Tag Archive: first person pov


LJ Idol

In this kooky online writing competition I’m in, we have a deadline on Monday. I work third shift’s (midnight to 8am), have a small child with autism, and not a whole lot of free time as a result.

I’ve been kicking around this piece for the past three days. It’s heavily based on one of my novels. If I’m completely honest, it’s me, disguising the Gray Morning universe as much as possible, changing character names/titles etc so that it reads like it’s based in the US, and so that people might not have their eyes roll into the back of their heads.

Except my antagonist, Mitchel, is so clearly himself. The protagonist of the scene, Amelia, is clearly herself, as well, but in the book she’s a minor character; her role is huge, but her screen time is very understated. Mitchel? Well, he’s been the focus of an Idol piece or two, and how his actions and words have a huge impact on my novel’s protagonist, Savin. He’s been deconstructed in a piece or two of meta I’ve written for the competition, as well.

I don’t want people to recognize him, but I do. I don’t want people to go “Oh, she’s writing that *%$#)*% novel again,” and back out of the entry. Not to mention, the topics this go around (we had to pick one out of a group of 5) are so open-ended and up to interpretation, and the voters have been favoring the very literal, very close interpretations this season. For people like me who sometimes view the topics abstractly, it’s been a challenge boxing myself in, a little.

The basis of this piece? Mitchel is undergoing an interrogation for the murder of Jasper (Jazz) Callahan — except, of course, the names are changed. Jasper is the Emperor of their particular world; Mitchel is his second-in-command, in a way. So I changed it from their world to the US; Mitchel is Vice President, Jazz President. Amelia is head of the Secret Service and is doing the interrogation herself.

Mitchel’s motivations are varied. He wants power. He wants control. He believes that Jazz never should have been handed this position — that Jazz is effortlessly perfect (and here is my topic connection — Mitchel believes that Jazz is a man of “shibusa,” though if you know Jazz’s character, you realize this is just a projection on Mitchel’s part), and therefore, shouldn’t have it.

There’s also a jealousy component — Jazz fell in love with Savin and married him, and not Mitchel, who Jazz had known first, longer, and just as intimately.

But in the interrogation scene I’m writing, I’m essentially doing it from Mitchel’s POV. I am deep inside his head; using his syntax and his word choice and just general state of mind. He is in control. He is lethal. He believes he isn’t going to end up charged with anything, though he is under arrest.

And seeing outside of his very narrow view point (me me me) and his own perceptions of himself (I am perfect and great and smarter than the rest of the world) is so difficult, I’m having trouble seeing what will trip him up. Because Amelia will get him to falter. She WILL get that confession. And she WILL secure the ability to indict Mitchel for treason.

But getting it down on paper when I am so deep in Mitchel’s POV is difficult.

I guess this is why I don’t write in first person. It’s hard, working so close to a fictional person’s brain. And I’m not even writing in first! It’s in third! But to write like how he speaks, I have to strip away that extra layer of distance.

Characters, man.

So LJI didn’t boot me (yet) and I have to post something by 9pm tomorrow. Yay, me? Emotionally I’m still a little all over the place and processing and figuring out what I really want and all that. But, I wrote a thing. It’s in Jazz’s POV, and the topic I chose was “Playing with Fire.” If any of my lovely followers would provide me with feedback/concrit, that would be great. It’s meant to stand alone (everything I post for Idol is supposed to stand alone), so if it doesn’t work as a separate piece, lemme know, okay? 

***

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Jazz. I really needed to get away from everything”

Savin’s words slur together as he drapes an arm over my shoulders, his breath warm and pleasant against my ear. If my face wasn’t already flushed from the alcohol we’ve been drinking, it’d probably be a nice shade of red by now. I dunno what to say, so I flash him a smile. The weight of his body pressed against mine is comforting. Secure. “You’re — welcome…?” I mumble into my drink before tossing it back. 

“No, seriously,” he continues, his arm sliding off my shoulders as he sways away from me. Savin props his chin up on the back of his hand, his other arm spread out along the table. “Mari’s been up my fucking ass ever since –” He cuts himself off, frowning into his glass. He shakes his head, his bangs falling into those startling green eyes of his. “Nevermind. I’m not gonna talk about that right now.”

“That” could only refer to his dead kid. A girl, if I remember correctly. Born several months premature. Naturally, to boot. Of course the doctors weren’t going to do much to try and save her. Natural Borns like her — like me aren’t worth saving. At least, that’s how it is for some.

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, placing a hand on top of his. His fingers are long and lean. Like him, actually. My hand lingers just a moment too long, our eyes locking before I force myself to look away. “You’re here to have fun and relax, remember?” I remind him, flashing him another smile as I knock back my beer. Dunno how many of these I’ve had, but I’m feeling it less tonight than normal. 

