lovecraft68
Bad Doggie
- Joined
- Jul 13, 2009
- Posts
- 44,420
I don't generally talk much about my writing here other than if I have an example in my work that applies to a topic or question. I'm not one to self promote, don't have links in my sig, post in in new story threads, etc. I figure you want to read my work, its easy enough to find, and one's work should speak for itself more than we ever can for it.
But for this thread, I want to talk about redeeming yourself as a writer, both to others you may have let down, but most importantly-I think-to yourself.
This ramble starts back in 2014. I had an idea for a Mom/Son taboo series that I was excited about. This series would be something that could be one of the all time top list type stories, and I don't say that lightly, or to sound arrogant, but being a fan of the genre, I knew this one had it all.
Mother Son Confessions. Basic premise five mother/son couples meet on a taboo chat room where people involved in such relationships can speak freely and not be judged and take comfort in the fact they aren't the only ones. The creatpr of the chat room is a bit older, mid fifties, her son around thirty. The other four 'couples all a bout ten years younger' the older couple decides to invite the others to their homes to meet in person. I posted five chapters of this series, each focused on the situation that brought them together, and each very different circumstances.
All five did well, I was on a roll, and ready for the second part where the couples meet. Then my wife was diagnosed with cancer, and at one point was in a coma due to complications from a surgery. She pulled through but needed a lot of help. Of course everything else took a back seat and by the time I felt I could get back to writing, the series was lost to me. I could not get the feel back for the characters, lost my vision of where it should go, and eventually, I threw in the white flag, and removed the five chapters so I wouldn't add to the growing list of "where's the rest" e-mails.
I was disheartened, pissed at myself even though it was understandable, and said screw it, I'm not going to try any other series. Not a great decision because I pride myself on "hate motivating'. I respond to drill instructor style (or 1970's/80's Gen X attitude of Get up you pathetic bitch, let's go loser etc..." but for whatever reason, possibly because the series and failure was tied to my wife's near death, I chose to lie on the mat on this one.
Then near the end of 2022 when I began to write what was meant to be a stand alone about a mother son "experiment' that was purely psychological in the sense of someone trying to set up a scenario to test whether a mother could seduce her son under the right circumstance. Then, the muse smacked me upside the head, and said "Oh, no, this is crap, but..." and I was hit with something much better.
Issue is, like the first series, it involved four couples, a scientific experiment, basic detailed psychology, in other words, this wasn't "mom sits on sons lap" this thing had a lot of moving parts, and would have to be more than one E-book. I said, no. Muse said, really? Get off your writing PTSD and get back to being that stubborn asshole who had swag and a big dose of "Oh, yeah, I'll write it."
I took a breath, bought back in to not wanting to live in fear, even if it was as simple as being scarred from a bad writing experience, and published book one in Nov 2022. Book two followed in the spring, three in the summer(I did other projects in between.)
Then my wife's cancer returned at the same time I took a promotion in work which meant no more skating and now having to actually apply myself and raise the stress level, and my old man was staring down the barrel of sudden triple bypass which he survived, but I had to help my parents quite a bit more as he recovered and while helping my wife as well. Months passed, and after three attempts I couldn't get the fourth book past an opening. Last month I sat out on the deck alone at night, and thinking here we go again.
Second verse same as the first, the idea and flow and fire gone, life kicking my ass again, and every excuse in the world to quit and honestly, who could blame me? I received an e-mail from a person who has bought every e-book I've written and supports me here as well, the gist was "Tell me you're not going to leave us hanging again." Again, I lost track of how many "are you going to finish" e-mails I had gotten last time.
Except this time, I did what I didn't do the first time. This time I got pissed off, this time I said, no I don't lose twice in a row. One month ago I started book four and this time I hit the keys like it was personal. Having been months I had to have the other three stories open on the desk top because I couldn't even remember names and what happened.
Started like crap, said keep going, I'll fix it. By chapter three I was in the groove. Finished four, and one book left. My wife ended up hospitalized for ten days thanks to a reaction from treatment. The day she came home, while she slept I went into my office, and said, hey ho, let's go. Began the book did well for a few days, stalled, now my mother passes out in supermarket and she's in the hospital. I woke up at 3am Last Sunday and didn't want to write, I needed to write. It was that fire that we all feel when we are absolutely ON.
I wrote 24k last Sunday and it was a mother fucking clinic. All four couples had to wrap up and they were all different (one a mother daughter, one a mother with two sons, one the father still in the pic, and one 'tame' one where just mom and son trying to figure it out. I write all four closing sex scenes, shifting gears effortlessly, everything clicking, a master class of taboo porn. A fifteen hour stretch of coffee, Jack Daniels and a bag of Jerky I had on my desk because I was not stopping to cook or order in anything that would require having to actually sit and eat.
Normally when I type "The End" the first words that come to mind are. "Yeah, great...what's next."
This time it was with more satisfaction than I've felt since I finished my first more serious horror novel. It was a rush I haven't experienced in far too long. I felt like a former title holder who took a bad loss and won the rematch. It took 10 years for a combo of the right idea and a rekindling of the fuck you attitude that has driven my writing=and me in general-since day one.
