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Editing Rant: Marketability

Image acquired from the Interweb

When it just isn’t good enough

Just finished up on the Red Mug series of flashes; last one will post this Sunday. The first flash was the simple, normal story based on the picture. The followups all basically gelled the same day after I got the Red Mug on electronic paper. Normally I wouldn’t have put them down, but tax season had some downtime and I am practicing writing longer. Therefore I took an hour here and there to flesh things out.

Why would I normally not have continued the story? Well, it’s kind-of boring. The story is straightforward, the characters normal, and things just happen in normal order. The humor isn’t strong, and the storyline has huge jumps in time. It is not marketable as-is.

Many of my flashes have continued down paths during commutes or long drives, still more laying awake in bed or mowing the lawn. Most never get written because they don’t work.

But 5,000 words! Really, really written. All complete and bow-tied. (bouncing writer side)

That’s nice. (droll editor side)

As a slush reader, I have had to reject works of 100 K or more and feel absolutely horrible doing so, but not marketable is not marketable. Red Mug’s (and related flashes) is boring at the wide-range appeal level, has little description, and is clearly flash – needing (desperately) to expand out description, flesh out characters, and add action.

How could I workshop this story to make it into something that is marketable? (Please note, I don’t think the combined stories are worth this effort – but the skill set could be useful when looking at other stories.)

First off, right now it is a contemporary romance. What thread are in the story already available for expansion?

Third person omniscient isn’t working well (yes, it does slip on occasion – after all, first draft flash – but does mostly stick to the omniscient). As a romance, we need to dig down into the emotional development – and that means getting inside the characters’ heads more. Changing the story to either first person Jeffrey or third-person close, switching between Jeffrey and Amanda would be good. Once closer in, we have a few paths of additional development available.

Now where are cool bits to play with? Jeffrey and Amanda are a mixed race couple, they also have a significant age difference, family-style difference, and a work environment issue. Exploring how Jeffrey feels about dating a white person, and how his army family reacts is an option. Running into how Jeffrey’s mid-twenties and Amanda’s early forties plays out could be fun too. The long-distance relationship adds another aspect open to expansion. And how about how Amanda’s work is impacted by her pregnancy – both the reactions of her European counterparts and her American superiors? All of these could add thousands of words and take this from a simple story to a more complicated character development arc. Oh, and focusing on why Amanda doesn’t want love could really take the story to the next level.

Plus all of these additional bits could fill in the time jump issues between the already crafted scenes.

Still, I am better at writing genre fiction than straight contemporary. What subgenres could be added to the romance? These are more worldbuilding choices than character development or plot points. Sticking them will double description quickly and add plenty of action.

I could kick up the erotica aspect a notch or two; even the opening flash doesn’t delve deeply. At the moment the story is more “closed door” then bouncing bed.

The story could be changed to a science fiction – where the two characters work for an ore mining company and she operates the Orts Cloud while Jeffrey works in the traditional headquarters in the asteroid belt – exploring the long distant relationship against this background would make things more interesting. Location, location, location.

Another option is play with the “you are a god” aspect, changing this to an urban fantasy with Jeffrey discovering he actually is related to a god or gaining a god’s powers through no fault of his own. Maybe have Amanda gain Slavic god-like powers to his American-based aspects.

A thriller could work too – make this into a Die-Hard-style story; Jeffrey does come from an army family, though he is a nerd. During the crawl through the duct system or up an elevator shaft, the readers get exposed to Jeffrey’s and Amanda’s relationship as it develops over time. I’ll be able to keep all the already written scenes, and I don’t have to worry about the time jumps as he (or she) reminisces while going to rescue the family. Quick skeleton fix.

Maybe a mystery, with something happening at the company – people dying, getting fired, moving people around to different locations, a break-in – and have the pair solve it while falling in love.

The story could even be mixed and matched – maybe one or both of them gaining powers during the thriller of Die Hard-style, all the while, of course, never forgetting the story is actual a romance and the main plot is Amanda releasing her fear of falling in love – from Jeffrey’s first person point-of-view (POV).

