jamb's 1st assignment

[Dragon's muse]

Welcome to the Block!

Craft a scene/chapter/story with the following opening:

Sam stifled a yawn. These parties were all the same -- overdressed women, thinly veiled passes and cheap red wine.

[jamb]

Sam stifled a yawn. These parties were all the same - overdressed women, thinly veiled passes and cheap red wine. The fake laughter, the tedious small talk, the eventual drunken snogs. A couple next to him were already giggling and playing with each other’s hair. Sam rolled his eyes. It would be only a matter of time before they would be making out. So why was he here? Why did he torture himself with this monotony? Why did he feel the need to watch other people get drunk around him, while he sat in the corner just waiting for…
“Hello boy.” The words were snarled into his ear behind him by a large figure. Sam did not dare to turn round.
“H-hello, Sir.”
“So glad you could make it, boy. I was afraid you wouldn’t turn up.”
“N-no Sir.” He closed his eyes and bit his lip. “Here I am.”
“Good.” The man leant in closer, his breath driving Sam’s neck wild. Sam instinctively put his hands behind his back. “Enjoying it?”
“The party? It’s…”
“It’s a bunch of drunk people throwing themselves at each other.”
Sam was unsure what to say to that. “Yes.”
“Yes indeed, boy. You’ve seen it all before, I’m sure.”
“I…I have, Sir.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind me,” he whispered as he stroked Sam’s arms behind his back before tightly grabbing them, holding them together, “taking you elsewhere.”
“N-no Sir.” Sam closed his eyes, and felt the man kiss him on his neck. He struggled playfully against the man’s grip, slightly afraid people would see. The man just held on tighter, laughing into his ear.
“Aww, does my little boy want to get out?” Sam just stood perfectly still, taking in every biting word and every touch of the neck. “Meet me in my room.” Sam turned his head. The man sighed. “Up the stairs, and take the second door on the right.” Sam felt the man put something into his pocket. “Put these on when you get up there.” Sam knew what they were. He smiled quietly to himself. He knew what the next lines were before the man said them. “I expect you naked and kneeling. As usual.” He leant in to his ear, whispering the next words with particular malice. “And don’t lock the door. Boy.” With that, he released his grip on Sam’s arms and laughed himself into another conversation. Sam looked at the floor, and slowly went up the stairs.
He’d never been to Sir’s house before. It was pretty nice. And he knew how to throw a party. He past the couple who had been playing with their hair a few minutes ago, now locked in the throes of drunken passion. Sam smiled to himself. Like clockwork.
He went through the second door on the right, closing it tightly behind him. He’d first met Sir about two months ago, at a BDSM night at a club. He didn’t think of himself as gay before he met Sir, just bi-curious. By the end of that particular night, he was beyond curious. Sir had cuffed his hands to a table and told Sam to lick his boots clean. Sam was definitely a sub, he knew that – he just didn’t know how much he liked being degraded and humiliated by men, being used. Sir had forced the boy onto his knees outside an alleyway after that, and Sam had received his first taste of cock, helpless, cuffed, looking up at Sir with that same snarl on his face.
Sam slowly removed his shirt and pants, enjoying the feeling of being naked in someone else’s room. It was an odd one. Usually Sam would go to hotels with Sir – he’d receive an email telling him when and where, as well as where he could find a pair of handcuffs he had hidden in the hotel lobby (Sir usually hid them in pot plants or under seats. It was very clever, although Sam always wondered how the staff never found them). He’d then be expected to be naked and kneeling, cuffed, with the door unlocked.
