Okay, it’s been over a month since I’ve posted (I swear, I’ll eventually start posting regularly again), and now it’s past November, so it’s time to look at how well I did cramming a novel into the month of November.

My final word count, as of December 1st, 12:01 AM, was…

6719. Sounds like a shit year, right? Well, that’s because it is. I could make excuses, but the fact remains that a whole lot of people that were a whole lot busier than me finished theirs, so I have no excuse. There’s always next year, I suppose. I think I’m going to start prepping for next year a whole lot sooner to add to my chances of success. Until then, I’ve got my other writing projects, including THREE writing courses next semester. The most I’ve ever had at once was one per semester…needless to say, this will be interesting.

Here in a few days, I’ll probably post the unfinished novel (though I may cut some of it out; it got rather racey at one point ^^; ), but until then, I’m out.

Okay, so it’s been over three months since I’ve posted here. Marvelous job I’ve been doing about keeping up with a blog that’s supposed to be something like an online portfolio, eh? However, I’ve decided not to delete everything and start fresh. That would be inherently dishonest (and also stupid for deleting that which I have not saved). Instead, I shall simply press on with my renewed desire to keep this damn thing up to date.

As my first post in a long time, and a post on a writer’s blog with All Saint’s Day looming just over the horizon, obviously I have to make a post about National Novel Writing Month. If you don’t know what this is, go Here and all your questions will be answered by the header. Basically, a whole lot of crazy people get together online, offline, and everywhere in-between to write 50,000 words of prose (or not, but it’s supposed to be prose) in 30 days. You start at 12:00 AM on November 1st, and you have until 11:59 on November 30th in whatever timezone you live to finish.

Some people consider this to be an outrageously unreasonable goal. Others write not just 50k, not just 100k, but 1000k (or, to put it a less stupid way, a million). A million words in 30 days. That’s an average of 33,333.33333333333… words per DAY. That’s six times as many words as I’ve managed for NaNo in my entire attempts the past two years. Me, I think I’m going to stick to the 50k goal, given my schoolwork and other writing endeavors. However, I’ll have to make a note to think about Script Frenzy this spring (especially since I’m taking Screenwriting next semester).

Anyway, because this is a writing blog and because I feel bad about the supreme lack of content lately, I leave you now with a couplet poem I wrote for my Intro to Poetry class this semester. Enjoy!

Fate and Kate Plus Eight

Of Gosselin, famous father dear,
You left paternal instincts here.
But where you lack a father’s sense,
No other form takes residence.
Your wife took care of eight plus you
For years before she found you through.
On top of all you had to be
To meet the needs of TLC,
You flaunted what they’d given you
And proved unable to stay true.
They paid you gobs and gobs of cash
To film you taking out the trash,
When it was them that should have seen
The profit dumping you would glean.
They realized in the nick of time,
How best to shift your paradigm.
There won’t be long before you’re done
With your fifteen beneath the sun,
And though you’ll flee from shame long past,
The memory’s taint will always last.
Now seek to sate your avarice,
But you’ll find naught but prejudice,
For all of us will see your fate
And side with trust, and Kate plus eight.

NOTE: This is a continuation of my first fiction post, “Townies,” which means you get more hormonal teenagers in this scene. Note that I’m going to start posting shorter chunks at a time, and that’s for several reasons. The main one is that people have shorter attention spans online (not an insult, just a fact), with “reading computer screens hurts your eyes more” and “it’s a less daunting task for me to write” following closely behind.

If you do not like allusions to sex or mental discussions of what horny teenagers see as sexy, do not read this. Also, I’m going to warn you now, things will get more explicit as we go. Don’t forget that this is a romance, and if the characters are going to break down and bump uglies, it’s because it’s an important part of the story, and I’m not going to skip it. You just have to trust me. For those that don’t like that, that’s why I’ve got this warning, and the actual story behind a cut.

Okay, enough bold text. Everyone that’s still here wants to read part two of “Townies,” so away we go!

Before you go, though, for those that have forgotten the premise and opening post (be warned, it’s a long’un), here’s the post with the first part: http://kajifireson.wordpress.com/2009/06/14/first-piece/

Okay, NOW you can go.

“So, Allison…d’you live here all year?”

Allison nearly chokes on her own breath as Kaji tries to start small talk. She honestly doesn’t know why he’s bothering, because if he wanted to, he could pounce and ravish her without a care in the world—

“I do, yeah…my dad own’s the Detorre Bed’n'Breakfast. It’s the best joint in town.”

Did I honestly just say my dad owns the best joint in town? What the hell is wrong with—

“Oh? Mom’s heard of that place. Has the best seafood in town, apparently. I’ll have to check it out.”

The fact that this stud of a young man is going to check out her place of employment later makes Allison’s heart beat fifty times harder. He just announced that her dreams have come true, but in her nervous state, it’s hard to tell whether it’s a pleasant dream or a hellish nightmare. We may never know which is true, but we do know that all Allison wants is for Kaji to roll over and—

“You’re the prettiest girl in town.”

