed, tanned, chest, are you ever the audience for this
show. If seeing one sculptured butt is all it takes to entertain you, you need to get out more often, honey again, you'll probably love this.

First - the positives. The music selection was great. I could have done without the half-assed lip-syncing, but there wasn't a bad piece of music in the set.

Second - the guys are nice eye candy (except the really bulked up muscle dude
with the long blond hair who couldn't dance to save his life, but I realize the TDU people try to staff with as many body types as possible.)

Third - the atmosphere rocked. Whoever put this show together did a great job of creating a comfortable and fun space.

But...

Okay, before I say something negative, just remember that I called myself an
epic fail as a girl. I hate pink. A dozen roses are dead plants with their throats slit. I despise cute. I'm not a magpie, so don't ever gift me glittery shit like diamonds. And the perfect Valentines Day is one that passes without comment. Also remember that I spend a great deal of time thinking about and writing sex. Most women I've talked to (erotica writers aside, but even some of them) seem to have sex compartmentalized in this separate place outside of their everyday existence and only drag it out for special events. Not me. Sex might not be front and center in my mind at every moment, but it's always lurking right below everything else. This is the main reason why I consider myself an epic fail as a girl - but don't care.

Okay, now the negatives of The Thunder Down Under

First - The dancing. I've been to a number of adult shows in Vegas, and I notice when a show highlights - or fails to - the true dancing ability of their cast. I would have liked to have seen some more dance skills instead of so much S&M (stand and model in this instance, hon. I know that I usually mean that an entirely different way). A few hip thrusts to a microphone stand? Please. I'm not that easy.

Second - The Repetition. Yes, the Whoo-Hoo chicks went wild every time the guys came out, did some S&M, then ripped off their shirts. I think the Whoo-Hoo! chicks don't get out very often. After the third shirt-ripping moment, I turned to my accomplice, who rolled her eyes. So it wasn't just me. Even worse, the dancer's pants had saggy butts. What's with that? If I have to watch guys do a cowboy dance number in jeans instead of a pair of Ginch Gonch undies, those jeans better be showing off their assets instead of hiding them.

Third - Flesh for Fantasy. This is sort of a catch all, but it all comes down to the dancer's bodies. (Objectify, Sister!)
- I like a thick mat of hair around a guy's pecs, and love a treasure trail leading down to his g-string. Every guy in the cast was waxed within an inch of his life. Boo! Just one hairy chest would have made me much happier. If he was a brunette, so much the better, but any fur port in a storm...
- Only a few guys at TDU got down to g-strings, and their dancing wasn't anything that would get me hot and bothered, even after a glimpse of their very nice butts. I've seen enough gay go-go dancers to know what it looks like when a guy who can dance is really working it, and TDU didn't come close.

So overall, a fun evening with some R rated entertainment, but nothing I'd go to again. I definitely could have done without the juvenile gay remark to the two guys in the audience. However since I know I'm not the typical audience, I think the opinion of the other women there is more important than mine, and they seemed to give The Thunder Down Under a solid, screaming WHOO-HOO!

On The Writing Front

I'm still working on my Ophir story. The last scene isn't working as
well now that I've gone from a short story to a novella, so I have to
sit back and think things through.

It isn't easy telling a story from the POV of the Sir. Or I should say, it isn't as easy as telling it from the POV of the sub. BDSM stories tend to be internal journeys, and the one on the voyage of discovery is usually the sub, so most BDSM stories are written from the sub's POV. Why did I pick Ophir's head? I have no frickin' clue. That's one of those writing mysteries which will never be solved.
The story comes as it is and I don't usually question it.

Ophir's not giving me a whole lot to work with, the bastard.

I'm also not happy about how much my characters are talking. As Elvis so
rightly said, "A little less conversation." So I'm going to have to get
ruthless with my dialog. The sex though...mmmm. No problems there. (That might sound strange, but you have no idea what the burn-out rate is for erotica writers. You'd think we'd sit around talking about sex, but in reality, we talk about dreading sex scenes after a while.)

