Author's notes:

I've talked about writing serial fiction, and probably talked it to death. I've also wrote a few short stories, some pretty strong ones. I wanted to write a novel. Don't we all?

Turns out, writing short stories is pretty much the opposite of writing novels. Both use words, have the classic situation-escalation-climax-resolution plot arcs. The novel has them, just many of them, some minor, some major, usually with multiple ones overlapping at any given time.

That's one of the starting differences. A short story is short. Some quote goes, "A short story should be as long as it needs to be, not a word more." The emphasis is on brevity, of establishing the barest sketch of a character, setting, or just about anything else.

I'm not saying a novel should waste words and the readers' time. But a novel has the luxury of time to better build up the characters, setting and plot.

Plots are different, too. A short story has room for only one plot, so it's 'payload' has to be delivered in one shot. Usually, this is a twist ending. Very infrequently will a short story end with some profound message that inspires the reader to ponder it.

Novels can have twists, but they're not the payload. The payload is generally more emotional, a sense of pride, sadness or accomplishment. Most novels end with the main plot threads resolved and a sense of closure.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is: if you want to write novels, write bad novels, then better ones. Don't write short stories and try to apply the same skills to novels. Much of the craft required for shorts don't carry over, or at least they didn't for me.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



He stole a glance at her, saw the confusion clouding her face. "I don't orgasm. I do ejaculate, but it's something so fully under my control that it's more like voiding than anything you just described."

"So your contest with me and 'Vander..."

"Was rigged from the very beginning? Yes."

"And Marc, in his car, making me..."

"Was this on the way to The Society?"

"No, from. He had me try while he was driving. I spent the whole trip in his lap."

Another shadow of a smile crossed his face. "Was it good for you?"

She mirrored it. "No, it was a pain in the neck."

He chuckled, but his smile waned. "So, now you know. Yes, the question was both important and immediate, but I wanted to hear it once from you while you didn't know, while you had hope I'd show you mine now that you've shown me yours."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to hear it before you knew. That I couldn't come to climax. I wanted to hear it before the pity set in."

They listened to the engine's low rumble for a bit.

"So that's your secret."

They turned off the freeway. He didn't look away from the road, but his head he tilted toward her slightly, his eyebrows he raised.

"The night we first met. Eight times. Remember?"

He nodded. Sian could only see the nearer corner of his mouth, but saw it starting to rise.

"I asked you what was your secret, how you could keep going for so long. How you could, you know, so many times."

"Bring you to your perfect place? 'Get' you 'there,' as you termed it?"

She nodded and backed away, went as far as the seat and belt would allow. She ended against her door. "Yes. Getting there. Did you know I hadn't gotten there with anyone else for years?"

"Yes, little one. You mentioned it. I'm sure you took," he said and turned to look at her. "...measures to ensure you still visited that perfect moment, yes?"

She sighed. "Of course. I'm not a nun. And thank you for avoiding the cheap joke." She smiled, the sighed. "But, it's not the same. Don't get me wrong, until I met you, I never got there from, uh, the joining of the bodies?" She looked, saw his nod. "Right. Never from joining bodies with anyone. Never. I mean, until you, that is. And," she looked at her knees. "Evander was the last boy who could bring me there. And that was years ago. Years and years ago."

"Well, look at the positive: it can't be as long ago as it has been for me." He gave a self-mocking snort.

"Ouch. Yeah, that would suck. I can't imagine, no, I take that back. I can, I can imagine living life knowing I'll never get there again. Yes, I can, but it'd suck."

"Well, I wouldn't say it is quite so grim. I can look forward to one more, when I die."

"What?"

"Lavender. Think back. How did she kill William and--"

"Wilhelm."

"Wilhelm, then. Was that important?" His head leaned away, but his eyebrow still rose as he asked this.

"To me? Yes! That was his name; that may be the only thing I know about him, but it was his name. It's all... Why are you smiling?"

"Very good, precious girl. Very good, indeed. Names are important. You are right, more right than you know. I never call you by yours anymore. You are my little one, and that name is sacred between us."

She stared at her knees again. "You did. It hurt."

"Did I? Oh, damnation. Yes, I lost control, and I'm sorry."

"You can't say that. You were talking to me as calm as you are now. You didn't lose control. You wanted to hurt me."

"No, pet. I didn't want to hurt you. I've fought for you, I Claimed you, I own you. By stars, why should I ever want to hurt you?"

"I don't know. You wanted to throw me away, toss me at Marc."

"No, precious. I know you'd rather die than do that. I didn't want you to wait for me to abuse you like he did. I won't. I'd rather die than do that."

"'Again.'"

"Hm?"

"'Again.' You said 'do that again' when you said it."

He sighed. "I guess I did lose control more than I thought. Can I ask you to pretend I never said that?"

"You can't unring a bell, Sire. Would talking about it help?"

"No. Your intentions are beautiful, my dear. They very much are. However, there's very little that will. Nothing, I fear, will."

"Would my asking why be immediate? It is important, very important to me."

"A better word might be impertinent. It's not pertinent to us, pet. I know it's important to you; I believe you. I ask you to believe me when I implore you not to ask."

Sian nodded. "I'm sorry for asking. I didn't know."

"No need to apologize, pet. You're thinking. You're present. That is important. A life, no matter long or short, is only as valuable as what you invest into it. Always ask questions, of yourself if you find it impolite to ask another. No, dear, you did very well."

"... but?"

"What? What do you mean, 'but?'"

"There's always a 'but.' No one says, 'you did well' without following it with a 'but.'"

"No 'but,' little one. You did very well, period." He studied the road. "If there is a 'but,' it'd be 'but could we talk about something else?' Good enough?"