What would writers do without willful characters and their demanding ways?
During my writing, willful characters often pop into existence. A neighbor who has never emerged from their house opens the front door and wham, becomes an important secondary character. The one liner mailman worms his way into his own storyline. A gallery owner created to supply comic relief evolves to the point where he is special enough to deserve a spin off story. They want their time alongside the main character parade.
What do you do with a character who falls from the sky?
Believe it or not, Fabion, my character from “An Elf for All Centuries”, fell from the sky. His dramatic entrance into my writing world is fitting considering his drama queen status. He fell from the sky during a strange dream, landed splat in a mud puddle, started cursing, and needed a home. I hope the silly word mansion I constructed for his diva personality pleases him.
Other characters entered my life in less dramatic scenarios. Amando from “Temptation of the Incubus” always seemed to exist for me. Many moons ago, I read horror magazines like Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella. Anyone remember Vampirella, she of the skimpy red outfit and flowing black hair? I certainly do. Okay, enough drooling. When I was a kid, I had subscriptions to these magazines. Bless my parents. I remember reading a story about a succubus giving up her life to save her dying human lover. The story stuck with me until years later I decided to use the story as part of a far larger story based around a male incubus and his human lover. Enter Amando and Mads into my world.
Amando and Fabion have too much in common. They are both full of self-worth, sexy and own no problem in accepting their sexiness. Someday I want to lock them in a room and see what happens. Aw, come on, they will have sex. That’s a no-brainer.
Prince Linden and Alasdaire from “Canes and Scales” are another pair who has always been with me. In fact, they have been in many people’s minds. They are the fairy tale pair, the star-crossed noble and slave who fight past restraints and torment to love. They are an eternal pair descended from a common love of romance and the happy ever after ending, well, happy until something wicked comes along to screw up their romance. In their sequel, something comes at them like a screaming demon. Poor souls.
Speaking of souls, my characters Tristan and Marius from “To Save a Shining Soul” are another good example of the fairy tale pairing. A demon and a misplaced divinity student in Hell fall in love. They are definitely an archetypical pairing, geesh, probably something found in cave paintings. Good and evil hooking up. Tristan and Marius are as simple and as complex as that concept.
In my novel that won’t be out until September, my characters Carl and Marcelino are another variation on an archetypical pairing, the pot-smoking college professor and the sexy student. Granted they are a variation on the older man chasing the younger man trope, especially since Carl the professor is, in certain ways, less grounded than the younger Marcelino. No matter what, I had a blast writing them together.
Other characters such as torn-asunder, mmm, I love that term, Magus and Nick hope to see the light of day in my supernatural tale about the Shetlands. What about David and Nate, my poor characters stuck in a Victorian vampire mess? Or Petros, Rolfe, Nels and Aindrias, struggling to push their historical drama to the finishline? These poor men need freedom. I hope it arrives for them soon.
Then there is Patrice, a pushy little bugger who has been haunting me. He’s another bold character who introduced via a dream. He owns a leather bar/cafe, likes red leather pants paired with stiletto boots and fills in as a waiter. Patrice is proud of his round beer belly and seldom wears a shirt at the bar. Hard belly pinches turn him on. He is swarthy, black-haired, green-eyed, and handy with a switchblade. He hides a tattoo. Judging by his attitude, I know where he is inked. He displays one helluva tattoo, oh yeah.
Patrice keeps haunting me. He struts across the dimly lit bar carrying a menu to a man sitting at a back table. At least this character hasn’t named himself. The waiting man hasn’t ordered food since Patrice never reaches his table. Patrice struts but never arrives.
He performs this act on a regular basis. I often “write” myself to sleep, trying to work out a scene or where a story might go next. Even when I’m fretting over another story, Patrice insists on strutting with his menu.
I try to ignore him. Many other words need attention. Too many needy characters wait in line for editing and development.
Patrice wants to strut to the line’s front. Should I let him deliver the menu to the man at the back table? Damn, the second the menu slides into that man’s hand, the dude will name himself.
They will try to line jump but there is no way they are shoving past Magus, Nick, Petros, Rolfe, Nels and Aindrias. Their sheer combined angst will force Patrice and Mr. Table Sitter behind them. Before they act up, I promised Patrice and mystery man a place in one of my many plots in progress. I know where they will fit in.
Do you think they will be happy with my promise?
Cross your fingers. I do worry about Patrice’s switchblade skills.
Let’s hope my dreams bring less aggressive characters who act patient enough to wait their turn. It’s rough when a character displays too much character.
That seems like a good place to include an excerpt from An Elf for All Centuries.
Elf Prince Fabion enjoys the perfect supermodel lifestyle until wizard Matradorian chucks him back in time to save Henda, the sexy, powerful elf king. Since the death of his lover, Henda has lingered in a half-alive, half-dead state. Surprisingly, Fabion is a spiritual match for Henda’s dead lover, so only he can save the dying king.