Hrm. Thanks Charlie

You are the World

Completion, Good Reward.

The World is the final card of the Major Arcana, and as such represents saturnian energies, time, and completion.

The World card pictures a dancer in a Yoni (sometimes made of laurel leaves). The Yoni symbolizes the great Mother, the cervix through which everything is born, and also the doorway to the next life after death. It is indicative of a complete circle. Everything is finally coming together, successfully and at last. You will get that Ph.D. you've been working for years to complete, graduate at long last, marry after a long engagement, or finish that huge project. This card is not for little ends, but for big ones, important ones, ones that come with well earned cheers and acknowledgements. Your hard work, knowledge, wisdom, patience, etc, will absolutely pay-off; you've done everything right.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Turn, Turn, Turn

Two years ago at Saints and Sinners, the GLBT writer's conference in New Orleans, I got to spend some time chatting with Catherine Lundoff, my editor on Haunted Hearths and Sapphic Shades. One of the hot topics was the miserable state of GLBT publishing. Catherine grew up in publishing, so she has insight most of us don't. While I lamented the demise of Haworth, Suspect Thoughts (I have no idea what their status is. Ian and Greg aren't communicating with anyone) and Carroll and Graf, she pointed out that it was nothing new. She said that another indie press would fill the space.

Since then, Lethe Press surged to life. Circlet Press, which I thought as on the ropes, had come back strong with forays into e-publishing and some well-received anthologies. (I wanted very much to write for a couple of their anthologies, but simply couldn't make the stories work.). Logical Lust is back in e-publishing and in print after being in limbo for a while. The biggest news to me, and one I'm cheering on, are the moves Bold Strokes Books are making. At the WeHo Book Festival, Felice Picano stopped by to chat at the booth I was working. He told me that Bold Strokes is re-releasing some of his backlist. Until that moment, I didn't realize Bold Strokes, which has been the voice of lesbian literature, had expanded into gay literature as well. So when Trebor Healey was lamenting that all his books were with defunct presses, I suggested he talk to Bold Strokes.

Steve Berman of Lethe Press and I chatted a bit via e-mail about the struggles of GLBT publishing. It's never going to be easy. Shelf space for small publishing houses is almost non-existent at bookstores. That's a blessing and a curse. Large book chains tend to place huge orders, but they return a lot of what they order. Paying the shipping back and forth, plus having to pay to print all those books that get returned, has put a few independent publishers out of business. Amazon is the best bet, but they're brutal too - demanding huge discounts and POD publishers pretty much have to use Amazon's in-house company. Epublishing just about eliminates all this foolishness, but e-books are slow to catch on with the reading public. Still - I have faith it will eventually work out. Or at least the cycle will start over again, and publishers will rise and fall. But the writers will keep scribbling away.

Raiders of the Lost Golden Beet

Except for the turkey, I'm on deck for the entire T-Day meal this year. In an effort to wean the family off major ick foods - like cooking candied yams (more sugar per serving than a chocolate bar) in brown sugar (more sugar. this is like a chemistry experiment on super-saturated liquids) and topped with marshmallows (in case you didn't go into a diabetic coma already) - every year I do one healthy-but-they-won't-like-it food and then sneak a sleeper healthy choice in under the radar.

This year's diversion food is roasted beets. I went to four markets in search of. Whole Foods had the golden ones I wanted, but I bought a few red ones because I wanted to stain my hands deep pink. (well, maybe not) I roasted them, peeled them, and tossed them with a bit of olive oil and tarragon vinegar (thank you for the instructions, William). I'm thinking about serving them with some blue cheese crumbles, but haven't committed yet. And yes, I'm aware that I'm the only person who will touch them. But I don't care.