Even so, I can tell the room doesn’t move with me the way it should — neither does Savin as he straightens himself out, his lips peeling apart slowly. There’s an odd glint in his eye as he brushes those long bangs of his aside. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been out with a guy like this,” he says off-handedly. 

“What do you mean?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. That glint sharpens as Savin leans in close to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders all over again. His grin turns into a slight smirk. His other hand slips out of sight, only to land on my thigh.

Oh

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he breathes in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. His fingers move dangerously close to my lap, and I have to stop them before they move any higher. Not that I particularly want to, but…

“You have a fiancee,” I point out, ignoring how hot my face feels. His lips are dangerously close to my neck, and it’s hard not to close my eyes and just give in.

My words seem to snap him out of it. Savin pulls away from me, his eyes wide behind his glasses, a slight greenish tint to his cheeks like he’s gonna be sick. “I’m — I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t — shit.” He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. “I didn’t even –”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I won’t tell her. I don’t even know her; I only know what you’ve told me.” 

Savin nods, pulling his hands away from his face. “Christ, I’m so fucked up,” he murmurs, picking up his glass and downing the rest of it. He won’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes focused on the table as his fingers tap against it endlessly. “I just — I haven’t had a few hours where I felt — well, like myself in so long, I….” He clears his throat and meets my eyes, a slight frown on his face. I can’t really tell in the low light of the bar, but I think there might be tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

“Maybe you don’t feel like yourself most of the time because you’re not doing what you want?” I suggest, frowning myself as I wave off his apology. There’s no need for him to apologize, anyway. Not to me. “I mean, when was the last time you’ve ever really done something just because you wanted to?” 

When I look over at him again, my heart gives this weird little jump. There’s that look again, except this time he looks away from me. “I don’t know,” he answers after a while, his fingers tracing the edge of his empty glass. He really needs to keep them busy all the time, doesn’t he? All I can think of now is how tender they were when he checked my surgical incisions over a month ago. How lightly they could touch and how accurate and precise they must be. 

“Maybe when I decided on becoming a surgeon,” he continues, breaking into my thoughts. “It may have been what my father wanted for me, in the first place, but I wanted it. I started dating Mari because I wanted her, too, but…” He sighs, pushing his glass away from him as he looks up towards the ceiling. “I don’t think I want her anymore, y’know? Not because of everything that happened with our daughter, but — we’ve just grown apart, I guess.” 

“Then what do you want?” I ask. Dumb question. I saw the way he looked at me earlier; I can still feel the heat of his breath on my neck, too. 

His eyes drift over to mine, a sad, half-smile gracing his lips. If he answers me the way I think he will, then I’ll let him have it. Give him that escape he wants, even if it is only for a night. As long as he won’t regret it, I won’t either.

“You wouldn’t happen to be sober enough to drive us back to your place, would you?” he asks, his hand landing on top of mine. He doesn’t give me a chance to answer as he leans in close again, this time his lips brushing against my own. They are a lot softer than I imagined — tender and precise, just like his hands.

Wonder if that’s how he’ll be when we’re in bed together, too.

Progress Report & Snippet

So that one shot fanfic I was writing? Yeah, it’s not a one-shot anymore. I have this inability to write things out of character or to simply just let a story thread wrap up nice and neatly. Knowing the things Calla’s been through before the start of the book my friend is writing, and how Devin is and can be, I just…couldn’t make them have sex. Instead I now want to explore the development of an actual relationship between the two, because I’m dumb. And I ship them, even though Devin’s canonly gay and repeatedly expresses no sexual interest in Calla whatsoever. 

Without further ado, the moment where I realized I could take this fic in one of two directions, and ultimately decided to take the more drawn-out path to super-hot-sexing:

***

She pulls away first, out of breath. Looks away from me, an odd look on her face. Fingers stop what they’re doing as my own brow bunches together. “What’s up?” I ask, breathless.

Opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Looks at me, eyes filled with a deep sadness. “I don’t know if I can, Princess,” she whispers, hands resting on my bare chest. Eyes look everywhere but at me.

Feel a crushing weight on my chest as all of me deflates. Never knew how bad I wanted this until I had it. Still, been on Calla’s side before. Know that fucking feeling all that well. Don’t want her to feel it, too. Don’t wanna pressure her. “You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, you know,” I whisper, catching her eye. “Only fun if we both want it.”

Calla nods and sighs. Looks lost in thought — if what goes on in her mechanized brain could be called thought. Know she’s not just a bunch of nuts and bolts, though. Know she’s got feelings. Memories. 

Still, feel a little awkward, both of us naked with her in my lap. Don’t have anything to cover myself up with, and her hands are still on my shoulders. Cross my arms over my chest, cover what little of my body that I can. 

