THE PASSION STROLL...
a blog by author Ashavan Doyon
I've been sitting staring at a blank page for too long. Why is it blank? Well, honestly, it's not exactly blank. It's stuck at about 4000 words. It's a decent amount of text, about a quarter to a third of what I want on this particular project, but it's not enough. Worse, I wrote the last thousand of those words about a week ago, which means I haven't written squat in a week. Why am I worried? One word: NaNoWriMo. Yes, I'm cheating, it's actually four words. National Novel Writing Month. Celebrated annually during November, National Novel Writing Month (cheerfully referred to as Nano by many participants) is an opportunity to let loose and write with wild abandon. It's a chance to jump start a project, or finish one. At its best, it's a finished draft in a month, packed with all the support you need. It means writing 1667 words a day. Every day. For a month.
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Pursued by the knights of Zaharoth, Nem and Thommas seek to escape and find Jordan. But what does that search mean for the Nem's not so subtle interest in Thommas, and how will they deal with their pursuers? Find out in Chapter 12 of The One That Feels. Note: This chapter contains some graphic violence. Be warned. New to the story? Check it out from the beginning. Chapter 12 Brian looked up. “You’re back?” he asked. He sounded desperate. He stood as I shook my head and moved toward me. “No! Stay there.” “What?” Brian looked at me, confused. “Why?” “I am not here, Bri. This is not real, not in the way you’re thinking.” “But I—” “This is as close as you get,” I said, my voice firm. “We’re in a dream.” “It feels real.” His voice was sullen. I could see his grip on Jordan’s hand loosen. “Keep hold of his hand,” I snapped, harsher than I wanted. “Don’t let go.” Brian’s surprise was evident as he looked down and realized he was at Jordan’s bedside, as though he had forgotten. He gulped and sat down, pulling the hand to his lips. “I’m losing him, Thom.” The words were mumbled into his lover’s skin, a confession. Not a new one. He’d known it when he first sought me out. I've been trying so hard to make Chapter 12 of The One That Feels come out on time... and I'm forced to admit that it's just not in the cards. There's a lot of factors at play here, all of them legitimate, but the end result is the same. You expected to see Chapter 12 here tonight, and I can't deliver it to you as promised. Don't get me wrong—the chapter IS finished. But the editing and other work that goes into having the post up aren't complete and chapter 12 is not the place to skimp on that. It's a vibrant chapter, full of emotion, full of revelation, full of hard choices. You deserve to see it shine. Please bear with me and give me just a couple more days to get this out and ready. I'll have it posted soon! Until then, perhaps this quote will suggest the things that are to come... Happy to share Chapter 11 of The One That Feels. We join our hero as he quests through the forests of Zaharoth in a desperate search for Brian's love Jordan. His companion? A spoiled prince who may just be more complicated than he seems. If you're new to the story, start here, otherwise dig in and enjoy! Don't forget to sign up for the newsletter! Chapter 11 Hiking in the woods can be exciting for a day, even for two or three. In the Realm, surrounded by what can only be described as the true vibrancy of life, I managed a week. A full week before the chill of the Realm had filled my bones so completely that I was sure no heat would ever warm me. A week before sleeping on the hard cold earth had left my bones and body weary. We seemed no closer to the goal. The wood seemed to delight in trickery, leading us down paths too dangerous to contemplate. And if the wood itself were not already against us, we had been followed for at least two days by something more than just eyes in the distance, glowing in the dark of night. Nem stumbled behind me and I turned quickly to catch him before he hit the ground and help him back to his feet. Silver tears glinted in his eyes. He started to speak but I set a finger to his lips, took his hand in mine, and kept moving. That it was day could be told only by the scarce light that penetrated the great canopy above. There were bare spots of sunlight, penetrating the deepest depths of the forest like a spotlight, dotting the floor of the wood with scattered shining spots of burning light. The rest was in a shadow that had grown worse with every day as we sank deeper into the wood. Even the glowing eyes at night seemed fewer in number, as if even they feared the true depths of the forest. As some readers already know, I