The sleeper dish is a sweet potato casserole with just the tiniest bit of sugar. Compared to the beets, it looks quite harmless, and it is. It's even good. What's even better, it doesn't have 95 grams of sugar per serving. (R read through the recipe an commented that it needed marshmallows on top for a festive touch, but it isn't going to happen.)

Alas, I lost the green bean skirmish this year. My fresh green beans sauteed in olive oil and lemon juice was vetoed in favor of that canned green bean and condensed mushroom soup dish. *sigh* Can't win 'em all. But since I refuse to make it, at least someone else is taking care of it.

I made cranberry relish (uncooked cranberries, oranges, and apples) and cranberry sauce (cranberries cooked with a little orange juice and a cinnamon stick) today. I'm quickly running out of things I can make in advance. Mashed potato's (from scratch), gravy, and stuffing have to be done that day. The rolls have to be fresh from the oven too. The roasted yams and sweet potato casserole have to be made that day. I guess I can get away with making the pecan pies (one chocolate, one traditional - with a nip of Maker's Mark) the night before. Pumpkin pie is some other person's problem. (I won't cook something I can't stand to eat).

R's mother lives in mortal fear that someone will leave her house hungry, so I'm bracing for the panic attack that we haven't made enough food. Some poor soul (male) will be sent to the market with orders to grab stuff for a last minute dish, which she will make and then leave in the fridge and find while we're trying to figure out how to get the tons of leftovers inside it, and then she'll actually run around the house offering the forgotten dish to everyone who collapsed in front of the TV. One year, I expect a Mr Creosote "It's just a thin mint, Sir," moment when someone explodes from humoring her by taking a small bite.

My other pre-cringe for Thursday is that I'm sure someone will want to know where the traditional cranberry-pineapple jello mold is. No one ever eats it, so it's not getting made. End of story. The first person to complain that it's not there is going to rue the day, because I'm going to appoint them official jello mold maker for all family gatherings from now until the end of time. Can I do that? You bettcha. How do you think I got stuck with this job?

My Eyes Are Still Burning

The fund raiser for Stuart went fantastic today. I counted about 160 when the readings started, but another 20-40 easily came later. I haven't heard the official amount raised, but I think they hit the mark and maybe went beyond it. This was so fantastic for a couple reasons.

1) The huge Prop 8 protests at City Hall. Many people came right from the protests to this fundraiser. Party chatter, as you can imagine, was very political. But the great part was hearing so many activists from the Stonewall generation talk about how excited they were to see the 20 year-olds marching in such great numbers.

2) It was brutally hot today in Los Angeles. Instead of going home and cooling off after the protests, people decided to come help raise money.

3) We could smell the wildfires in the foothills, and ash snowed down on us steadily all day - which is why my eyes are burning and my nose feels like it's about to bleed.

4) The sprawl of Los Angeles tends to isolate everyone. But today, we gathered together to help out. I love seeing community. One woman told me that she'd been evacuated from her home last night because of the fires, but she came anyway.

Unfortunately, Stuart wasn't able to attend. He needed medical transport and all ambulances were on call because of the fires.

While the party may have raised the targeted amount, Stuart needs a lot of physical therapy and the money raised today will only go so far. His friend Bill was telling me of the need to find specialized computer equipment so that he can write again. Giving Stuart back his voice won't just help him. It will help the entire queer community. So if you can give, please do. (Contact me off list and I'll get the info to you)

A Benefit for Stuart Timmons

The past few years, I've run into Stuart Timmons at the West Hollywood Book Festival, at the launch for his book Gay LA (The most packed reading I've ever been to - SRO and people actually outside the bookstore ). When I didn't see him this year, I meant to ask after him, but got sidetracked, so I was saddened to hear that he's been seriously ill. Tomorrow, I'll be working at this fundraiser for his medical costs.

As the article says, Stuart is an important historian of gay life in America. But beyond that, he is one of the nicest people I've ever met. Smart, self-effacing, and sweet. I hope we're able to reach the goal of $20,000. (If you're interested in giving, contact me and I'll get the information to you.)