“You won’t keep going if I tell you no…?” 

Question catches me off guard. Makes my chest tighten and my teeth grit together. “Of course fucking not,” I spit. “Fucking wrong to keep going if your partner doesn’t want it.” Hurts, knowing that she felt like she had to fucking ask that. Makes my chest ache.

“I’m just a robot,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not human.”

“Just as fucking human as I am, Calla. Trust me on that, okay? Not gonna fucking treat you like some toy,” I insist. Take her chin in my hand, make her look at me. “I promise. Only gonna have sex with you if you say it’s okay.” 

She nods again, climbing out of my lap. Doesn’t say a word as she finds her clothes all over again. Take the fucking hint, get dressed and keep my back to her until she’s dressed, too. 

“I’m sorry, Devin,” she whispers, putting a light hand on my shoulder. 

Take hold of her hand and turn around, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. “Don’t fucking apologize for not being ready,” I tell her, my voice thick. “Don’t wanna force you into anything you don’t want.”

Shouldn’t even have to tell her that, but I know the way our side fucking treats women. Like cattle. Like they’re useless. Calla’s the fucking strongest person I ever met. Feel honored when she hugs me, resting her chin on my shoulder. Don’t know what to fucking do, so I just hold her until she pulls away. 

Brushes her lips against my cheek, offers me a shaky smile. “Thanks, Princess,” she says, her smile widening. “I think everything works just fine.”

Smile back, my face burning. “Glad to fucking hear it. Hope Mr. Muscles gets to enjoy some time with you, too.”

Wink at her, causing her to laugh. Shakes her head and moves back towards the stairs. “Goodnight. Princess. Get some sleep, will ya?”

Nod my head, following behind her. Sleep sounds fucking amazing, right about now. Watch her as she walks towards her room, find my eyes drifting over her curves and sigh.

Guess I do swing that way — at least a little.

Progress Report & Snippet

So I wrote over 3300 words today. Of a fanfic instead of my canon for the trilogy. Oops? The fanfic is voice-practice, though. I say this, even though I’ve written a 33k fanfic in this particular character’s voice, before. Except now I think I have a better handle on it than I had before. It always sounded like him, and was always in-character, but now I’m doing some character-bending.

Said character is canonly-gay, but I’m writing a(n eventually) smut fic about him and the cast’s main female character. Who eventually ends up with someone else in the canon, anyway. But the idea amuses me so much. It really does. I ship it, sure, but it’s such a guilty pleasure ship for me. xD I’m having fun, but I didn’t expect it to be so loooong omg. 

A snippet:

***

“Judgin’ by the way you kissed me earlier, you swing that way at least a little, Princess,” Calla teases back, moving closer to me. Even smiles at me, causing my heart to flutter a bit in my chest. 

“Thought you were dead,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. Pout a little, keeping my eyes off her chest. “That’s different.” 

“Really, Princess?” she croons, letting the sheet fall a little lower on her chest. “You look like you’re havin’ a hard time not looking, to me.”

“N-Not fucking looking at anything,” I deny. Already seen her naked, anyway. Had to, in order to make sure her body was just right. So what if I fantasized about fucking her a few times? Never been with a girl before. Still pretty sure I’m into dudes, not chicks. But Calla… Calla’s different. Calla’s got spunk, a fire in her I’ve never really seen in anyone else before. Love it about her. Draws me to her.

“Suuuure you’re not, Devin,” she drawls, poking me in the chest. Want to tell her not to touch me, but I can’t even move away from her. Not even when she presses herself against me, her free hand on my shoulder as she leans up to whisper in my ear. “You like me, don’t you, Princess?” 

Don’t have the brain to congratulate myself on a job well-done, as I can feel breath against my neck. Close my eyes instead and try not to shiver at the heat of it. Shouldn’t be getting turned on right now. Calla’s not a dude. “Don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” I mutter, my eyes drifting to her chest. 

“Seriously, Princess?” she says, smirking at me. Her fingers are on my neck. Should fucking brush them away, but I can’t. Don’t want to. “You can’t be that dense.”

Hand lands on my shoulder. Green eyes stare into mine, a faint glow behind them that doesn’t look human at all. Eyes that are soft, understanding. “Test drive me,” she says after a moment, her face unmoving. “If you don’t like me, test drive me. It’d just be more meaningless sex to you, anyway.”

“I’m — I’m not gonna fucking do that,” I snap, moving away from her. “One, never been with a chick before. Two, respect you too much to use you that way.” 

Calla grins, sashaying away from me. Gathers up clothes I had stashed in the corner for her and starts to get dressed. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush to me,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. Turns her back to me the rest of the way, letting the sheet fall away from her body. Jaw drops to the floor as my eyes run up the length of her legs to the curve of her ass.