am changing jobs. My last day in Student Affairs was Friday (which reminds me, that means I need to update my bio). I've worked in Student Affairs at the college for just shy of 15 years. I was hired just after September 11 as a temp and managed to transition to being a full time regular employee in my department in June of 2002. While there were longer term employees in the department, in the core office I had been there the longest. I was the person with all the answers; I could answer pretty much any question. Over the course of that time I'd assisted every position in our office, from the residence life staff to the dean of international students and scholars. While that service will serve me well, I am acutely aware that I am moving to a new office where I won't know things. It's a scary thought, not unlike trying to write a story with a hero or setting radically different from my personal experience. I know that there's a base of knowledge as an assistant that will serve me well, and because I transferred within the institution, my knowledge of the college and its procedures will allow me to continue the appearance of casual competence. It's not that I'm worried, not really. I will tackle the new job with the same sort of strategy that I might use if I was writing a story about a soldier. I'll research. I'll ask questions, and I'll brazen it out. Comfort in a job is important to me. Long time followers of my work will remember how I struggled when I first moved to my new house to do any writing until my office was set up. For me this is much the same. So I went over on Friday (with the blessing of my outgoing supervisor) to get the new digs at the college setup. As promised, my new desk mascot is in place! A few housekeeping itemsNo doubt some of you noticed that September had only one chapter of The One That Feels released. That's my fault, work and my life offline made any more impossible. In addition to my own impending departure from my workplace, we were also working short one member of the administrative support staff, during opening, in student affairs and residence life at a college. Needless to say, there was a lot of stress. To make it up to folks, there will be THREE chapters in October, starting tomorrow with Chapter 11!
I'm working on the next issue of ARDOR—a full issue this month rather than news briefs. Part of that is continuing work on the planned freebie for subscribers. It probably won't go out with this issue, but there may be an additional mailing with details. If you haven't signed up for the newsletter, now's the time! I will make sure that currently signed up folks also get the freebie once it's available, so there's no reason to wait. It's been a crazy week. Giving my notice at work. Worrying about the uncertainties of a new position. But it's done. My double set of edits are done. And now I'm prepared to offer you another look into the travels of Thommas as he travels the Realm. When last we left our intrepid duo, they'd become entangled in a dream. Now, as they wake, what truths will they speak? Find out now in Chapter 10 of The One That Feels! (joining us late? Catch the story from Chapter 1 - and don't forget to click on the "Read More" link to see the whole chapter) As always, I recommend subscribing to my newsletter. Subscribers will be getting a nice little novelette as a thank you soon, so be sure you're subscribed. Chapter 10 Nem shuddered in my arms as he woke. It was nice, comforting to hold someone like that again, but it took only moments before he pulled himself away from my arms, struggling to pull himself upright. His arms pulled tightly against his chest as he backed away from me. His breath was a soft mist that floated across our protected grove. “You are safe,” I said, wincing as I got to my feet. I pulled my own arms across my chest. The fire had died down in the night and it was brutally cold. “Y-you. You don’t know—” “I know.” “He’s searching.” “Yes,” I said. “I will keep you safe.” My words were very soft, but I knew that he heard them. “He’ll… he…” “How long, Nem?” I asked. “How long has he been torturing you?” I feel horrible about not getting chapter ten of The One That Feels posted. It has been an emotional week for me. After fifteen years I am leaving my position as admin assistant in student affairs to move to a new post working in the communications department at my college. I'm so excited about the new job but it is hard to leave a job you love for something new, even when it's something you know offers so much new in terms of challenges and growth. I asked a lot about work environment in the interview and I hope they knew I wasn't kidding about whimsy. This is my new desk mascot!
