Back-Drawer Stories

I began poking around at some of my long-neglected folders of story fragments and finished but not inspired works. Some of the files were so old that Word couldn’t open them anymore; I had to open them in TextEdit, copy out the text, and paste them into new Word documents. The process led me to re-read them, sometimes changing a word here or there. Most are just “eh.” I was amused to find one document contained about five different introductions to the same character, as if I’d been trying out approaches looking for the right one. But I found a few stories that are probably worth the effort to revise, although I haven’t worked on a story for years. Lately, it’s all been novels.

One story is basically finished and called “Fellgate,” 5,244 words of blood-soaked fantasy adventure more notable for its gritty voice and slaughterhouse monsters than for any great plot. It starts,

I was deep-throating a voltaic rod. The copper plating tasted bitter and the metal tip clicked against my back teeth as I dry-swallowed. My hands kept twitching forward to cover my groin, like my subconscious was thinking, “well, the big head’s a goner; better keep the little head safe.”

It’s the kind of story where everyone’s essentially bad, although the narrator is just a shade more moral than the people around him. It’s a simple story with a “bonk” plot, but I’m still fond of it, so maybe I can do something with it.

…Another story needs a lot of rewriting, but the concept still amuses me. Its working title is “Mage Hunter.” The opening, which is totally clunky and needs to be tightened, goes:

“You are either the bravest man in the world, or the most stupid,” said Xavier Planck with amazement as he stared at the stocky clerk who stood before him.

“Yes, sir.” Armino refolded his warrant, thick with royal seals and ribbons, and slipped it back into his heavy courier’s bag. He pulled out another sheet, covered with his own cramped handwriting but signed by a clerk of the civic exchequer as witness to its accuracy. “According to Avomar’s tax rolls, you have not paid your metoikion, capitatio, or window levy for the last three years. Including 2.7 percent interest accrual for each year the sum is in arrears, you owe the duke of Avomar 125 aurei, 23 denarii, 7 duponidii, or the equivalent in civic service, that equivalency to be determined by the court of the exchequer and you or your chosen advocate.”

I believe I’d been reading about medieval to early modern tax structures at the time, for some obscure reason, and I wondered why fantasy so seldom deals with taxes.I figured the bravest man in the world would have to be the tax collector who goes after all the great wizards and epic villains who you just KNOW never pay into the royal coffers of the lands in which they live. He’s the “mage hunter” of the title, the fearless tax-policy wonk bounty hunter who goes after the most powerful people in the land for a percentage of whatever taxes he’s able to collect from them. The story is fairly simple right now — he goes after a villain who tries to kill him, and as they fight he keeps finding new monstrous constructions that require more tax payments or civic violations that need to be fined, spieling them off during the combat. What I don’t have is a particularly catchy end. I suppose he needs to defeat the villain, get the signature on his forms, and then maybe sit down and fine himself for whatever damage he caused in the fight, or something equally silly.

A third story probably needs to be a novel, but I’m not sure where I’d take the plot. Working title “Ruined.”

Lady Elsepeth Britton strode into the room and sank into a low curtsey before the man inside could say anything.

“I understand you are willing to pay a great deal to ruin a woman,” she said, gazing down at the exotic pattern woven into the imported carpet.  “I would like to know how much you are offering, my lord.”

A moment’s silence answered her opening sally, and then she heard Conte Sorvegliante sink back down into his armchair with a rustle of silk and velvet. She stole a glance upward, just enough to see him cross his legs. His diamond shoe buckles glittered in the afternoon light that stole through the drawing room windows.

Basically the foreign count has a dreadful reputation and Lady Britton’s family is in debt, so she’s decided to sell her virginity to him to save them. So far, so cliched, right? So a few paragraphs down:

Elspeth sat in silence, then shivered and lifted her chin.

“Will you be purchasing my obedience, or my life?”

He gave her a quizzical look.

“What do you mean?”

This time she couldn’t stop from curling her hands into fists.

“Would this agreement permit you to hurt me? Beat me? Kill me? Steal my soul?”

“Really, my lady.” His tone was reproachful.  “We’re speaking of ruination, not destruction. I will most certainly make you work to pay off your father’s debt, and not all of what I ask of you may be to your taste. But what use is a possession that you intend to destroy? After our three years are over, you’ll still be alive and in good health and, perhaps, somewhat improved.”  His smile was crooked and didn’t reveal his teeth. “We are only discussing servitude, after all. I am not purchasing either a slave or a wife.”

As it turns out, though, the way the count intends to abuse her innocence is by requiring her to read social and political tracts that she would never have otherwise thought to touch. She finds the ideas in them unpleasant but eye-opening. Thus, while everyone assumes they’re in an illicit sexual relationship, she’s slowly being drawn into his odd, quasi-libertarian philosophy about possessions, ownership, and contracts. So she is ruined as a member of the aristocracy but ends up a social reformer.

“If our slavers are poaching in your land, it’s a matter for the ambassador.”

“The ambassador is doing all he can.” The count bared his teeth in a strangely predatory snarl.  “And I can do nothing.”

“You can purchase them.”

“Your law doesn’t permit me.”

“Then give me the money, and I will purchase them.”

He looked at her sharply.

“I will spend your money, so they will be yours, of course. Isn’t that what you want?” she pressed.

“Yes….” the word was almost a hiss, and his eyes didn’t waver from her face.  “But for you to act as my proxy is … of suspect legality.”

She shrugged.

“What can the authorities do to me that I haven’t done to myself already?  Give me your money, my lord. Nobody will think twice about it, under the circumstances.  I’ll buy the slaves and have them housed — where? Your mansion?”

“That would be acceptable.”

“You still look dismayed, Lord Sarcany.”

“I do not approve of paying for that which is already mine. And I dislike putting my money into the hands of slavers. A man’s body and mind are his own possessions. He may choose to sell them or give them away as he will, but to have them forcibly taken and sold is an abomination.”  His face was hard. “Your country’s obsession with commerce has made it rich, but it’s also made it corrupt.

“A man’s, but not a woman’s?” Elspeth asked, sharply. Lord Sarcany raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by the correction.

“Both. Did I not respect your right to sell your body and mind?”

As it turns out, the Conte is a (shapechanged) dragon, and his whole philosophy is based around a dragon’s strong sense of the right of possession. These are the two things I like most about the story — twisting the (expected) pornotopia myth of “ruin” as a form of sexual awakening into “ruin” as a form of social awakening and figuring out what a dragon’s moral and social philosophy might be like in an early 19th-century sort of setting. I also like playing with the tropes of the Regency romance, of course. But all I have is a beginning and then a series of disjointed scenes, which totally does not work for me as a writer; I have found that I must write straight through in order to finish a work. So I need to puzzle over how I might turn this into a proper short novel without it becoming too dull or preachy or predictable.

None of this is getting me closer to finishing Right of Rule, of course, but at least it’s a good reminder that I have plenty of other writing projects I could pursue.