Allison once more narrowly escapes the fate of choking on her own lungs. This god, this veritable Adonis that has come and sat down right next to her is telling her that she’s the pretty one. The world is imploding on itself, and the epicenter is on this blanket on this beach on the edge of Lakeshore Valley. That’s the only explanation there is for this inversion of such obvious facts to be perpetrated.

“I…uh, well…you…”

Kaji just raises a hand to silence Allison’s panicked, feverish stammering. He is smiling as he does so, a promising glint in his eyes as he looks at our heroine.

“You don’t have to tell me that, I can tell from how you’ve been acting. I’m flattered, but you’re the beautiful one here. Yes, I work out extensively, and yes, I maintain my appearance, but it’s all means to an end; I’m following in Dad’s footsteps, I don’t really get any pleasure out of it myself. You, on the other hand, bring me great pleasure, just from looking at you. That’s not all I want, though. I want to get to know you. I want to know the beautiful young woman on the inside that I know matches the stunning young woman on the outside.”

Allison is completely dumbfounded by this sudden confession. Only much later would she realize that, throughout this eloquent confession of her beauty and charm, he kept his libido completely under wraps, a surprising display of self-control and restraint. She is unable to do the same, blushing a deep red in the cheeks while thanking the Lord she’s not wearing her thinner bikini.

Before Allison can find the nerve to respond, a blood-curdling scream resounds throughout Lakeshore Valley, and both Allison and Kaji jerk around to try and figure out where it’s coming from.

So I haven’t posted anything in a while…I suppose I should explain why. After all, I showed such promise, updating frequently, posting nearly 5000 words of fiction for everyone to enjoy…and then nothing.

First of all, this past Monday, I began work at a call center. I have no idea whether or not I’m allowed to say which one or who they call for, not being at all familiar with the legal issues involved, but I will say that it is a cold-calling center that raises funds and awareness for several charities, one of which grants wishes for terminally ill children. (Note that it is NOT the Make a Wish Foundation, though that still doesn’t give away which I call for, since apparently, there are hordes of these charities in existence.) I’ve been hit-or-miss with my numbers, but I won’t bore you with my stats.

Second of all, a lot of my energy goes into something called e-wrestling, and I’m probably going to need to do a post devoted to this game/sport all by its lonesome. Trying to explain the intricacies of this game is like trying to walk someone through brain surgery. What I can tell you for sure is that it involves creating a character that is a professional wrestler, signing him up to an e-fed that emulates or imitates the function of a “real” wrestling federation, and trying to win matches by writing better roleplays than your opponent.

As I said, a lot of my energy for writing goes into this, but I’ve been struggling as of late, which has demoralized me as far as e-wrestling goes. I’m still a writer, through and through, but I’ve begun to wonder lately whether it’s time to step back from competing and stick either to writing matches for those that still do, or pouring all of my energy into writing “traditional” fiction and charging forward to attempt a professional writing career. I am open for feedback, regardless of whether it is from those that are e-wrestling savvy (lookin’ at you, Hollywood) or those that aren’t, such as Girl of Words (unless, of course, she’s gotten a crash course from said  Hollywood).

As for stories themselves, I feel guilty for not providing you guys with any reading material lately, but I don’t have anything new to post. What I will do instead is post a fight scene I wrote a long time ago (read: four years), and in the next few days, I’ll write a new one with similar (but not identical) characters to see how far I’ve come. It’ll be an interesting thing for me to see, and hopefully, it’ll be interesting for you to read.

DISCLAIMER: The following piece of fiction contains a character I created myself fighting one created by someone else. The person that eventually wins this fight was created by a man by the name of Alan Solivan, known better to the internet as Mr. OMA. Yes, that means this is fan fiction; remember, four years ago, I was still in high school. Besides, not all fan fiction is bad. It can certainly be well-written, and hopefully this counts.

Also, in case you don’t like it…beware! Gratuitous energy attacks ahead!

END DISCLAIMER

Finally, before the scene, I want to link people to everyone I mentioned in this blog, ’cause they’re all worth reading.

http://www.girlofwords.com

http://tylerhollywood.wordpress.com/

http://bignasty4life.deviantart.com (Also, http://www.fetchquest.com but he isn’t the writer; just the artist)

Now then, on with the show!

The wind rustled through the nearby trees ominously as the two figures stared each other down across the flat plain.

One was a well-built young man in his early twenties who wielded a dangerous looking red staff.  He was clothed in a large, red cloak that masked most of his figure other than the fact that he was well-built and the fact that his eyes were the same piercing, fiery red that his staff and cloak were.

