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Thursday, March 14, 2019

Character Creation - Fun Writing Facts #amwriting #mustread #novels #characters

Character Creation - Fun Writing Facts

Aside from the plot and setting, characters are crucial to any story. They are the reason we read books. What would Hogwarts be without Harry Potter or Voldemort? I dare say, a boring old school of magic. Whether it’s the protagonist, antagonist or the deuteragonist or even the tritagonist, characters are the foundation, and every aspect about each one deserves careful planning. I love character-driven stories more so than plot driven. When I pick up a book, it doesn’t matter how well executed the plot is or how wonderfully written, if I can’t relate or sympathize or at least feeling some emotion for the main characters, I’ll toss the book.

Here’s a list of things you should consider when developing your character(s). 

Characters usually fall into one of three categories: primary, secondary or minor. And the category usually determines each character’s role. For instance, the primary character is generally the protagonist and secondary to the protagonist is the antagonist.

1. What category will the character fall in?

Of course, once the writer has decided who is who the next step is character construction, under which some questions have to be answered. Remember there are countless external factors that will determine the physical structure and appearance of a character, even the clothes they wear: sex, age, climate, terrain, diet, species, religious beliefs, political beliefs, financial status, sexual orientation, race, occupation and so on.

2. What species?

3. Appearance?

Then comes the psychological choices such as the character’s personality (tick, quirks), language, the pattern of speech, motivation and name.

4. Personality?

5. The pattern of speech?

6. Motivation?

7. Name?

The last part to character creation is dimension. And what do I mean by “dimension”? Think of the character as an onion (yes, everyone uses this analogy lol), and to fully understand him or her, each layer has to be peeled away. This process is where the dimension lies. The character’s internal problem or personality conflicts with the character’s external circumstance or their actions.

8. Dimension?

Before I begin to write, I usually have a good idea as to who my character is along with their name, a basic plot outline and setting. They may not be 100% fleshed out at the start, but they are a solid presence in my mind. As my writing gains momentum, everything about them gradually becomes more concrete. Logical choices are essential. Part of my process, which I can’t recommend enough, is to keep notes. I always have a notebook on hand to scrawl out information, whatever tidbits come to my mind. Nobody else can read my script, but that’s fine because my notes are for me.

Blak Rayne

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Kiss the Reaper #darkromance #mmromance #thriller #mustread

Available at Amazon and everywhere!
As a prostitute, Z has no one trustworthy he can rely on in his life until he meets Brody, a kind and mysterious man who seems to be the answer to all his problems.

Kiss the Reaper
By Blak Rayne

‘Wherever depravity knocks, he will answer. Whenever Z knocks, he will kill.’

For Z, prostitution is a way of life, but it’s also become his prison. Desperate to forget his ugly existence, even if it’s only once a week, he confides in a john—a mysterious but kind man named Brody. Every Friday night they talk until the early morning hours. Brody is altruistic, giving him the attention he craves and, in time, they cultivate a unique bond.
For Brody, he’s found something special in Z—an innate charm and pure view of the world—qualities he can appreciate. He’s grown fond of Z and comfortable with their routine, but he knows it will soon come to an end.
Fueled by curiosity, Z follows Brody through the city to a dance club. He wants to learn all he can about his unusual client. However, he discovers more than he bargained for—a dark unsettling secret is hidden in a back room, a secret he can never share.

The elevator slid shut at the far end of the hallway and I caught a glimpse of Brody inside. I raced past it and down three levels of a concrete stairwell to catch him. Once on the street, he walked like he had a purpose, cutting straight through anyone in his path. I followed him for several blocks, where he entered an abandoned warehouse in an industrial park. I kept close to the walls and shadows, careful not to disturb anything.
On the fifth floor, in what had once been a spacious office, sat the basics in furniture—a liquor cabinet and kitchenette, bathroom, and a bed—it wasn’t how I expected him to live. A meticulous man, he seemed the type who would rent a West End condo.
Brody began to remove his clothes, and I ducked behind a rusted filing cabinet. He wasn’t huge or burly, but lean, an unbreakable man, and I felt an even stronger attraction to him. In certain respects we were one in the same—a pair of freakish oddballs—mutually needy. I wanted his attention and it seemed he wanted my approval. But what about love? And what about sex?
His cock was long and lean like him, his nakedness beautiful. My stomach fluttered and I bottled my breath, quickly looking away to stay calm. He deserved privacy and my respect. But my thoughts were far from respectful.
Water ran, and I waited, rubbing nervously at my sweaty upper lip. The bathroom door opened, and Brody emerged in a cloud of steam, waist wrapped in a towel. In minutes, he was dressed and adjusting his tie in front of the large window. Then he slid the holsters over his shoulders, buckled the chest strap, and put on his blazer.
Once again, he was on the move, myself in pursuit. But somehow within a block of the warehouse, his trail had gone cold.
“Shit,” I gasped, my breath misting in the air. Light from a neon sign nearby glistened on the damp pavement. No other business in the immediate area was open. I had a hunch and pulled on the blackened entrance door.
Loud music hit like a brick, rattling my chest. People drank, danced and made out—the club was a den of wickedness. And I soon became disoriented in the chaos, temporarily absorbed like water into a sponge by the hypnotic pulse of lights. I shoved against the suffocating mass of bodies and scanned the sea of bobbing heads. At the rear of the club, I noticed a hallway emitting a red glow and, for some inexplicable reason, I felt drawn to it and moved in that direction.
When I reached it, a man brushed past, bumping my arm. The unnatural light obscured his head and shoulders. I paused and glanced back, but he’d vanished. Our interaction was so brief, only his stature had registered. There were three doors to my left and the middle one stood partly open. I gave it a cautious push and it crept inwards. The red glow from the corridor gradually spread across the floor.
I gagged.
In the center of the room was a dead man, seated on a chair in front of a boarded window, his mouth gaping, a quarter-sized hole in his forehead. He stared with vacant eyes, those deprived of a soul. Blood trickled past the bridge of his nose and had spattered the plywood in the window, like someone had flicked paint from his or her fingertips.
For the first few seconds, I was too traumatized to be scared, but had enough sense to get out of there. Murder was still illegal. Turning on my heels, I blew from the room, heart hammering. I tried to act normal, but failed, wading at an urgent pace across the dance floor, propelling people out of my way. A yard ahead was the silhouette of a tall figure, a man engulfed in the epileptic beat of strobe lights. I don’t know why, but the back of his head and shoulders, and his sturdy purposeful gait seemed all too familiar. He had to be the man who’d passed me minutes before.
He exited the building and I did the same, dashing outside into the drizzly night. Gulping at the cold air, I looked in every direction. The street was desolate, not a human in sight—the man had, yet again, vanished into thin air. I turned east for home, an alley sandwiched between the club and neighboring building, and someone materialized from the shadows.
“W-who are you?” I demanded, limbs shaking.

