Tag: writing

Verdict: Did Not Finish

~ Will Forrest ~ Leave a comment
photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

Carrying on from the last post, here’s a short list of reasons I haven’t finished books recently.

An aristocrat so incompetent she can’t cut a piece of fruit (this seemed false, as she’d have had knife skills for eating complicated state dinners) and a master thief who habitually targets mansions of the rich, but didn’t know about the servants’ passages behind the walls. And was told about it by the same girl who can’t cut fruit.

The FMC “humorously” tricking the MMC into humiliating himself in public, knowing that’s his worst nightmare.  Relationship red flag, yo.

The Dead Hooker trope, in which the MMC’s heroic motivation is seeing his mother and other sex workers get violently assaulted. I’m not saying this isn’t motivating, but did you need to make me imagine a dozen women getting raped just so I’ll believe this guy’s do-good motivation?  Growing up in a London brothel in the 1860s would have been motivation enough, thanks.

Same book: anachronistic use of the word ‘pussy.’  Kids, the Internet is RIGHT THERE.  Google that shit.  I know I do.

When the characters keep noticing how hot the other person is, even while in mortal peril or the midst of the worst argument ever. This is everywhere and I hate it.

Christ, I’m a snob.

“I want you to throw me against the wall and make me regret all my life choices. Now would be fine.”

What makes me finish a book? In the main, intelligent characters with genuine agency, and if there’s sex, consent is explicitly stated in the text. Even the enemies-to-lovers, ass-slapping, fight-while-we-fuck stories need to have consent baked into the plot.

Actively agreeing to ridiculous sex is damn sexy. “I want you to throw me against the wall and make me regret all my life choices. Now would be fine.” Having had sex I regret, that I didn’t entirely plan on having, I know what I prefer.

Why I’m taking the stars off my Goodreads reviews

~ Will Forrest ~ Leave a comment

Disclosure: I got the idea from KJ Charles, whose writing I love beyond reason.  She seems to review a book a day, and never gives star ratings.  As I currently base my (writing) life on her (unintended) teachings (it’s complicated, okay?) I saw no reason not to follow suit, and every reason to do so.

The world is awash in opinions, and where there aren’t words, there are metrics. Thumbs, likes, hearts, reposts, pingbacks. Too often, star ratings become a goad to beat authors with, and sometimes other readers. Some aggressively misguided fans take less-than-perfect reviews as personal insults, and harass reviewers for their honesty.  These same fans will only and always leave their authors five-star ratings, no matter what the book is like. As for me, I can’t predict whether a book I read next month will blow every prior book out of the water (it happens, see KJ Charles) making all my old ratings irrelevant.

So I’m not playing that game. I’m already a bit ashamed of the ratings I assigned when I started leaving reviews. What is a five-star book? One I loved but won’t re-read? Or ought I to save it for the very best, the life changers, the read-it-once-a-year-until-I-die books? But how mediocre is mediocre?  What about books that end up on the dreaded DNF pile?  Those deserve a review because it matters why I didn’t finish, but taste is too big a factor for me to deride a book simply because it wasn’t one I liked. 

And I’m an author too.  Far be it from me to want to harm another writer’s chances to be found by someone who likes different books than I do. So there. I won’t star-rank your books if you don’t star-rank mine. Hate all you want, but do it with words, not algorithms.

The Commuters

~ Will Forrest ~ Leave a comment

Paris, 1903

When is the next train due?

Seven  minutes.

Will we have enough time?

Yes, only hurry. This way, behind here.

Is this safe?

Of course not. Do you care?

Have I ever cared?

I’ve missed you so.

A kiss first, quickly.

Mmm…you changed tobacco.

Actually I did. Your brand.

You’re even more delicious. Come, further from the light. Over here.

Kiss me more. I never get enough kisses from you.

We never have time. If I could only have you for a night. An hour even, alone.

To get undressed.

Yes. To kiss you everywhere. To touch you properly, feel your skin against mine.

Time for you to do everything to me you’ve ever wanted. 

This is madness.

It’s enough.

Hush, footsteps…alright, they’ve gone. Andre, we can’t keep doing this.

But how else can I see you?

I’ll rent a room. Somewhere that people won’t care who comes and goes. You know I have money. It’s not impossible.

It’s not safe.

This is worse. This is scandals and inquiries and your whole life and mine gone to ruin. For seven minutes of scrabbling in the dark, like a pair of blind—

Hush…they’ve gone.

Andre, please, let me find us somewhere. One night. Somewhere in the north end. Or right out of town. Rent a cottage, arrive separately. Take guns and dogs and say we’re hunting.

We’ll talk about it later.

There is no later. There’s this, and this again, and never anything else.

Don’t leave. Michel, I’m sorry. I’m frightened and I’m sorry that I’ve got nothing more to give you. I’m sorry that it will never be enough.

Stop. If that’s all you’ve got to say, let’s stop talking.

Kiss me again.

Mmm…come farther now. Hurry.

I can barely see you.

You don’t need to see. Just touch me.

Oh my…is that…all you?

Don’t you know how I ache for you every moment we’re not together?

I want you in my mouth.

We can’t. Not here.

I must. Just this once. 

Agree you’ll see me elsewhere. Tell me you’ll be with me, if only for a night. Or I don’t know that I can ever do this again.

Don’t lie.

I mean it. Promise me one night together. Or I’ll walk away right now—

Don’t. Don’t ever say that again.

Well then?

I promise. We will be together. Not just like this but truly together. Whatever you desire. Only say you’ll never refuse me.

How could I refuse my heart?

One more kiss. Then let me have you.

Yes. Only hurry…             

I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Every time we meet.

You’d better start or you’ll be waiting again…oh…Andre…oh, love…what is that you’re …how can it feel so…oh yes, touch me there. I’ll spread my legs for you to reach…yes…yes…yes, take me right down…oh, I’m going to…oh yes, suck it down. Yes, take it.

Well…I never knew you had such talk in you.

You wait. Wait till we’re alone. When there’s no one to hear us, judge us. I’ll tell you all the things I’ve ever wanted to do to you, love. And then we’ll do them.

Yes. Find us a room. I promise, I’ll be there.

Do you still love me?

More than ever. I’ll be tasting you all night.

I hear the train.

What about tomorrow?

What about it? You know I’ll be here. Quick, kiss me one last time…now go. Carry on with the crowd. I’ll leave after.

I miss you already, darling.

Tomorrow, love. I promise.

a love story (cut-up #1)

~ Will Forrest ~ Leave a comment

Nothing to do but surrender,

take it,

and because he could not cry out,

There seemed no end to it,

 thoroughly gasping,

around Ed’s

and the motion and

“So could I.”

Truly breathless, unresisting  

his worst and his best, his heart and his body’s lowest cravings.

oh, my Valentine…

(2021)

[a found assembly of phrases from the editing file of a short story]