Week 9.5 - Catching Up and Writing Tips

Update – Just thought I’d drop in and let everyone know I’ve recovered from my latest fall off the gaming wagon and am back on the productive track. I’m wrapping up a bit of paid work and have returned to work on the romance. I do that one in the mornings, longhand. Without the internet’s distractions I’ve been making some serious progress, with ideas for characters and plot twists hitting me so fast I can barely keep up. No urge to play games whatsoever. Looks like I made it through to the other side and should be okay. Until the next time. Here’s hoping the next time is many months from now. Or even never.

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While I’m here, allow me to impart a discovery I made about my writing habits. My current project is a shapeshifter romance, a resurrection of a story I started and abandoned several years ago. For reasons I’ll discuss next week, I need to change some settings and character names, as well as some characterization. In the course of reviving this ancient corpse, it suddenly struck me that some of my shifters, the coyotes in particular, all seem to talk and act alike. I’ve got one in the series that’s currently blocked, but I wrote enough to that story to realize he and the one I’m writing right now are basically interchangeable, even though they’re in two different stories with two vastly different settings and plots. Like the Klingons in the original Star Trek and the Ferengi in ST: The Next Generation, the coyote shifters have become my go-to stereotype.

Treating any homogenous group of beings in such fashion, like an overall set of quirks instead of as individuals, is not only lazy writing, it’s an insult to the readers and especially to the characters. Luckily I’m early enough in my current story that there’s still time to change course. The fragment I’m reworking was originally intended to be a simple M/F romance between a wolf shifter and a human woman, with the wolf’s coyote buddy as comedy relief. I’ve already decided to make the new version a threesome, so he’ll not only need to be a fully-rounded character, but one worthy of winning the woman’s affections. So what makes him stand out? What makes him different from any other coyote character I’ve written over the years?

Better characterization. And hidden layers. The coyote is a relative from an eastern pack; he’s been called to Wyoming to help the western branch of the fam in their turf war with another shifter species. (Fun fact: the subspecies known as the Eastern Coyote has been found to have wolf in its DNA, probably from interbreeding before farmers with guns wiped out the eastern wolf packs.) The coyote craziness my wolf-shifter hero can’t stand only shows on the surface. Underneath lurks a serious predator controlled by a trickster’s mind. There’s a good reason the western Alpha called him in to help and paired him up with the humorless, straight-arrow hero. Over the years the others characters have all bought in to my patented coyote stereotype. While everybody’s watching the wolf, the coyote will slip in under the radar and get the job done.

One trait I did retain from the stereotype was a coyote’s reputation as a horndog. Fortunately for my wolf hero, they’re not as sexually uptight as wolves and don’t mind sharing. Once my characters form their threesome, the wolf in this one will keep him faithful. My woman character’s dad was a Marine drill sergeant, so she’ll keep ’em both in line.

See? A little thought and a lot of effort will lead to a much better book. This is also why you should let a draft sit for a while before attempting revisions. Time makes the jarring notes jump out at you, as well as the overused  tropes. You can teach an old dog, or coyote, or writer, new tricks. See you all next week.

  

Coming Soon

Check it out - artwork for J. J. Collins's latest release, Cock and Bull Story. No release date yet, but when I get one you'll hear about it.

One thing that struck me funny: The bull shifter in the story has a red coat, so his silhouette on the cover probably should have been red and the rooster's black. Except a picture of a "red bull" might violate a certain energy drink's trademarked logo. We romance writers had enough problems a while ago just for having the word "cock" in our titles. I don't need to start another fight.

As for the storage facility in my local area that's openly using the stylized Superman "S" logo in its company name... Somebody really should warn them before the wrath of Time-Warner rains down upon them like chunks of kryptonite.

New from J. J. Collins

Sometimes love comes at you fast. Answering an old friend’s call for help, hunter Dillon Royce comes to Arizona to stop a shapeshifter who’s targeting gay men. He finds himself falling for the prime suspect, cheetah shifter Kaz Genovese. Kaz insists they’re fated mates. Or is he just trying to get close to his latest victim? Dillon needs to solve this one fast, before he totally loses his heart … or his life.