Start Hating Me

I'm in the zone. Oh man, do I ever love this. For the past couple months, writing has been a chore. Sure, I've been able to write stories, but I was never into them. I like to get swept into the universe I'm writing. I love it when I "method write," that point where I'm feeling the emotions along with my characters and really seeing the story through their point of view. The story flows so well and I'm not easily distracted from writing.

I'm sure those of you who write know what I mean by this. It's a wonderful thing. Creativity is such a gift, such a joy to experience. (Now you're really starting to hate me, right? Don't worry, I'll crash and burn soon, and you'll be the one on the ride.) If you know me well, you know how I roll my eyes at the mention of a Muse. It makes me think of fringe-clad ladies with kohl-rimmed eyes who recline on aubergine crushed velvet fainting couches. Yeah, I joke about Art Divas, but they really do annoy the heck out of me. Even worse are the ones who take pen names like LadyI'mAllMystickalAndShit. But I can see where the ancient Athenians might have attributed the rush of creativity to divine powers. It's temperamental, it's elusive, and it's downright maddening. But when it's here - damn. I'm having too much fun.

Something is Lurking Out There

I've been trying to clear my schedule because I know that sometime in the next couple weeks I'll get that dreaded e-mail with the first round of edits on Personal Demons. Okay, maybe not dreaded, but it's always terribly humbling to see how many stupid mistakes I can make in 80,000 words. I'm curious too. My beta readers asked me to add two scenes so I did, but I'm curious if my editor will comment on them. While I'm obsessing focusing on that, she'll probably be all over a different part of the story. (I flirted with a few house rules on some of my BDSM scenes - as usual. We'll see if I have to tone them down. I got away with a lot more in Love Runes than I did in Chaos Magic.)

In an effort to clear out everything before the dreaded e-mail, I've been reading like mad. I finished my commitment for the EPPIES and am powering through a stack of books I promised reviews on. My plan is to get through January's reads by next weekend.

(Helen, I know you read this, so don't even think twice about asking me to beta read your MS. You know I'd do my swooning diva act if I was truly overwhelmed.)

But I'm flirting with danger here because I'm reading through the calls for submissions, and there are a couple that I might just squeak under the deadline if I get strict and write all weekend. You probably know how I feel about vampires by now, and I feel almost the same way about werewolves, but for some reason I'm mightily tempted to try to pull off a South American pulp fiction style La Lupa story. Because, you know, I'm insane. But before I delve into that one, I have to write a new Toy Box story with Master Ophir and Chris, since I promised an Ophir fan I would. Tick. Tick. Tick. I can hear those deadlines bearing down on me like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. And of course I have my punk rocker who I left jumping on his bed, skull fucking a teddy bear while his neighbor watches him through the window. He's probably tired of bouncing by now, poor dear. No one ever said a rent boy's life is easy though.

A Bittersweet Day

Proposition 8, the law taking away a fundamental right from some of our citizens, passed. I take some comfort in the fact that it passed by a smaller percentage than a similar measure, Prop 22, did last time, so more people are waking up to this injustice. And I know that the Supreme Court will not be amused that they have to visit this again, so it will be struck down. And then another Proposition will make the ballot, and possibly pass again, but each time with a narrower margin, until ultimately same sex marriage will have been the law of this land so long that most people will realize that the only people it truly affects are same sex couples who wish to marry. A core of vicious people will keep fighting the bad fight, but like white supremacists, they will be a small fringe of dangerous, but ultimately ineffective, evil.

Between now and then though, the haters are gloating. The message they're trying to send is "Give Up, Don't Even Try." Civil rights battles are never easy. One setback isn't going to make anyone give up. As for me and my house, we will fight to the end for Love.