The first series is still an L, there is no going back, but for today, which is all we really have, I found writer redemption, even if I'm the only one it really means anything to.
But for this thread, I want to talk about redeeming yourself as a writer, both to others you may have let down, but most importantly-I think-to yourself.
This ramble starts back in 2014. I had an idea for a Mom/Son taboo series that I was excited about. This series would be something that could be one of the all time top list type stories, and I don't say that lightly, or to sound arrogant, but being a fan of the genre, I knew this one had it all.
Mother Son Confessions. Basic premise five mother/son couples meet on a taboo chat room where people involved in such relationships can speak freely and not be judged and take comfort in the fact they aren't the only ones. The creatpr of the chat room is a bit older, mid fifties, her son around thirty. The other four 'couples all a bout ten years younger' the older couple decides to invite the others to their homes to meet in person. I posted five chapters of this series, each focused on the situation that brought them together, and each very different circumstances.
All five did well, I was on a roll, and ready for the second part where the couples meet. Then my wife was diagnosed with cancer, and at one point was in a coma due to complications from a surgery. She pulled through but needed a lot of help. Of course everything else took a back seat and by the time I felt I could get back to writing, the series was lost to me. I could not get the feel back for the characters, lost my vision of where it should go, and eventually, I threw in the white flag, and removed the five chapters so I wouldn't add to the growing list of "where's the rest" e-mails.
I was disheartened, pissed at myself even though it was understandable, and said screw it, I'm not going to try any other series. Not a great decision because I pride myself on "hate motivating'. I respond to drill instructor style (or 1970's/80's Gen X attitude of Get up you pathetic bitch, let's go loser etc..." but for whatever reason, possibly because the series and failure was tied to my wife's near death, I chose to lie on the mat on this one.
Then near the end of 2022 when I began to write what was meant to be a stand alone about a mother son "experiment' that was purely psychological in the sense of someone trying to set up a scenario to test whether a mother could seduce her son under the right circumstance. Then, the muse smacked me upside the head, and said "Oh, no, this is crap, but..." and I was hit with something much better.
Issue is, like the first series, it involved four couples, a scientific experiment, basic detailed psychology, in other words, this wasn't "mom sits on sons lap" this thing had a lot of moving parts, and would have to be more than one E-book. I said, no. Muse said, really? Get off your writing PTSD and get back to being that stubborn asshole who had swag and a big dose of "Oh, yeah, I'll write it."
I took a breath, bought back in to not wanting to live in fear, even if it was as simple as being scarred from a bad writing experience, and published book one in Nov 2022. Book two followed in the spring, three in the summer(I did other projects in between.)
Then my wife's cancer returned at the same time I took a promotion in work which meant no more skating and now having to actually apply myself and raise the stress level, and my old man was staring down the barrel of sudden triple bypass which he survived, but I had to help my parents quite a bit more as he recovered and while helping my wife as well. Months passed, and after three attempts I couldn't get the fourth book past an opening. Last month I sat out on the deck alone at night, and thinking here we go again.
Second verse same as the first, the idea and flow and fire gone, life kicking my ass again, and every excuse in the world to quit and honestly, who could blame me? I received an e-mail from a person who has bought every e-book I've written and supports me here as well, the gist was "Tell me you're not going to leave us hanging again." Again, I lost track of how many "are you going to finish" e-mails I had gotten last time.
Except this time, I did what I didn't do the first time. This time I got pissed off, this time I said, no I don't lose twice in a row. One month ago I started book four and this time I hit the keys like it was personal. Having been months I had to have the other three stories open on the desk top because I couldn't even remember names and what happened.
Started like crap, said keep going, I'll fix it. By chapter three I was in the groove. Finished four, and one book left. My wife ended up hospitalized for ten days thanks to a reaction from treatment. The day she came home, while she slept I went into my office, and said, hey ho, let's go. Began the book did well for a few days, stalled, now my mother passes out in supermarket and she's in the hospital. I woke up at 3am Last Sunday and didn't want to write, I needed to write. It was that fire that we all feel when we are absolutely ON.
I wrote 24k last Sunday and it was a mother fucking clinic. All four couples had to wrap up and they were all different (one a mother daughter, one a mother with two sons, one the father still in the pic, and one 'tame' one where just mom and son trying to figure it out. I write all four closing sex scenes, shifting gears effortlessly, everything clicking, a master class of taboo porn. A fifteen hour stretch of coffee, Jack Daniels and a bag of Jerky I had on my desk because I was not stopping to cook or order in anything that would require having to actually sit and eat.
Normally when I type "The End" the first words that come to mind are. "Yeah, great...what's next."
This time it was with more satisfaction than I've felt since I finished my first more serious horror novel. It was a rush I haven't experienced in far too long. I felt like a former title holder who took a bad loss and won the rematch. It took 10 years for a combo of the right idea and a rekindling of the fuck you attitude that has driven my writing=and me in general-since day one.
The first series is still an L, there is no going back, but for today, which is all we really have, I found writer redemption, even if I'm the only one it really means anything to.