Fabion uses his sexy bod and sweet lovin’ to revive the elf king. All seems well until he realizes that by saving Henda, his own timeline was destroyed and he must stay in this ancient land forever. Fabion pitches the biggest temper tantrum of any century.
Soon a new threat emerges which puts his life in fresh danger. Now who wants to kill him?
Henda body slammed Fabion into the sitting room table. Unnngh… wow, the hard, wooden table sure abused the spine. The frenzied Fabion was too busy holding on and gasping in wet, hot pleasure to protest. Fuck. Amazing. Did his powerful Henda have a cock or a telephone pole swinging between his thighs? Whatever this potent male swirled around in Fabion’s ass sure made Fabion experience twinkling stars, shimmering comets, and strange, lime-green light flashes. He imagined himself as a cup of coffee violently stirred by one long, hard spoon. Ouch, did those green flashes mean brain damage? His head had bounced off the sitting room wall pretty damned hard.
“Henda, what the hell are you—ooo—”
The powerful elf yanked him off the table and maneuvered them toward the bedroom. Fabion wrapped around Henda, laughed, and enjoyed the sexy ride down the hall. Yee-hah! As he walked, Henda continued jamming the pile driver into Fabion. Amazing. Yeee-haaa redux. The big dude hid hydraulics in his wicked cock!
Henda’s wanton actions stunned Fabion. Imagine, he had coaxed the stately big dude into acting like a rampaging sexual demon.
Pained ecstasy made Fabion whoop in amazement.
His smiling big dude gasped out a teasing question. “Am I too much for my youthful one?”
When he controlled his own gasping, Fabion nipped at Henda’s smiling lips. “Keep bringing it on, you wild thing! This is where I need you to be my perpetual motion machine. You can do me until I pass out. This is… you are… ooo, yeah, baby, please—”
Fabion squirmed in fresh joy. He bounced his ass up and down. He hoped his big dude managed not to drop him even as he tried forcing Henda to come before they reached the bed.
Loud gasps threatened their progress. “My love, I hate to admit the fact, but throwing you across the various surfaces exhausts even my royal stamina. Do you mind if we end our epic round of sex in our bed? I love ending in a traditional manner.”
“Traditional? You’re funny, Big Dude.” Fabion rolled his inner ass muscles.
“You are a lovely tease.” Henda carefully positioned them to drop in swift grace.
Fabion’s torso sunk into the bed. His pillow cradled his head. He stared up at Henda in amazement. “Big Dude, wow, what skillful aim. Thanks for not dropping me on the floor.”
“You act so dazed with sexual glory, I wonder if you would even notice.”
“You gotta point and wow, one fabulous point deep where it counts!”
Crooning in merry lust, Fabion arched his neck back and rolled his head against the feather pillow. He kept his long legs wrapped around Henda’s perfect waist. Wow-wowie. Yooowww, whatever happened deep inside him defined killer. “Hey, Big Dude, do that trick again.”
Henda chuckled softly and maneuvered his hips slightly to the left. “Is this what my darling one needs?”
“Woo, absolutely, Big Dude. Lover, are you sick of me—ooo, yeah—telling you how sublimely boffo you are?”
Another chuckle escaped Henda’s panting throat. “Boffo? Trust me, Fabion, you are the first one to call me boffo. I gather boffo is a pleasant thing to be?”
Fabion managed to laugh through his impending blast off. “Absolutely, Big Dude. Boffo ranks right up there with killer.”
Henda arched his back toward the ceiling. Yeow, perfect, the big dude slowly drove his cock back into Fabion in hard, incremental thrusts. His lover understood when to slow down the show. Excellent.
“You are killer boffo.”
Henda smiled over Fabion’s ecstatic face. “My dear beauty, you and I are going to sit down with a few bottles of, as you call it, tree sap vino and detail your strange utterances. How is killer a good thing?”
“Trust me, you studly elf, it is a compliment, like me saying ‘I dig how you do the nasty’. Crap, holy cats, lover, how do you make your amazing dick twist radically hard? Your new treat is wickedly hot.”
“My Fabion, tell me what pleases you, and I shall perform the act until you cannot stand the pleasure. I hate to sound boastful, but I can satisfy a lover for hours. Actually, since we act lively here, I fear I will not hold out as long as usual. I confess I am at physical limit.”
Whew, cool to realize Henda also suffered from exhaustion. Fabion felt less wimpy.
Thanks for reading!
Who Am I?
Thirty years ago, I started writing m/m romance. My writing remained a secret lest my friends thought me a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy and Larry Kramer helped me fill in informational gaps. Yes, I read those books only in my bedroom.
As the years progressed and I discovered my sexual path, I still wrote m/m romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer.
Now I am glad I kept the writing faith. Five published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the silly challenge.
An Elf for All Centuries
S.A. Garcia’s World of Words
Facebook: Sandra Ann Garcia