The other was a female of strange attire.  She was not cloaked, and so her figure was clearly visible for her opponent to see.  Her hair was as black as it comes and tied into a high ponytail in the back of her head with two large bangs arching off of her forehead in a way as to prevent it from hindering her sight.  On her forehead was a strange emblem that appears to be two sideways carats facing opposite directions with a raised bullet enclosed within the diamond that is formed by them.  This emblem also appears on her chest as slices that have been artistically removed from the upper half of her black body suit.  The bottom half also sports slits all down the side of both legs, but they are simple lateral slits:  nothing fancy.  Around her waist is a simple belt with a gold clasp on the front, and coming from this and flowing dramatically behind her is a red cape that somehow adds to her menacing appearance.  Lastly, her left arm is heavily bandaged for some unknown reason.

“You may be overpowered in your own realm, demoness,” the cloaked man declared as he took a fighting stance, “but you are in my realm now.  Let’s see how you fare here.”

“Foolish mortal.  You, like so many before you, are about to face my wrath!” the demoness responded to the first’s taunt.

“En garde!” the first figure cried, and the two rushed forward and met in the middle of the new battlefield, where they struggled in an initial standstill.  The cloaked figure was using his staff to get better leverage, but the demoness grabbed it and pushed back against him.  After a few moments of this, the cloaked figure wrenched his staff away from the demoness and each combatant jumped back to about where they started.

Hm…it would seem that a different strategy would be a good idea… was the thought that occurred to both warriors.

Each fighter charged again, but, at the last moment, each stopped on a dime and jumped straight up.  Each looked down to commence their aerial assault, but there was no one to be seen.  Looking back up, each fighter was greeted by the sight of the other.  Each threw a mid-air punch, causing their fists to meet in the middle and consequently sending them sailing back to square one again.

Grr… Quickly formulating new strategies, each charged towards the middle of the field once more.  The demoness executed a graceful somersault over the cloaked man and landed behind where he had been, but the cloaked figure had teleported away, reappearing in a backwards skid a good distance away from the midpoint, but in a different line of sight where tree-branches hovered over him where he stood after stopping.  Quickly, the two charged at each other again (the demoness was forced to change directions quickly, as she had been poised to land behind the cloaked man and charge him from behind before he had teleported away), each intending to claim the first strike.  The cloaked man and the demoness each threw punches again, but this time, each fist connected with the opposing face, causing each fighter to be thrown backwards:  the demoness stayed on her feet and just skidded back while the cloaked man was thrown into the air, but he executed a backflip that landed him on his feet (and one hand) as he skidded to a stop in the opposite direction.

As she stopped, the demoness raised a hand to her face and touched the spot where she was struck as she affected an expression of disbelief.  “Wow,” she said aloud.  “I didn’t expect that to actually hurt…”

Yeah, no kidding, the cloaked man thought as he shook the offending fist, intending to dispel the uncomfortable feeling that striking the demoness had created.

“You’re better than I thought, kid,” the demoness mused aloud as she stretched a bit.

“You’re not that bad yourself,” the cloaked man replied, grinning.  But, just as quickly as he had grinned, his expression changed to one of deadly seriousness.  “But I think playtime is just about over…wouldn’t you say?”  Without waiting for a reply, the cloaked figure bent down and put his staff down slowly, stood back up, and dramatically threw off his cloak.  Underneath, he wore a short-sleeved, bright red T-shirt to match his cloak.  It was obvious that, underneath that, there was a shirt of chainmail to protect against whatever may try to harm him.  He also wore black pants that tucked into sturdy, blood-red boots.

The two of them finished stretching as he stood up.

“You must be pretty confident if you’re letting me finish warming up like this,” he remarked as they did so.

She shrugged.  “Gives me time to think,” she replied, detached.

*Be careful, demoness,* he thought smugly.  *In taking this breather, its benefits could be unwittingly conferred upon the opponent as well…*

He leaned back to stretch his back, then he returned to an upright position and cracked his knuckles to show that he was ready.  Though his opponent did no such thing, it was obvious that she was born ready.

Then, without so much as another spoken word, both combatants simultaneously launched themselves at each other.  The male was poised to throw a punch (and did so), but the demoness stayed on the defensive and blocked.  The man threw out his right leg towards the demoness’s stomach, but she blocked this as well.  Similar punches and kicks from both sides of the warrior’s body were launched, but each was blocked by the famed demoness.

Suddenly, the demoness retaliated with a left hook of her own!  However, her opponent had not become so caught up in offense that he neglected defense.  He quickly changed that right-hand punch he was preparing into a block to stop her attack.  Thereafter, a flurry of kicks and punches from all sides began as the two exchanged blows.  Soon, their battle took to the air as they drifted upward into the sky.  Abruptly, each tried to bypass the other’s defenses by headbutting his/her opponent.  This particular battle was won by the demoness as her opponent was launched backwards through the sky.