Crimaninny, People

Is this just the month for authors to behave badly? I have so had it with viciousness. High school never ends, apparently. So you don't like a publisher (Because they rejected your novel, perhaps? You never make it clear why you hate them so vehemently.). Fine. But don't go writing lies about the company on your blog and then delete every post that tries to set the record straight. And don't sling insults at every writer they publish. Don't slam another genre, especially if you've never read it. Play nice on chats this could be the subject of an entire post. Don't use reviews for personal vendettas. And remember, nothing ever really disappears from the Internet.

It never ceases to amaze me how petty people are. There isn't a finite amount of success in this world. So why be so jealous?

*grumble, grumble*
I hate it when people buzzkill my groove. But don't worry about me. I'll be over here writing about a punker jumping on his bed while skull fucking his teddy bear. That will cheer me right up.

November Reviews

My reviews are up on the Erotica Readers and Writer's Association and Erotica Revealed.

Read what I have to say about Tasting Him: Oral Sex Stories, Tasting Her: Oral Sex Stories, and Hurts so Good: Unrestrained Erotica.

Too Much of a Good Thing Can Be Wonderful

Mae West had that right. But too much of mediocre things?

First off - I know how hard authors hustle to promote their books, and I know why they do it, but...

Today alone, I've seen 11 promos from a certain writer for her new novel. Granted, that's spread across six lists, but that means almost two posts per list just since 7AM today. Looking back three days, there are 33 promos from her for the same novel on the same lists. For the past week, that number jumps to well over 80. And it's the same damn message every time.

I am Sooooooo not ever reading that book.




BTW - my reading at Hustler Hollywood went great last night. It has a better space than I expected. Another big surprise - their coffee bar is really integrated into the community. People were out on the patio that overlooks Sunset Boulevard smoking a hookah and drinking their lattes, and other people were hanging out inside like it was Starbucks. (I didn't drink the coffee, so I can't vouch for the quality, but the scenery is certainly more interesting.) Down the street is the famous Whiskey A Go Go, and a little bit past that is the (infamous) Viper Room. Today will be the big festivities in West Hollywood, but I did see Dracula last night. He was parallel parking a Chevy Metro at a red curb. So know you know what the undead drive. And what those red curbs are for (reserved parking for vamps).

Practicing For A Reading

I have a reading at In The Flesh LA this Thursday at Hustler Hollywood, so if you're in town, please stop by.

Readings don't just happen. I mean, you usually have to hustle your butt off to get one, but sometimes they fall in your lap, like this one did. But that doesn't mean you just show up, crack open your book, and start reading. Oh no. This is a performance.

Even if you're reading from a specific story or novel, choose your passage wisely. With novels, the first chapter is a good idea, but you won't have time to read it all unless it's a very short opening chapter. The same is true of short stories. The story I'm reading Thursday was only 3500 words, but there was no way I can read the entire thing in fifteen minutes.

Or can I?

First thing I do to prepare for a reading is to read through the entire story to check how long it runs. My reading rate aloud is about 150 words a minute. Given 15 minutes, that's almost 2500 words. My choices are to leave the audience hanging somewhere mid-story or to cheat edit it down to bare bones. I chose to edit because I wanted to read the final page of the story to the audience. The theme Thursday is Fear, and the end is where the audience will make the connection to that.

After four tries, I pared the story down to 2300 words without sacrificing much. Read aloud, that's 13 minutes. The extra time gives me space for a short intro to the piece (Really short. Like one sentence. Amie Evans and Toni Amato would be proud that I learned so much from their reading seminar at Saints and Sinners) and time to pause for audience reaction. I learned that at the first reading I did. People laughed for a long time at passages that I thought were only a little funny. Maybe it's my delivery.

So now after reading through it four times, my voice is ready to give out, but I know I can do it in the allotted time. Tomorrow I'll practice it twice and then I won't read it again until I'm in front of the crowd. The last thing I'll do is print it out in bold, large font with a few stage directions. (Again, it's a performance. Nothing too dramatic, but movement is important. That deer in the headlights look is no good in front of a crowd.) Now if I could only figure out how to stop from blushing madly, I'd be set.