She’s a girl, I tell myself. A fucking amazing girl who also happens to be a robot. A robot that could fuck, if she wanted to. If I wanted to. Put a hand to my chest in an effort to stop my heart from leaving it.

“Fine,” I croak, clearing my throat. “L-Let me — let me test drive you.

Can’t believe I even fucking said that. Calla stops, hands smoothing out her shirt as she turns around, still not wearing anything but a thin pair of panties over her hips. Mouth’s pressed into a thin line, eyes studying me, judging me like I went and said the wrong thing. Do it often enough, you know what the expression looks like. Clear my throat again and keep talking, mouth running even though my brain keeps telling it to shut the fuck up. “Th-That way, we can make sure everything fucking works — and I can fix it before you and Brendan –”

“You’re serious?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Doesn’t move for a moment before that smirk comes back and she leans against the table, hands spread behind her as she props herself out. “Do you even know what to do with a woman, Princess?”

Close my mouth and frown, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. Don’t know the first thing about being with a woman, but I’m not about to tell her that. 

Why am I even considering it, anyway?

Progress Report & Snippet

This week, in terms of word counts, has been ridiculous. 13444 total, Monday through today. I haven’t had a 5 day period that good in a long, long time. I think actually having the motivation of making a few bucks here and there is doing wonders for me. I feel better about myself and feel productive by the end of the day, and I’m treating it like work, too. Most of my writing is done between 9am and 12pm, then again between like 2pm and 3pm. Any of the times in between/around that, I write, but I don’t make it my primary focus. 

Thing is, if I had these hours entirely free — as in, no child to watch, I’d probably be even more productive. Still, I’m having fun, and getting shit done, too, and that makes me happy. I wrote 3500 words today, edited, and have my next erotic piece undergoing the publishing process on Amazon as we speak. It should be up sometime tomorrow. 🙂 I’ve officially made enough to get a royalty check in a couple of months already. Here’s to hoping I can make 100 bucks my first month. Baby-steps, y’know?

***

Derrick’s shout startles me, causing me to drop the beaker in my hand. It shatters on the floor. Never knew how fast Derrick could be, but he’s on top of me in less than a second. He’s shouting something, but I can’t hear it as my vision starts to recede, my fists balling at my sides.

Just like that, I snap, ripping Derrick’s hands off my shoulders. I push him against the counter, my vision still funny. I can’t stop staring at Derrick’s full lips, or how he’s biting them. His eyes shine with something, then his eyebrows wrinkle together in confusion. “Do you — do you smell that?” Derrick asks, his voice thick with an emotion I can’t quite place.

I let go of him, though I don’t want to. A moment ago, I wanted to punch his pretty little face in, but now — I shake my head, clearing that thought away. I sniff the air, an odd, musty smell rising up from below. “Ugh — what is that?”

My question goes unanswered as Christina walks towards us, her arms crossed over her chest. She narrows her eyes at us both, a small frown on her features. Except I can’t even focus on her face since my eyes are immediately drawn to her chest. “I don’t smell anything,” she says, standing between us. She looks both of us over, pursing her lips together in thought. “Why’re you both staring at me like that?”

“N-Not fucking staring at anything,” Derrick stammers, looking away from her. His face is red, like mine must be right now with how hot it becomes. It’s almost — almost… cute, the way he chews his bottom lip and scuffs his feet against the floor. Not sure how he does it, but he stirs up more of that smell, causing a familiar heat to course through my body.

I tug on the collar of my shirt, looking anywhere but at Christina. Derrick would have been the last person I wanted to look at, but I can’t stop staring at his face. For the first time, I notice that even though he’s a twig, he’s still got a bit of lean muscle on him, too. Guess I can kinda get why all of the chicks I work with would find him so hot.

The hell am I thinking? Derrick? Hot? He’s a guy! A guy I wouldn’t mind bending over that same counter he’s leaning against while I —

I give myself a little shake, cutting that thought short, too, and looking over at Christina for help. She’s still lost in thought, a hand stroking her chin. She sizes me and Derrick up, a sly grin forming on her lips. “Derrick, what was in the beaker Brandon dropped?” she asks, bending over to scoop up some of the glass. Derrick and I both immediately drop to our knees, picking up shards of glass as well.

“Don’t know,” he answers, wrinkling his nose. He avoids my eyes whenever possible, though now they seem heavily focused on Christina’s cleavage. I knew he had a thing for her.

“Does it have anything to do with the product you’re currently working on?” Christina presses, looking Derrick in the eyes. She leans forward, pushing her breasts together and I can’t look away from them. Derrick seems like he can’t, either, before he gulps and drops his eyes to the floor, nodding his head. “I thought so,” she says, her grin growing predatory.