#21, fiction- Pornstud

The man removed his shirt. He seemed quite comfortable at this. The man had a thin body now moved with enticing curves before the lens. He had a delicate collarbone and his neck was unexpectedly sensual. Darren could see the ribs sticking out under his chest. But his thighs were strong and showed trained muscle. His arms were long and swanlike.

Dearest friends,

I have to confess that I half wished this short story finally caught their attention, and was actually being discussed with further interest. I started it on Feb 3, and finished it on Feb 21. It was sent out to the magazine the next day after three proofreadings. I should receive the rejection by the beginning of June. But I didn’t and that built my hope up. But tonight, I realized it’s stupid. It’d surely be great if they found it interesting, but what’s more important is that I need to keep moving, noticed or not. There’s still so much I wanna try, and I couldn’t afford to get dragged down, by a fantasy. So I’m not waiting for it. I’m not waiting for them. And I’m sending you this.

            I remember that writing this short story had been fun. There were times when I started the computer, and then thirty minutes later, I got nearly a thousand words (you see, sometimes, it takes me hours to write three hundred). I remember looking up at the pictures hung on the wall in my study, and just smiled, wishing I could tell someone just how much I love this.

            And I also tried something new to me.

            I had been reading the fiction in The New Yorker for quite some time. For I want to know what sort of stuff they are looking now. I was going through some notes I scribbled down before for ideas. Then I suddenly realized: I liked to tell people how my character felt. For example, I’d say “Joe sat down and felt so, so, so, so terribly sorry.” But some writers wouldn't do that. So I began to wonder, how would it be if I turn that sentence into “Joe sat down. He didn’t look at Jane. He held his hands together, first in midair with his elbows on the table, then on his lap. He tried not the shift too often on his seat, or cough too much. And he looked out the window, didn't say anything.”

            Then I figure, maybe I should try to trust, trust that whomever that’s reading my story will get it. But it’s one thing to think, a lot different and difficult to actually do. So I’m still trying.

            Some might recognize certain sequence here. I may have borrowed something from real life.

            And also, I used “….squeezed his hardest grip” in the story that always makes me itchy when I get to it. What I was trying to write is “.. when the man fucking shot his load.” But I just found it physically impossible to type that (I have a very parental MacBook). I would love to hear your opinion, which is better, or what difference does it make, they all suck.

           

Preview- Strategy

Rushed feet are heard down the hall. Several nicely suited bodyguards escort a fifty-ish man, dressed in a rather sophisticated style, with long limbs and a lean body, a straight face, gray short hair on top. The suddenness of this appearance, the swiftness of their steps makes it more like an attack. The Doctor stops amid the people. And the bodyguards fan out to all sides on cue. The Doctor stands still, observing the contestants around him with his brow arched and lips meanly tightened, likely mocking at those who circle him.