The story as-is isn’t complicated enough to warrant real publication. But by adding a few “non-standard” pieces to the work, weaving in a secondary emotional development plot, and tacking on an action piece, suddenly the story becomes enough.

Am I going to do this? Nah, that was never “their” story. But they are here in my universe world, and they have a fully developed backstory, so they may show up in another tale as supporting characters where I don’t want just a generic couple with a couple of kids. These two already have had the breath of life breathed on their clay. And that is cool too.

The complete Red Mug series:
3/17/19 – Red Mug
3/24/19 – Green Cheeks
3/31/19 – Copenhagen Blue
4/7/19 – Clear Glass
4/14/19 – Gold Bands

H is for Horse

Jazz shoved the wrapping paper off the table and onto the floor to deal with a day she wasn’t conserving every bit of energy she had, then dropped the rattle and oversize plastic key ring into the lime green bag. She had wanted the toy to be properly wrapped, but that wasn’t going to happen. The bag will have to be enough.

Sitting down she reached for the food she set up so she always had at least one meal to eat every day without the effort of cooking. Pulling out a bar and breaking off a juice bottle, she opened both and ate slowly. Chewing was exhausting but necessary. It released tension in her jaw which built up overnight fighting for sleep. After finishing, Jazz took her phone out and put it on the charging bed on the table and started the connections for social media. Waiting for them to come up, she reached for her pill box and stared at it a while before snapping open Saturday.

She transferred the afternoon pills to a small bottle to take with her to the party and put the bottle beside the bag with the present. After that she took out the two horse pills and swallowed them with a gulp of grape juice. Jazz pulled the final pill out of the box for the day. Her pain pill.

Her medical coverage and disability did not cover all her bills and so she skimped on some medication. The depressant prescription to take before bed to help with sleeping cost the most, so she lived without that. Beside the side effect required a stimulant in the morning, and something to control her heart arrhythmia from the stimulant. The one week she took the depressant, she hadn’t made it out of bed until three in the afternoon a single day.

The pain pill in her hand was the secondary pain controller. She took the one which controlled the flares religiously, but this one reduced the pain in the joints. Unfortunately it was new and had no generic equivalent and the company maxed out its charity offerings before it hit the statistic group she fell into. The little pink capsule cost nearly as much per pill as the depressant and, for best effect, she needed to take it every eight hours, three times per day. She could afford once every two days. The question was when would be the best time to take it today.

If she took it now, she could easily drive to the Elisa’s baby shower, but it will wear off before she drove home. If she took it during the baby shower, she’ll be loopy for the first hour around a bunch of strangers and she didn’t want to embarrass her high school buddy like that. On the other hand, she might need it tomorrow to function after pushing herself all day today. In the end, it wasn’t really a question. She needed to be able to drive safely there. Taking it now, waiting the fifteen minutes for the pill and breakfast to stop taking all the blood in her system and start giving her energy, then waiting the additional hour for the loopy to wear off, she would be good to drive the twenty minutes to her friend’s house and get there for the start of the party at one. She stuck it on her tongue and washed the sour tasting pill down.

Looking at her phone, she sighed and then activated the lockout app. The pink pain pill made her drunk text. She put her arms and head on the table and waited for the lockout alarm to go off. Jazz supposed she could attempt her hair, jewelry, and makeup stoned out of her gourd, but she would need to do it all over again afterwards.

The alarm woke her. Cracking her neck, Jazz felt a lingering pain behind the drugged wall, but it didn’t touch her thinking. If she didn’t need the rest of her medications to actually live, she would fill that prescription happily even with the stoner and addictive side effects. Picking up her cane, she walked quickly to the makeup table in her bathroom and set to making everything perfect. Only an hour left before she needed to go out the door.

 

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)

Marathon Party (G to M)
4/8/2019 – G is for Gobi
4/9/2019 – H is for Horse
4/10/2019 – I is for Sherbet
4/11/2019 – J is for Jazz
4/12/2019 – K is for Keeper
4/13/2019 – L is for Loss
4/15/2019 – M is for Marathon

G is for Gobi

The alarm going off like the final bell in a cage match brought her nightly ten rounds fighting with insomnia to an end. Jazz congratulated herself on not sagging on the ropes at 3:00 and picking up her phone to surf social media.  By avoiding the glowing screen of uselessness, she managed at least two dream cycles, so at least three hours of actual sleep in the last ten hours. Sure, she was exhausted, a perpetual state, but her eyes did not feel like someone had crammed the Gobi desert into her orbs.