Sam sighed, getting onto his knees. For some reason, the kneeling part was always his favourite. The anticipation. The knowledge that he was going to come through that door, and that Sam would have no choice but to submit. He clicked the handcuffs behind him, feeling the cold metal against his skin. No turning back now. Sam breathed in heavily. Now to wait. Last time, he had to wait fifteen minutes, cuffed up and naked in the room. He was sure someone was going to barge in, ask him what the hell was going on and call the police. With every second that went this fear grew. He’d only done this three times, but each time, he was sure it would be his last. He kept having recurring dreams that he would be naked, cuffed up, waiting for Sir to come in, when suddenly his mother would swing the door open and berate him for being such a terrible son. It was an odd dream, one which therapists probably wouldn’t have that much problem decoding, but an effective one nonetheless. Sam always felt a tinge of guilt, a sense of shame after one of these sessions, and always considered breaking it off. But he couldn’t. This feeling, this sense of release, this powerlessness…Sir was just too good.
He looked at a clock. He came in at quarter to one; it was now one thirty. He was slightly cold. Sam’s nipples stood out to attention. His cock, relatively small, was growing soft now. His eyes glanced around the room. You wouldn’t think this room belonged to a man interested in tying up guys and making them his bitches. Filled with family photos, souvenirs, trophies for…something…golf? It was a very touching. The only thing that looked slightly odd was the way that some drawers had locks on them. Sam smiled to himself. He could guess what was inside there. Would any of that be used tonight? He let his mind wonder. Sir would come up the stairs, gag Sam, hang him from the light in the room (he looked up at it. It would probably hold him), and then just beat him. Abuse him. Clamp him. And then, maybe then…fuck him. They hadn’t yet, and in fact, Sam was a virgin in that way. But he was sure tonight was the night. Sam bit his lip, and played with the cuffs. He wondered whether it would be painful. It would probably be painful, he thought to himself. There would be no kidding himself there. But…
Suddenly, he heard the sound of voices. Giggles. That wasn’t Sir. There were two people there at least. Was it the couple he saw? Their irritating laughs got closer and closer. Every so often Sam could hear someone else say something, in a low, gruff voice, and the others would laugh hysterically. Oh god. They were turning to the room. He could hear their voices get louder, another laugh, before the gruff voice silenced them. There was something inaudible, punctuated by a few stifled giggles. The door swung open.
“Tom, Mary – please may I introduce you to Sam!” Sir stood there, a wicked look in his eyes, as the four eyes of Tom and Mary got wider. Their mouths hung. Sam just knelt there, praying the world would swallow him up. He tried to cover his exposed crotch with his body by kneeling down. It wasn’t working. A spell seemed to have been cast, no-one moving, just a stunned, oddly comfortable silence.
“Oh my god! Are you like his slave or something? That’s so cool!” Mary broke the silence spectacularly. Sam was unsure whether to answer. Sir shook his head. Sam lowered his.
“Come here, boy.” Tom and Mary giggled at this. They seemed quite drunk. Sam slowly crawled over on his knees, his face getting redder and redder. He bit his lip. This was not what he had expected.
Sir grabbed Sam’s hair when he got close and pulled him up slightly, not high enough for him to stand, not low enough to kneel. He looked into Sam’s eyes, looked down at Sam’s semi-hardening penis, and turned back to his guests.
“What can Sam do for you tonight?”