Tags: Gay, Gayromlit, Romance, MMromance, Drama, Dark, Twisted, Killers, Assassins, Murder, Orphan, Prostitution, Futuristic, City Setting, Sex, Adult Fiction, and Must Read.

Purchase Links:
Kiss the Reaper is available at these distributors.

Monday, March 4, 2019

5 Star Review - Radioactive #mustread

Five Stars!
Maniac Readers


‘What goes around, comes around.’

Martin Ogilvy has one task to fulfill: fix everyone else’s problems. As a financial adviser, he gets paid to keep his clients in the black. But when it comes to his personal life, he’s always in the red until he meets the attractive, spirited and tenacious Shawn. From the onset, Martin senses they’ve met somewhere before, although it’s an impossibility due to their age difference. However, the more time they spend together, the more Martin wonders if what he feels is real or déjà vu.

The week went by excruciatingly slow. And by Friday, Martin was mentally fried, but at least his house was fully furnished once again. He didn’t have to rely on Ian, and he had recouped his privacy. After his first coffee break in the garden, he returned to his temporary office: a plain room with a view of the parking lot and an oversized oak desk in the middle that seemed to swallow any extra space. The shelves and pullout legal size drawers’ underneath were empty. Yellow stains on the wall surrounded by fading, the type caused by excessive direct sunlight, marked where pictures had been. Rain spattered the window diagonally, a mild summer storm, the water drizzling down to the sill. He hung his blazer on the chair and removed his laptop from his briefcase and got settled.
Ian poked his head in the room. “Are you busy?”
“No. I just got here.” He rolled the chair forward, snug to the desk.
“I thought we could go for lunch.”
“I don’t think that’ll be possible today, Ian.”
“Are you that bogged down?”
He clicked the mouse, opening the first folder from a pile, two feet high. “You’re paying me to clean up your finances, and I need every minute.”
“All right. Drinks later, after work?”
Ian placed another thick manila folder on the desk. “Sorry.”
The door shut, and he tucked in for the long haul. Adding columns of numbers, he calculated from the charter of accounts to spreadsheets. Each file took hours, consuming his energy. He sifted through the newest file Ian had left behind. There was a creak of a hinge, and Shawn appeared inside the office. No warning. But, strangely enough, he wasn’t all that surprised.
“Ah, I’m swamped here, so if you don’t mind…” Martin watched in amazement as the younger man completely ignored him, peeked into the hallway then clicked the door shut as if he was a child sneaking back to bed after a late-night binge. “Are you listening?”
“I heard you. But you really don’t mean it.”
“Oh no…?” he asked with a sharp ring of frustration in his voice.
Cocking a smug grin, Shawn pressed his palms flat on the desk. “I’m not going to give up.”
“I can see that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I gathered.” Martin stared at him in a state of wonder; the kid had amazing perseverance. “Are you for real?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Okay, nonetheless when someone turns you down, normally it means they’re disinterested.”
“Yeah, true, but I know deep down you are interested.”
“Really.” He tried not to smile and leaned backward, elbows planted on the armrests, clicking his pen. “So, how do you know that when I’ve continually denied every offer, you’ve made?”
“Well, if you were really turned-off your gaze wouldn’t follow me, and you wouldn’t be smiling like you are right now.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I give you credit, you’re persistent.” Shawn dropped a bag of black licorice nibs on the desk. Taken aback, Martin frowned, grabbing the bag, tempted to question where he’d got his information; licorice was his preferred sweet treat. “How did…” He paused and, instead, asked, “What are these for?”
“Something to chew on while working. Have a great weekend.” Shawn grinned, slipping out into the hallway, and the door closed.
“Hmm…you too,” he muttered, tearing open the plastic. Popping a shiny black cube in his mouth, he leaned on a fist and chewed, staring gloomily at the mountain of paperwork he had to finish.

Also by Blak Rayne
The Ideal Side of Love
The Ideal Side of Life
Carson’s Story
Older the Better
The Jock
Tease to Please (multiple authors)
Turkish Delight
Put Your Ho Ho’s On (multiple authors)
Reaper Series
Kiss the Reaper
Maximum Kill
Jack the Anthropophagite
Apprentice Killers
Embrace the Reaper
The Reaper Complete Series
 eXtasy Books

Author Links:
Blak Rayne
‘Taking erotic to a sinful new level.’

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