“Damn…his head is harder than I thought,” she muttered under her breath as she rubbed her forehead.  Soon, however, she was flying through the air after him.  He quickly reset himself midair just in time to meet the demoness’s attack and block all of her attacks.  Then he landed a kick to her stomach, sending her sailing away.  The demoness quickly caught herself and, in turn, met her opponent’s onslaught.  And so, for a while, the fight consisted of short bursts (some longer than others) which would end when one fighter landed a good hit on the other, sending him or her flying.  The one who landed the strike would chase after the other, who would recover and meet the attack with sufficient skill to block most (if not all) of the attacker’s blows.  The short bursts were not always won on a 1:1 basis:  there were cases where one of the combatants would win two or three in a row.  However, the other would invariably recover before too much damage was done.

After a while of this, the demoness did something that would take the fight to the next (and final) level:  after knocking her adversary away, she launched a small (but significant) energy blast after him instead of chasing him herself.  Not expecting this, the human reset himself as normal and braced for an attack that never came.  He looked up just in time to take the blast full force, an event that caused him to fall all the way back down to the ground with a great, ominous thud.

The demoness, grinning, drifted back toward the ground in a much more graceful descent.  She massaged her right arm (the unsuspecting victim of a particularly well-aimed kick from her foe) once she landed, but this did not harm her spirits as she walked towards her fallen enemy, who was struggling to stand.

He chuckled a bit from his gut as he stood.  “Ah…good one.  I suppose I should have seen that one coming.  However, just because I fell down, don’t think the battle is over!”  The demoness’s grin vanished as her opponent performed a similar feat.

“Don’t get me wrong, you fiend:  just because I teleported doesn’t mean I’m hiding!”  The demoness, slightly irritated by the name-calling, turned around to find her opponent standing about a hundred yards away.  He stood tensely with his arms at his sides, but, as the expert of long-distance combat that she is, the demoness recognized his intent.  Suddenly, he grinned.  “You know, I must tell you at this point that long-range combat is my fortè,” he informed her.

“Really?” she replied, smirking as she feigning surprise.

“Do not mock me!” he cried.  He levitated about a foot into the air and stretched each limb out as far as it would go as if he were sprawled out on the ground and fixing to make a snow angel.  After a few moments, his entire body began glowing red.  His aura was dim at first, but soon, it was as bright and fiery as his hair or eyes.

Hm.  Impressive.  The little devil wasn’t lying.  This could be interesting.

Before, the human had had his head leaned back, but now he looked down at his target.  “What?  Not charging up or anything?  I know you can release your Hellfire Flash in an instant, but will you really take the chance of letting me power up?  Not that I’m complaining, of course!” he finished, smirking himself.

“That’s just the thing,” the demoness replied.  “I know, for an undisputed, absolute fact that my most powerful attack would wipe your pathetic existence from the face of the earth.”  She eyed her bandaged left arm as she said this.  “Even so, I doubt your attack will meet any success when met by mine.”

“We shall see!” her adversary cried.  As he did so, all the energy that he had gathered, his entire aura, began gathering at a fixed point a few inches in front of his chest.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” the demoness requested, extending her left hand in the direction of her opponent.

“Oh, you’ll know when I’m ready!” he cried as his energy continued to gather at the previously mentioned point.  As the energy converged, it formed a sphere of energy that took the appearance of a massive fire ball:  there weren’t flames erupting from it, but the energy sphere had a definitive magma-ish appearance.

“Ready?” the demoness asked tauntingly.  This did not help her enemy’s already foul mood.  He growled to himself a bit while preparing, but soon, his attack was ready.  It was obvious, because his energy sphere suddenly flashed before turning an even brighter red.  “I’ll take that as a yes.  Now for the fun part.”  She took a deep breath, then the two of them cried, at the same time:

“Hellfire Flash!”  “FLAMING INFERNO BEAM!”

The demoness’s trademark attack was met half-way by a bright red beam of pure heat energy:  the core of the blast had the magma appearance of the sphere it originated from, and small flares were coming off the beam at a few points.  In the center, where the two blasts meet, the tips expand out in all directions, forced into this new shape by the force each beam exerts on the other.  The image of two fully-opened umbrellas pointed at each other could describe it roughly.

“Well, well, well…you’re better than I thought, kid,” the demon declared, impressed, causing the human to smirk, despite the effort he was pouring into his Flaming Inferno Beam.  “Your ultimate attack has potential.  But I can tell that you can’t fully control it.”  Even as she said so, his eyes began turning red all over:  he was being possessed by some force outside of his own consciousness.  “This attack is the physical manifestation of your inner rage, and I can see a lot of it there.”  He uttered an unholy scream and arched his back as if in pain as the Flaming Inferno Beam increased in power, but the demoness held it in check.  “I can also tell that all of your power is being used up by this attack:  win or lose, you’ll have nothing left.  Therefore, I find it prudent to put you out of your misery.”  Thus, ever calmly and ever slowly, she put a little more power behind her Hellfire Flash, pushing it closer and closer to her foe.  Desperately, he threw both arms forward in an attempt to bolster his attack, but the onslaught continued at an agonizingly slow pace.  Inch by inch, second by second, the superior attack made its way toward its target.