[H Dean]

Three things before I get to really ripping - my favorite past time - and then I will leave it to the Level Mistress. Ready? Good.

Paragraph spacing. I would really like to see that.

H-h-h-h-hold back on the stuttering with dialog. Tell us that there was a stutter - describe it and the emotion behind it. Don't s-s-s-stammer in your writing with each and every sentence - it's annoying and makes me want to lash out in an illegal manner.

Don't use terms like "guys" or colloquial terms in naration unless the narator is one of the characters in the story or someone who knows them. That also means that a narator doesn't constantly refer to a character as "Sir" without damned good reason. That kind of shit is for online jargon in chat rooms for A/all who want to look as idiotic as possible.

I suppose the Level Mistress will be along to sooth the wounds I have opened and open a few herself. Now, where is that wench?

[underwhere]

H Dean, it appears that she is having technical difficulties, at least thats what the sticky at the top of the level one threads seems to say. She'll be around, but not sure exactly when.

I want to ask you, though, about your comment with regard to stuttering. I used a bit of that technique myself in my last assignment, currently awaiting review. I'm not sure that saying there was a stutter is quite as effective as actually showing it. Somebody a long time ago told me, about writing in a completely different genre, that the general rule of thumb is "show, don't tell", and while I'm not sure that rules apply across different genres of writing (this was a play I was writing for a high school project at the time, and the advice was given by somebody who happened to be an actor), I think that writing in a stutter is closer to that rule rather than simply saying that there was a stutter. (I've also read that writing in a particular dialect or accent is also inadvisable, but there are some fine examples of this in historical literature, Grapes of Wrath chief among those I can think of right now.)

Certainly, I'm no authoring expert. If I were, I wouldn't be a level one student here. :-) So I guess what I want to ask is this: You seem to think that saying the character stuttered is better than the character doing so for the benefit of the reader. Is this a preference of yours, or do you think other established authors would agree with this point? Which do you think is stronger in a written work?

There is nothing wrong with a preference. I'm just trying to learn as much as I can to make myself a better writer in the process, and I always try to filter out advice based on preference from advice based on generally accepted principle. Rose mentioned in my last assignment, for example, her disdain for anything written in the first person perspective. I happen to like reading and writing from that perspective, but I clearly needed help on that last assignment to fix some serious errors with the way I handled it, and I definitely appreciated the help I received, especially from you with your suggestions for exactly what I could do with that mess. :-) It made a much better piece out of what was simply an okay piece beforehand.

[H Dean]

The problem isn't the occasional stutter in the writing. The trouble is the over use of such things. Rules are, so far as I am concerned, there to be broken. It can become tedious to read, however, if it is a constant. Consider beginning every sentence of a paragraph with the same word or referring to someone with the same pronoun constantly. It may be technically sound, but it makes for tedious reading.

By the way, lest anyone think I am an arrogant hack (and I am) I am just as guilty of many of the things I preach against. Read some of my first works and you will see terrible tendencies like starting sentences with "and" and poor editing. Yup, lots of ugly shit to be had.

[H Dean]

Underwhere,

In the story, the person was afraid of the person in charge - "Sir" - and it was painfully obvious. It was also quite repetitive. There are more effective and non-repetitive ways to do this.


"Y-yes, sir," Joe blurted to the powerful figure.

"Shall I show you another time?" the man asked, his glare dark and ominous.

"Please, don't. I am afraid," he said, his voice trembling with obvious fear.

"Why not, dear Joseph?"

I...I'm not...I don't..****ease," Joe stammered.

"Please what, dear boy?"

Joe, his voice a near whisper, bowed his head, casting about for words before finally muttering another ragged and fear filled "Please?"




Of course, the manner in which you represent this fear will be repeated to a degree. The objective is to offer it up without getting to be sing song and dull with presentation. Change the order - change the tempo - change delivery. This is what I am getting at.

[underwhere]

Thanks, H Dean. That clarifies greatly for me, and I hope also for jamb.

[Dragon's muse]

I suppose the Level Mistress will be along to sooth the wounds I have opened and open a few herself. Now, where is that wench?

My most esteemed Mr. Dean Sir,

Give a wench a break. This demon that masquerades as a desktop computer had a bit of a nasty nervous breakdown, and doing reviews with a laptop keyboard is a touch of a pain. This story will have my full attention in the next day or so.

Kisses,
rose

[H Dean]

My most esteemed Mr. Dean Sir,

Give a wench a break. This demon that masquerades as a desktop computer had a bit of a nasty nervous breakdown, and doing reviews with a laptop keyboard is a touch of a pain. This story will have my full attention in the next day or so.

Kisses,
roseSlacker!

[Dragon's muse]

Slacker!

Am not! i'm just spoiled!

[H Dean]

Spoiled, eh? I will have to get you some perfume!

[Dragon's muse]

Jamb,
Your patience is greatly appreciated. i promise this will have my full attention tomorrow morning.

rose