EXCERPT

“Sorry, speedy. I can’t take any chances. You’re going into a holding cell until we get this resolved. If you want to call a lawyer—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kaz shifted. The bonds meant to restrain a human fell loose on the cheetah’s form. He slid his paws free and bit through what he couldn’t slip out of.

Then he leaped at Dillon.

They fell backward, onto the narrow bed. Kaz shifted back. His teeth grazed Dillon’s throat, just a tease, before he crashed his mouth against Dillon’s in another of those soul-blasting kisses.

Dillon had his knife. One thrust and it would be over.

Instead, he accepted the kiss. How had he gone his entire life without being kissed like this? Like Kaz intended to swallow his soul. As if he already had.

His hands moved as if with minds of their own, exploring, groping Kaz. Not an inch of him was still. Every speck of Kaz’s naked body seemed in constant frantic motion. Holding him was like holding on to a primal life force. His body was the desert, spare and barren at first glance but harboring unexpected bursts of color and flavor and life. An entire ecosystem of fiery desire, all of it focused on Dillon.

So long. Too long since he’d had any relief, or so desperately wanted it.

Only when he realized Kaz was tearing at his fly did Dillon come back to his senses. This was all happening too fast.

Somehow, he got his eyes to focus. “Don’t I even get dinner first?”

“What? Oh.” Kaz slumped, all over. Even then his body still vibrated with speed. “You humans and your stupid rituals. What a waste of time. You’re my mate. We were born for each other. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Sorry, no. I don’t have the luxury of instinct. Right now, I’ve got a set of murders to solve. That’s my first priority. You and your mating urges—” Our mating urges, he couldn’t help thinking. “—Are going to have to wait.”

“Go slow?” Kaz tested the concept and, from the lift of his lip, clearly found it distasteful. “I don’t know if I can do that. Though it would be an interesting test.”

“You’re going to have to. And you’re going to have to sit in a cell for a while. You’re the prime suspect. Can’t be helped.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Kaz said firmly. “Tell you what. I’ll go do some investigating on my own. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow night and we’ll have that dinner. And then I’m claiming you. That’s as slow as I can go.” He palmed Dillon’s cheek. “We’re going to be spending our lives together. I suppose I should ask you your name.”

“It’s Dillon. Dillon Royce.”

“Dillon.” His name sighed off Kaz’s tongue. “Until tomorrow night, my love.” He captured Dillon’s mouth again and sent his senses spinning. When Dillon opened his eyes, those delightful lips were gone, the hand at the back of his neck was gone, the scent of cat was a fading memory, and the door to his room stood open.

He went to the open doorway, although he knew it was pointless. Of course, Kaz was nowhere in sight. The ache in his groin was now joined by a more poignant ache in his soul, its one true mate discovered and abruptly torn away. Maybe there was something to the mate bond after all, even where humans were concerned.

Or maybe that was guilt he felt, that in spite of everything he was falling hard for his number-one suspect. That he’d let a possible killer go free.

Available from Evernight

Here We Go Again

Let me start off by saying it’s not my intention to single-handedly bring diversity to the world of M/M romance. Or romance in general. Or any genre currently dominated by straight white characters. I myself am straight and white, so that’s my default position. As with a lot of businesses and institutions in the U.S. of A., publishing tends to be dominated by straight white people. I almost wrote “men,” but I recall reading somewhere that there are more women than men involved in the publishing industry, at least in editorial. Somehow I suspect it’s a man sitting in the CEO’s chair. It usually is. Men are obsessed with sex and money, while women would rather read a book. That’s right, sweetie, she’s faking it. You’re nowhere near as good as she’s making you think you are.

That’s neither here nor there, however. We’re talking about diversity.

There’s been some squawk among readers and writers about all the straight white males that populate popular literature. Where are the gay, bi, and trans characters? Where are the people of color? Where’s the Asian trans bodybuilder and the asexual black queen of the fantasy realm? I’m sure they’re out there somewhere, but if so, they’re minor characters. The leads and their circles of friends are still predominantly white.