“No!” he cried.  “This can’t be happening!”  As this was happening, the enraged human’s eyes, previously glowing red, began to fade.  It was obvious that he had stopped pouring any sort of magical or spiritual energy into his attack:  he was beginning to put his life into it.  Even so, he was still losing momentum:  the demoness was having to put less and less energy into her attack to push it towards him.  Soon, there was only a few yards separating him and his demise.

Suddenly, the “rational” side regained control with a gasp similar to one who has been revived from a potential drowning situation.  “Hunhunhun…” he laughed from his throat as he remembered what happened while his anger was in control and realized his situation.  “Well, I guess we know who is superior, don’t we…Sapphire?”  The forementioned demoness raised an eyebrow as her foe finally named her.  “Even in my own realm, I am inferior to you…how is it that you are so powerful, you blow away all competition…no matter where you are?”

“That’s for me to know,” she replied simply and smugly.

“Well…I suppose it will be time for me to meet my maker, soon,” the ill-fated challenger mused with the Hellfire Flash/Inferno Beam inching ever closer.  “I suppose…you think…that I’m not even…worthy…to……”  Suddenly, before he could complete his statement, his arms fell to his sides as he collapsed backwards as the Hellfire Flash sped forward to envelop him.

In that moment, it was over.  Somehow, the challenger had evaded complete vaporization, but it was all too obvious to the sole onlooker that he was dead:  he was drained of most color, charred in many places, and completely immobile.  In a curious act of respect towards her challenger, Sapphire retrieved his cloak and staff from the area under the trees where he had left them and placed them on top of his unmoving body.  She drifted up several yards into the air above him and took one last look down at her challenger, complete with cloak and staff.  Then she turned her back and flew away in search of a way back to her own dimension.

No fiction today, either; just real life.

First, the money issue is more or less resolved. We’re not out of hot water yet, but it’s gotten significantly more lukewarm than it was before. For one, I got a credit card that bailed us out of a pinch, and I’m also going to start work on Monday. That said, if you want to help, you’re welcome to donate to my PayPal account (KajiFireson@gmail.com) or buy a commission for a story or other such piece. </shameless promotion>

Second, a story of real life drama. While I was looking around for work, one of the listings on Craigslist was for a secret shopper, and since I’m in a fairly large city, I didn’t really think anything of it. Even after I got an e-mail back that was in all bold text and written in srange diction, I still didn’t have any alarms going off in my head. (Mainly because my typical diction isn’t exactly ordinary.) However, when I got a package in the mail that had two money orders made out for WAY more money than I should have gotten for my job, and my e-mail instructions included “send the excess to Ghana,” I knew it was a scam. Sadly, I had to shred up what would have been a generous sum if it hadn’t been counterfeit.

Ugh…so that’s my day yesterday. I’ll try to write something this weekend before I go into work on Monday. Until then…

I haven’t posted anything in a few days, and I’m sorry for that. My goal is to try to post a short work of fiction at least twice a week, but preferably once every other day. I’ve not been very active in writing lately. I won’t go into too much detail about it, but suffice to say that the economy is kicking my ass, and I’ve been preoccupied with money issues and left with little to no motivation to write.

I won’t lie to you guys; I intend to eventually start asking people who like my work to donate to my PayPal account to keep a starving artist alive. However, I don’t expect people to accurately judge whether they like me based on one measly story (especially when it’s not a complete story), and I also don’t expect them to donate out of the goodness of their hearts expecting nothing in return. I am tossing around a couple of ideas for donation incentives right now; as I mentioned on Jacque Jo’s website, http://www.girlofwords.com (you can also find her in my blogroll), I could do short little extras about a certain character we all love to hate over there. I could also write custom-made poems or flash fiction pieces for each donation. I could offer them a cameo in a future work if they donate above a certain threshold if they so choose.

There are myriad ways that I could go, and if anyone has suggestions that I didn’t already cover, please feel free to post a comment and suggest it. With any luck, I should have something written by this weekend. If not, I’ll pop in and possibly lecture explore the genre of “e-wrestling” with everyone that doesn’t know what that is.

Alrighty, my first post that has some fiction in it. This is probably going to be the first in a series of posts. I hesitate to call this a short story, because this is only part of an idea that my fiancee suggested to me. However, I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless. It’s tentative title is “Townies,” but as I progress through the rest of the idea, I might come up with a better, all-encompassing title.

NOTE: There is no sex, but there is plenty of hormonal, teenage lust and sexual tension near the end. I don’t think that’s too bad, but be warned; there will be plenty of dirty thoughts in the next segment of this story resulting from information disclosed in this one, and some might even occur in the reader, so if descriptions of attractive, hormonal high school seniors is enough to offend you, do not read any further.