She swiped the phone off before her wake up song repeated, the Good Morning Song from Barney and Friends, guaranteed to drive her to sit up and move. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Jazz reached for her stabilizing quad-cane. She hated it as much as her morning alarm, but it served its purpose. While it took as much energy to use as walking without it, she hadn’t fallen once since she started using it around the house. She just never expected to be cane-bound at thirty-four, let alone needed the stupid push chair-walker anytime she left the house.

The insurance wouldn’t sign off on a scooter yet, and she didn’t know if she was grateful or angry about that.

Jazz hobbled over to where she had laid out clothes two days ago. Today was a big day, and she wanted it to be perfect. Ignoring the pain in her joints, she pulled off the oversized t-shirt she had slept in and lived in since she got home from shopping Tuesday. Leaning on the ladder chair beside her clothes table, she changed underwear without fully sitting down. After tucking her phone under her bra strap, she rested under the guise of studying the two choices she had set out for shirts.

One had buttons and fit her perfectly. The other was overlarge but slipped over her head in one move. Jazz tested her range of motion. Her fingers didn’t flex well, but she was able to raise one arm to shoulder height. Loose black blouse would be today’s outfit; she had hoped on Thursday for the button-down. She hadn’t be able to wear the turquoise embroidered linen in over a year. She should probably give up on it and donate it to Goodwill or the Kidney Foundation before it went completely out of fashion, but she loved that shirt.

The black skirt pulled on easier than the blouse, after which she sat on the tall step stool and recovered, going over what else she needed to get done before noon. Hair, make-up, jewelry, breakfast, charge phone, wrap a present. She had meant to get the present wrapped yesterday but a pain flare had ended the attempt.

Hair next. No, breakfast first. If she didn’t get to her hair, she could still go, but no breakfast will kill the entire day.

Jazz looked over at the breakfast bar and drink she kept on her nightstand for those days she couldn’t make it out of bed. Gritting her teeth, she stood, turned her back on the bed and room she spent too much time in, and went to her breakfast nook to eat like a civilized person.

On the blond wood table, bright in mid-morning sunshine, stood a box of blueberry breakfast bars, small plastic bottles of grape juice, and her box of pills for the week. The first week box for the month was behind the used drink bottles and breakfast bar wrappers waiting for her once-every-two weeks visit from the state subsidized care-giver to refill since her fingers couldn’t manage organizing pills anymore. In the middle of the table was the result of her struggle to wrap the baby shower present with real paper before the pain had disabled her.

 

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)

Marathon Party (G to M)
4/8/2019 – G is for Gobi
4/9/2019 – H is for Horse
4/10/2019 – I is for Sherbet
4/11/2019 – J is for Jazz
4/12/2019 – K is for Keeper
4/13/2019 – L is for Loss
4/15/2019 – M is for Marathon

Flash: Clear Glass

Image courtesy of africa at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Hey, Amanda.” Jeff tilted the sleeping baby at the laptop, the five month old sound asleep. “Mandi says ‘hi’.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Amanda eyes softened looking at the little girl.

“No, I distinctly remember hearing her saying ‘tell Mommy I love her’ between the diaper changes and spit-up.”

Chuckling, the woman on the other side of the world took a sip from a red mug she had stolen from his kitchen. “I don’t see how you get any work done with a baby around.”

“It helps to work from home.” Jeff shifted his daughter for a better hold. “Takes longer to put in an eight-hour day; I still got another hour before I call it a day. But I can still get the work done. The challenge will be two months from now during the installation in Los Angeles for the new VP; my mother is flying out to help with that.”

“I liked meeting them.”

“Yep, well, that was over the Internet. You haven’t gone through the Reid Grilling, Mistress Troglodyte.” Rocking the baby, Jeffrey continued. “My brother and sisters in-laws are still recovering, and Min-ju married in over a decade ago. So, what is the big news that kept you away yesterday?”