A glaring example: DC Comics. The characters they’re now trying to make billions with in movies were created back in the 1940s. Take a look at any copy of Justice League from the 1960s, during the height of the Civil Rights movement, and you’ll behold a sea of white faces. (Okay, Martian Manhunter’s green, but when he changed form to fake humanity he changed into a white guy.) They tried to course-correct in the ‘90s cartoon by including the John Stewart (a black guy) version of Green Lantern, but now that a Justice League movie is looming on the horizon they’re reverting back to whitebread Hal Jordan. Cyborg, formerly of the Teen Titans, is now part of the Justice League as their sole black member. Welcome to tokenism, Vic.

Marvel Comics has it a bit easier. They came of age in the 1960s, with younger, hipper creators than stodgy old DC. They’ve always had racial diversity. Joe Robertson, editor of the Daily Bugle in the Spider-Man comics, was always a black guy. Marvel had the first black superhero (Black Panther, born in Africa) and the first African-American superhero (the Falcon). Okay, there was Wong, Dr. Strange’s Asian servant, but nobody talks about him. And Nick Fury wasn’t always Samuel L. Jackson. He used to be a white guy. And almost every prominent character in the first Avengers movie, with the exception of Mr. Jackson and Ms. Johannsen, was white, male, and supposedly straight. (Loki has been a woman in the comics, so he gets a pass.) I never said the system didn’t have its glitches.

The point is, pretty much everybody populating those thousands of books in the Barnes & Noble is a straight white person, probably male. The readers buying those books, however, run the entire gamut of the racial and sexual spectrum. They want to see characters that reflect who they are. Can you blame them?

Just try to swerve off the straight white path if you’re a straight white writer, however. Publishers will smell the possibility of a lawsuit on your manuscript and email it right back to you. Apparently only people of color or different sexual orientation can safely write about characters of same. Then they’re told there’s no market for their books, and the status quo perpetuates itself.

True story: a straight, white male writer of children’s books wrote a story about a biracial boy. It was rejected by the publishers he sent it to, and word leaked back to him the reason for all the nos was because he, the writer, was a white guy. Here’s the kicker: his wife is black. His son is biracial. So it’s okay for him to raise a biracial kid but not to write about one. A point he publicly raised at a publishing conference, in front of an audience and panelists that was mostly white.

What does all this have to do with me and my M/M stories? Nothing, usually. I stick to my Caucasian comfort zone. Except when I find I don’t have a choice.

Like now.

I’ve written black characters before. My last ménage had a brown-skinned lead character, but the book took place on an alien planet so he slid under the radar. I work the system by not calling attention to any character’s race. I’ll drop in a couple of hints that suggest a different ethnicity and let the readers picture them any way they want to.

The problem reared its head when I started my current WIP, which involves a circus populated by shapeshifters. I work on the theory that a shapeshifter’s human ethnicity is determined by their animal form’s continent of origin. Shapeshifters can’t stay animal all the time. They have to blend in with the human population. Therefore a tiger’s human form will be Indian, wolves will be white European or Native American, and horses will be white European, or maybe Arabian. Simple evolutionary survival.

What do you find at the circus? Elephants, tigers, lions, bears, camels, the occasional monkey. Where did those animals originate? Not in the white countries, that’s for damn sure. If I’m to remain true to my personal rules, my white hero is going to walk into a predominantly African/Asian/Native American environment and meet the other hero, a lion shifter. Who I originally pictured as a white guy, but if he’s a lion his human form will have to be African-American.

I didn’t sit down with the intention of writing an interracial gay romance. It just turned out that way. I’ve already given in to panic and made my lion shifter half-human, so he can keep his blond hair and green eyes. (Clearly his mom was a white woman.) As for the rest, I won’t dwell on race. There’s a brief passage where the hero considers the ethnic diversity surrounding him, then it’s never mentioned again. If an editor asks me to delete that scene, I will. Or maybe I’ll just change it to the shifters and the human circus workers eating at separate tables and make that the only overt racial diversity. (Another true story: during the filming of the original Planet of the Apes movie, the actors had to go to lunch in full ape makeup. Within days they began segregating themselves: chimps ate with chimps, gorillas with gorillas, orangutans with orangutans, regardless of the skin color of the human actor underneath the prosthetics. Birds of a feather. We are indeed a strange species.)

With the race problem out of the way, I can concentrate on the important stuff, like my human hero falling in love with the lion man while trying to catch a killer. The killer’s a straight white male, by the way. I’m not taking any chances.