EDIT: This post was MASSIVE before, so I’m going to edit it. Now, whenever I post stories or segments, I’m going to insert a cut and put the story after the cut. This can also give peoplethat might not care for more mature themes a chance to turn back, and it’l l make me more comfortable with leaning just a bit further towards the graphic side. I don’t want to make this into a porno blog, but I also don’t want to shy away from sexual themes when the situation calls for them.

END EDIT

Without further ado, the first segment of “Townies.”

Townies…what are they good for? Absolutely nothing.

Okay, so maybe that statement isn’t fair. Townies are good for sustaining Lakeshore Valley.

A young woman sighs as she throws her arms up, sending her body tumbling back onto the patchwork quilt she’s using to separate herself from the gritty sand of the Great Lake’s beach. It’s the third week in June, and all over the country, families are complaining about the sweltering heat that’s driving up their energy bills as they blast the air conditioner to resist the weather’s demonic pull. However, in this lakeside resort town nestled between a series of hills that serve as the nearest thing to mountains for hundreds of miles, it is a cool, brisk sixty-five degrees, perfect for anyone that would want to be walking around all day.

And walking around all day is what a great many people do in this town during the summer. The year-round population of Lakeshore Valley is a humble 300; there were nine seniors that graduated from the local high school this spring, and the seniors rising to follow them are an overwhelming eleven in number, one of whom lies upon the beach, desperate to escape her duties at the family bed-and-breakfast. It’s nearly eleven, but she’s already been up and moving longer than many of the “townies” she so despises will be all day today.

Sometimes it’s more work than it’s worth, being a Detorre.

The Detorre lying on the beach cups her hands beneath her head, pressing her sable locks against her scalp where they aren’t pooling around her head, extending nearly to the edges of the quilt with length that would travel to the small of her back if loose when she stands. As it is, some of it frames her neck and shoulders as well has her face, all of which is the color of pale cream. In fact, despite living in a resort town where girls her age are allowed (and in some less than savory cases, encouraged) to wear less than they could get away with in more traditional parts of the country, her entire body is this pale hue.

It’s not for lack of trying; she’s currently dressed in a long-sleeved, half-open, translucent men’s dress shirt that reveals her basic, deep blue bikini top and denim cutoffs that are just long enough to be legal. She marvels at how she often sees other girls her age or older wearing even skimpier outfits around town as though nothing were wrong, and other than the ogling that they often get from the male townies, nothing IS wrong. Having the men leering at the town’s eye candy seems to be part of the appeal, as misogynist as that seems. If she has one thing to be thankful for towards her family and the popularity of their establishment, it’s that she’s got plenty of work to keep her in decent shape, even if she’s still nothing compared to her friend.

“Maire! MAIRE!”

The sable-haired young lady sits up quickly as she hears the high-pitched squeal of her best friend traveling through the air towards her, and when she turns to look in the direction of the voice, she’s glad she chose a spot so deserted, purposefully setting up camp as far away from the popular lakeside spots as possible to avoid the congestion of the vacationers she so despises. Dressed in an ivory string bikini that would make most porn stars blush, the blond bombshell of Lakeshore Valley comes bounding down the beach and up to her lifelong friend. Her shining blond hair billows in the wind behind her, doing nothing to obscure shining eyes the color of jade. These jade green depths bore into her friend’s vivid sapphire ones as she stands a yard away, bouncing on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain herself. “Maire” smiles as she stands up to face her properly.

“Maire, you won’t believe it!”

“What won’t I believe, Nym?”

“I met a townie at Mom’s tavern—”

“Why wouldn’t I believe that? It’s late June, Lakeshore Valley’s crawling with townies.”

“—who isn’t a completely obnoxious jerkface!”

This last bit gets Maire’s attention. The residents of Lakeshore Valley universally agree that 99% of the townies that populate their town during the summer months are all snooty, obnoxious, pompous, or otherwise caught up in themselves. This stereotype lends itself mostly from the fact that these townies are, in almost all cases, families that are rich enough to own cabins on the lake that serve as summer beach houses or vacation getaways, and anyone rich enough to own two houses or more cannot possibly be in the same realm as good, working-class folk. Regrettably, in most cases, this stereotype holds true, but the people of Lakeshore Valley steel themselves and offer their best plastered-on smiles until September rolls around and the town quiets back down.

Needless to say, the news that there is a townie in the Valley that isn’t obnoxious and arrogant like the rest is enough to perk anyone’s ears.

“Really? Who is it?” Allison is now infected with Nym’s excited, hyperactive energy, expressing it instead by swaying from side-to-side. She’s normally more reserved, but this news is enough to drop her guard.