“Two pieces. First, I hate you.”

Jeffrey swallowed, suppressing the flinch from the pain the words inflicted. “Isn’t it suppose I’ve got two pieces of news, one good and one bad. Which one do you want first?”

“Nope, because you are going to think they are both good news.” Amanda snarled, though a teasing twinkle played around her eyes. “Aksel, not so much. In fact he and my doctor might just fly out to clobber you.”

“Why … You’re pregnant!?!” The baby’s eyes opened at the loud noise. Jeffrey immediately rocked and cooed at her until the eyes closed again.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“But we used a condom and everything.”

“Not everything. I wasn’t on birth control yet.” Amanda growled into her cup. “The doctor took me off caffeine immediately. And he wants less stress this time because of Mandi’s low birth weight.”

“Good luck with that.” Jeffrey smirked at the computer screen, while walking over to lay the baby down in the crib. He returned a moment later. “The less stress, I mean, sweet cheeks. I know you can kick your caffeine habit whenever you need to, and anyone else who annoys you during withdrawal.”

“You aren’t going to go all googy-eyes and demand I marry you and give up this life?”

“Why on Earth would I do that? If anything, I expect you to demand to marry me someday and keep me alive in the style I’ve become accustomed. Making you sandwiches in the kitchen and babies in the bedroom.”

“That would need a prenuptial.”

“Of course.” Jeffrey jerked his head back as if in surprise that anything else could possibly be considered. “Gods always have pre-nupts, can’t go mixing powers without them.”

She laughed. “You are crazy.”

“And a god. I have that on good authority.” Jeffrey’s voice dropped an octave into his pretend seduction voice.

“Yes, a god.” Amanda rolled her eyes in response, smiling just for him, before her watch went off. She slammed back the rest of her weak tea. “Got to go.”

“Wait, what it the other thing?”

“I’ll tell you when I get off work.” Amanda stood, reaching for the off switch on the screen.

Jeffrey hurriedly begged. “Don’t make me stay up all night worrying about it.”

She sigh and settled back into the chair. “You know John Tennyson, the head of the International Division, retired.”

“Yeah, it’s why I have to go to Los Angles.”

“Well I was on the short list until they found out I got knocked up.” Amanda voice lowered into a snarl. “When I didn’t bother taking significant maternity leave and Copenhagen worked like a well-oiled machine through it all, I was put back on the list. In two months, I will be moving to Los Angles.”

“No! You are the next Vice President of International Activities?” Jeffrey’s with teeth shined against his dark skin, the congratulatory smile going from ear-to-ear.

“With Americans choosing? What do you think?”Amanda’s lips curled to show all her teeth in a very different expression from her lover’s. “They are going to bring Brian Jennings on permanently, and I will be his second. The one to do the traveling, since I speak the languages and have the degree in International law.”

“Fuck.”

Amanda’s eyebrows raised; Jeffrey never cursed outside of the bedroom. “I know why I am angry…” Her voice faded out.

“And you are going to do amazing, and you still just got a great promotion, and you will be in America. All pluses.” Jeffrey clicked off the pluses on his hand, then switched hands. “But (1) you deserved the International Division and to hold you back because of the baby is just stupid. Still we don’t know all the factors about the Board’s decision, so maybe it isn’t stupid. But (2) Brian Jennings is a stupid, more than. He is a crony-oriented, fucking idiot.”

“Tell me how you really feel.” Amanda looked at her watch. “I’ll catch the next train. It’s not like Aksel is there until eight anyway. What has he done to you?”

“Not him. The crony he put in place over technical.” Jeffrey pushed back his beginning afro, he really needed to get to the barber sometime soon, “Ralph Miller is not only a fucking idiot, but a misogynistic fucking idiot. He already got two of our best females to quit before Darsh and I put in a redirect on his email so all his communications go through us before going out to the group or being returned to him.” Jeff started pacing, glancing at the screen. “I’ve been promising everyone only two more months before we can get rid of Up-chuck Ralph.”

“Do you want the job?”