Sheltering for the night in the wood, a worried prince of Zaharoth weighs on the mind of Thommas. He has a quest, and he has made an oath in haste that he cannot break. Perhaps he does not even want to break it. Now he must begin to face the feelings that skitter below the surface in Chapter 9 of the The One That Feels. If you haven't yet discovered the serial, it's posted mid-month and at the end of month, usually on a Monday. You can find the original blurb or start at chapter one if you haven't yet made the leap to follow the story. In addition to the blog, you can also follow my activities on ARDOR, my newsletter--subscribe and get a chance to win Becoming Rory! (click on the Read More link to view full post) Chapter 9 The night in the primeval wood of the realm was oppressive even with the small fire on which we’d roasted the rabbits that the young prince of Zaharoth had presented me. He’d come to me rather gruffly with a demand that since he had caught the creatures, surely it was my duty to clean them. It only took a glance for me to know that he had no idea how. I watched as Nem delicately nibbled at his dinner, clearly appalled at the demand that he eat the spitted creature with his hands. He was compensating by trying to take delicate bites, and failing badly. I kept back the urge to laugh. The look on his face, combined bewilderment, disgust and a little thrill at the experience of something new, made him look… I covered a sigh with a quick bite of my own, chewing fiercely with none of Nem’s delicacy. He was quiet throughout dinner, his fascination and frustration breaking down finally into feverish biting and chewing of his own. He didn’t speak, and his gaze was frequently on the shadows outside the light of the fire. My pup is Dulcy. She's cute and lovable and she snuggles close at night making sure I know that I'm part of her pack—her family. I don't need the reminder, but I love it. My parents were workaholics, so growing up I had my brother and my puppy. The pup I had then was named Mitzi. She was tiny dog, a mix of dachshund and something else. She was the runt of her litter and I remember her being so tiny she fit in the palm of my mom's hand. She had an impossible spirit and was fearless. When she was a year old she was run over by a car. Impossibly the local vet hospital put Mitzi back together. Forever after we had shocked vets as they took x-rays of the real life bionic dog—held together by bits of wire, screws, and metal plates. Among her worst injuries were three broken legs, a separated pelvis, and severe road burn across her back that left her with scarred patching where the hair never grew back. We had Mitzi for twelve years before cancer took her from us. She was my little sister, my companion, and more often than not my confessor who listened to my rage and hurt as I struggled with being a rape survivor in a world that didn't recognize that such thing was possible for a young man. With listening to my angst when I came out. With loving me—just that. We got Dulcy from a breeder when she was only 11 weeks old. An AKC pug, her breeder clearly allowed the kids to name the puppies that he kept, and they all had names like Charmander Bulbusaur. We named her the Lady Dulcinea. For over fourteen years, she has done what pugs do: sniff, snuffle, lick things, bark at things, and, of course, piddle at the most inopportune times—that last has gotten particularly pronounced in the last year. Worried that she might not survive being boarded at her advanced age, we cancelled vacation plans this year. Instead we've kept Dulcy company, stayed at home.
I spend a lot of time worrying about my puppy girl. So today is mostly about her. Love you Dulcy. Anyone have any great dog stories? Let me know in the comments, and don't forget to subscribe to the newsletter! It's August—a time of frustration and craziness. A time when I admit I am stretched well beyond my limits. This week I have a final galley proof and 2nd edits on two novellas. This has affected my schedule in terms of posting, for which I am sorry, but it won't be permitted to delay the posts of the serial. Today we have Chapter 8. Nem has wrested a promise from Thommas, a promise spoken in the Realm that binds them together on the quest to rescue Jordan's mind and return it to his body in the Real. If you haven't yet discovered the serial, it's posted mid-month and at the end of month, usually on a Monday. You can find the original blurb or start at chapter one if you haven't yet made the leap to follow the story. In addition to the blog, you can also follow my activities on ARDOR, my newsletter--subscribe and get a chance to win Becoming Rory! Chapter 8 The grumbling started quickly. Not that this surprised me. “Why can’t we just take the road?” asked Nem, for what seemed like the hundredth time. He’d started before we’d even exited the hospital. I couldn’t really blame him. He was a prince, of sorts, and the road offered comforts and familiarity that trudging through the great wood of his realm did not. I turned and looked at him. “You can go,” I said. “I am content to travel alone.” His eyes were mercurial, gray that burned with a silver fire when he was irritated, as he was now. “Trying to get out of our bargain?” he spat. I shook my head and glanced around, choosing a rather large stone as a seat. As I pulled myself up onto it and let my legs dangle, I looked at the young prince of Zaharoth. “I honor my bargains, Nem,” I said, meeting the gray, swirling gaze. “But the bargain was to accompany me. That does not mean dictating the route. Jordan will be difficult enough to find without wasting time by going around the wood.” |
Ashavan DoyonWriter of the mysterious, fantastic, and the romantic. Sometimes sappy. Often angsty. Always searching for the sexy. Stories about men who love men. Categories
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