“It’s someone I’ve never seen before. From what I could tell afterward, he’s the son of two professional wrestlers that are taking some time off. The father is kind of scraggly, but the mom is gorgeous…”

At this point, Nym’s eyes glaze over a bit, lips curled in a half-smile. Maire gets a bit of a smirk on her face, knowing that gaze all too well. Nym is famous for being genderblind, and she has had her fair share of romantic encounters with members of either gender. Maire lets her have her moment, but quickly starts to get anxious, wanting to hear more, so she snaps in front of Nym’s face. Nym jumps a bit, then shakes her head to gather herself, chuckling awkwardly before continuing.

“She’s pretty, but the one I mainly came to tell you about is the son. He’s our age, but he looks like he’s been working out since he could say his own name.” Nym squirms in place, lips pressing together more firmly as she recalls the appearance of the young man in question. “His hair shines like fire, his eyes are precious emeralds, and he’s so buff…” Nym licks her lips. “I almost wanted to tackle him right there, but I don’t think his parents would have liked that much.”

“No, I doubt they would have.” Maire chuckles a bit at the dreamy look in her friend’s eyes. “So he’s attractive. A lot of townies are attractive at first. You said this one wasn’t a git, though. How do you know?”

Nym is all too glad to explain. “Well, I wasn’t there until they were almost ready to leave, but all three of them were courteous to the staff, and to Mom especially. None of them seemed to be uptight, but the son in particular was warm and kind to the staff, on all levels, not just Mom. Even the maid that went in to clean their room the night before got a warm smile and a generous thanks from him! It seems like he might even be…”

Here Nym pauses dramatically, letting the suspense build between herself and Maire, who is now nearly shaking in anticipation. This story is too good to be true; Nym is telling it with such conviction, but she’s done this before only for the payoff to be that he’s arrogant or fictional. She really seems to be genuine this time, though, and Maire hopes she’s not leading her along.

Come on, Nym, just get on with it and tell me whether he’s facetious or fictional or arrogant or deformed or…

“Humble!”

Nym’s grin puts the Cheshire Cat to shame, and Maire is flabbergasted. Nym has painted the picture of a perfect guy, one that has her heart racing even before she’s even seen him. But how could he be in Lakeshore Valley?

This is too good to be true. She has to be lying; no one like that ever comes here. She’ll probably point him out and he’ll have a pimple the size of—

Maire is shocked out of her thoughts by Nym shrieking at the top of her longs, jumping up and down so vigorously that her bikini’s threatening to come off.

“Look look look look look! It’s him!“

Nym is pointing excitedly off into the distance, and Allison turns around slowly to look where she’s pointing.

He shouldn’t be coming this way…no one comes down here, it’s too far from the restaurants and bars.

Regardless of the convenience level of her chosen hiding place on the beach, there was indeed someone walking along the beach, the waters of the lake lapping at his feet as he casually strolls along, his eyes wandering freely as he takes in the serene majesty of this locale. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s being watched, which is unsurprising, as the girls watching him are little more than specks across a vast stretch of sand and grass. Being further back from the water as well as higher up on the ground, the gawking females have the ideal vantage point with which to do so, and they do so openly.

Dressed only in snug-fitting black swimming trunks imprinted with crimson flame designs, this nameless object of admiration is blissfully unaware of two late teen girls drinking him in. There are several telltale signs that he is the son of two professional wrestlers. With the sun high in the air, causing the sand to glow nearly white and the water to blind those that look directly upon it, his hair shines through it all, igniting their souls with the flamed crest that Nym described before. His vivid crimson locks lie flat, plastered to shoulders and neck that are tan and well-built. There is clear definition in his arms and chest and clear division between six stones upon his abdomen. Additionally, judging from the swell in those tight-fitting trunks, he sports generous thighs that Maire can just imagine are balanced by tight glutes behind.

Well…he’s a hunk…but that doesn’t mean he’s a kind, generous hunk…

Nym squeals quietly, squirming some more as she leans in to whisper in her friend’s ear. “Isn’t he hot?”

Maire can do nothing but shake her head idly, shrugging in her inability to refute her. The closer he walks, the more they are dazzled by his charms without him even attempting to be alluring.

“Well…see ya’!” With that abrupt farewell, Nym rushes off, leaving her speechless friend alone on the beach with a fast approaching tourist of her dreams. He’s tall, he’s handsome, he’s strong, he’s respectful, he’s looking right at her…

Wait…he’s looking at me! Oh shi—

His eyes have been drawn away from the natural scenery and to the other person out here to enjoy it. From the look in his eyes, which Maire can now tell are just as vivid and deep an emerald green as she professed, he is surprised to see another soul on this stretch of the waterfront, but he is even more surprised to see someone as beautiful as our heroine. Maire becomes sheepish, blushing a deep red as she wraps her arms around herself. The son is still about thirty yards away, so she pretends to have been looking at a gull behind him and gets back down on her blanket. After a few moments, she leans back in a similar position as she was when she first got interrupted by Nym, but she can’t keep from peeking back over at him to see where he is and what he’s doing. She groans and attempts to keep her pose up when she sees that he’s looking directly at her; he’s probably seen her drop back down and try to seem non-chalant, which would make her only seem more awkward.