“Hell, no.” Jeff froze, realizing she had a genuine interest. “No, really. I would suck at it. I can muddle through, but it’s Trish who is basically running our department with Darsh and me doing the interference. I want to be home with the baby. Babies. Making sandwiches and coffee for my woman.”

“So who is Trish?” Amanda smiled her shark smile. “I might be able to get a crony or two in myself.”

Jeff imitated the expression. “The files will be in your in-box by the time you get to work.”

(Words 1079, first published 4/7/2019)

 

The complete Red Mug series:
3/17/19 – Red Mug
3/24/19 – Green Cheeks
3/31/19 – Copenhagen Blue
4/7/19 – Clear Glass
4/14/19 – Gold Bands

F is for Finish

There were so many instruments in the room to explore and James went from one to another; except the mouth instruments, Mom said you don’t share those. He stopped when he realized he had been hearing his mom’s call tone on his tablet for a while. Opening the case, James swiped the tablet to see his mom’s face.

“You okay! Are you okay sweetheart!” His mom’s panicked face filled the screen.

“Yes Mom.” James looked down at his tablet.

“Why aren’t you at home?”

“I went to a job interview.”

“A what?”

A smile spread over James face. He had surprised her. “A job interview.”

“Where is it? How did you get there? Are you okay? Do I need to come?” Question after question came faster than James could answer, so he froze staring down at his mom until she realized what she had done and stopped to breathe.

After a long inhale and exhale, James knew his mom had done her reset and he didn’t have to answer anything she had just asked. He waited for the questions he needed to answer. “Where are you?”

“I’m at 439 West Franklin Avenue.”

“That’s halfway across town!”

James smiled again, and his mom smiled softly back at the rare expression. “I took the bus on my own.”

His mom brought a hand to her mouth, pressing her fist against her lips.

“If I may?” A deep voice interrupted. James had forgotten Mr. Hartgrove was there.

“Who are you?” His mother asked when the large man’s head came over James’ shoulder.

“The Duke. Owner of a recording studio downtown, Pickin and Strummin. Just thought to let you know I will be hiring James here as a studio musician.”

“You … ah.” His mother inhaled and exhaled again. “You know he has … special needs.”

“Yeah, Miles Hammer walked me through a few things and I know I’m going to need to learn a bit more, but it will be worth it.” Mr. Hartgrove put his hand on James’ shoulder who quickly stepped away and turned to face the man, backing away further. The man wiped his face before muttering, “Yep, need to learn a few things.” After shaking his head, Mr. Hartgrove pulled back his shoulders, standing bigger and wider than ever before. “Can you turn the screen around so I can talk to … your mother?”

“Yes.” James said, doing as the man asked, but not coming any closer.

“Sorry by the way. The Hammer told me not to touch you or the tablet. My bad.” Mr. Hartgrove spread his arms wide, before nodding to the screen. “Mrs. Cohn?”

“Yes?” The woman’s eyes bounced around the room now showing.

“We need to talk. Your son just played some of the best damn rainbow I have ever heard, over four hours without repeat and on every damn thing I got here. I want him. I can’t pay him much and it will be mostly part-time gigs and nothing outside of the studio, but it will be honest work.” The Duke shrugged, for most people what he and his company could offer was insulting unless they bled music.”If he is okay with it, I’ll drive him home and we can talk over dinner. I’ll have Miles meet us there?”

“I took the bus here.” James said.

“Which mean he needs to take the bus home,” his mom explained from the screen.

“Alright, I got to close up shop and get things together, anyway. How about I meet you at seven? Wherever you are comfortable. I’ll bring Chinese or pizza.”

“Stuffed crust pizza, with mushroom and pepperoni but no olives or sausage. Tomato sauce. It isn’t pizza unless it has red sauce. “

Duke looked up at the kid holding the screen. “Alright, pizza it is. Any particular chain?”

The End

 

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)

4/1/2019 – A is for Adapt
4/2/2019 – B is for Bus
4/3/2019 – C is for Courage
4/4/2019 – D is for Duke
4/5/2019 – E is for Eclectic
4/6/2019 – F is for Finish

Next story: Marathon Party (G to M)