With the best eye candy she’s seen in all of her post-puberty years in Lakeshore Valley, Maire tries to utilize the feminine wiles she knows she has, but her friend has long since mastered. With her potential mate or crush now close enough for her to clearly see each separate unit in his abdomen as they shift and shine in the sunlight, she reaches for the buttons of her men’s dress shirt and slowly undoes them. A moment later, with all the buttons undone, she peels it off and lets it drop behind her as she arches her back, her bikini top free and housing a moderate bosom that would easily draw an eye from a hormonal teenager, especially when paired with such short denim cutoffs.

The prospect quickly adjusts his path in-order to be walking more directly towards Maire, which makes her nervous beyond description. She is mostly frozen in this hopefully seductive pose as he walks up to her, the contrast between his effortless (not to mention unintentional) allure and her overt, statue-esque appeals laughably apparent in her mind.

If it is just as apparent to the young man she’s just drawn in, he makes no indication of noticing. Instead, he raises an arm behind his head to relieve an itch, the action bending his well-muscled arm and drawing Maire’s gaze right to it. Her eyes glaze over slightly as he stands there like that, but when he clears his throat to speak, she fights to wrench her eyes from his half-flexed muscle and back into emerald irises that she can drown in. Once more, if he notices her overt ogling, he makes no mention of it.

“Hi.”

Such a simple address of the flame-crested boy, but it still excites a whole horde of butterflies in her slim stomach, making her feel as though she might just project some of the higher flying ones onto the young man that has caught her in his gaze. Fighting to remain calm, she responds in kind.

“Hi…”

For an eternity, Maire lies on the blanket, stunned into motionless, staring up into this god’s emerald depths. To her amazement and chagrin, he is looking back down into her eyes instead of at the chest that she hast thrust out for that purpose. Maybe he is as humble and atypical as Nym suggested…

“What’s your name?”

Maire is drawn out of her reverie when the divine presence before her speaks, asking her name. Once more, an eternity passes as she fumbles with her brain, searching it desperately for the information he is requesting.

“Maire—Allison! Allison…Maire is my middle name, but only Nym uses it.” Allison blushes a radiant radish red as her dream smiles down at her, still oblivious that he has now been standing there for two whole eternities.

“My name’s Kaji.”

Kaji…such a strange, surprisingly exotic and wondrous name…I wonder where it comes from; I’ve never heard it before in my entire—

“D’you mind if I sit down?”

Allison’s eyes go wide as the perfect guy asks to sit down next to her. Her mind shuts down as her heart races faster than it ever has before. When she tries to tell him in her most entrancing and eloquent voice that he’s more than welcome to join her on the quilt, all she manages to do is flail clumsily as she scoots over, stuttering an invitation that might be “Please do” if her cognitive functions were activated. Despite her flustered fumbling, the shining light of her day sits down next to her, legs extended out toward the lake that both are now looking out at. He doesn’t say anything else right away, just appreciating the beauty of the lakeshore while wondering, along with Allison, at the tension building between the two. Is it love? Is it lust? Who’s to say? Allison certainly has no clues, but if she doesn’t do anything fast, she might just explode.

Hi. This is just a post to say that I am still alive. I’m currently juggling my time between a promo (I’d have to devote a whole post to explaining that genre of writing, and I probably will at some point, but not right now) and what I want to use as the first story for the blog. I hope to have both done sometime today, or very early tomorrow, so sit tight, and don’t worry about me; I’m still alive.

Hello WordPress. My name is Jacob Rowe, and I’m a creative writer studying at the Univeristy of Evansville, and the purpose of this blog is simple: I’m going to share my writing with the world. I am a writer that is a fan of several genres of writing and literature; medieval fiction, of both the historical and high fantasy varieties; professional wrestling, both in the ring and behind the scenes; action-adventure; romance; and some combination thereof are all genres that I can dip into and probably will throughout the course of this blog’s life time. If you like any of those, you will probably enjoy my work, and if you don’t, you’re welcome to suggest something else for me to try my hand at, as I am certainly not against broadening my horizons as an author. I already have a few things in mind for short stories, and I also have plans to post excerpts and/or chapters of a novel I have in mind, but if you have any ideas, feel free to comment on this post or e-mail me at KajiFireson@gmail.com.

EDIT: For some, it would be obvious from the listing of “professional wrestling” and “romance” in my list of genres, but I want to point out that some of the works posted here will contain material that could be considered mature. Any and all such stories or posts will be clearly labeled as such and have a warning before the actual writing to keep younger readers from reading things that might not be for them. I’ll be trying not to be overtly pornographic or gratuitously violent, but there will be allusions to sex in some stories, and there will be violence in some stories. Once more, any post with the potential to offend will be clearly labeled and tagged to prevent people who don’t want to read that from reading it.