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Subject: {ASSM} Rewrit story: "A Dialog & Writing Lesson" an erotic lecture on erotic writing, MMM
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"A Dialog & Writing Lesson" M/M/M, anal sex, an erotic
lecture on erotic writing
=================================================================
The author permits any kind of archiving, posting, reposting,
and reproduction in fixed form or otherwise, free or for profit,
of this story. Copyright (C) 2000 by Felix Lance Falkon,
falkon@netaxs.com. This work is unsuitable for minors. Standard
warnings apply: slippery when wet, use no hooks, for external use
only, and watch for falling rocks and fallen women whilst reading.
=================================================================
(The ** starts emphasis [underline/italics]; * ends emphasis.)
----------------------------------------------------------------
A DIALOG & WRITING LESSON
by Felix Lance Falkon
Morganstern looked up at Jon's lithe body as Jon started his
first thrust -- but with no more than an inch inside, Jon stopped
and held himself perfectly still. Morganstern -- the bigger, more
heavily muscled of the two naked writers -- asked Jon, ``What's
the matter?'' ``Short fuze, real short.'' ``Afraid you'll go off
too soon?'' ``Sure am,'' said Jon.
``May I make a few suggestions?'' asked Morganstern.
``Go ahead,'' said Jon. He sank another inch deeper into
Morganstern. ``Suggest away.''
``Don't put your reply in the **same* paragraph as my
question, the way you did in the first paragraph of this story.
Instead, start a new paragraph with **every* change in who's
talking, as I'm doing now.''
``Uh -- why?''
Morganstern felt his abdominal muscles contract into a
taut, concave ripple as he curled his hips up to meet the next
impaling thrust. He took a deep breath, tightened the layer of
muscle that swept across his broad chest, then said, ``It makes
it lots easier for the reader to tell who's saying what. It's
like . . . like in that first paragraph, the reader's not quite
sure who said, `Afraid I'll shoot too soon.' Also, you'll have
shorter paragraphs, which are easier to read than screens or
pages full of uninterrupted columns of type. Newspapermen call
writing such long paragraphs `tombstoning,' because the results
look like grey tombstones.
``Indenting every paragraph also makes a story much easier
to read. And since that's the way almost all printed fiction is
done, it's what the reader expects. Don't distract the reader
from what you and I are doing, here in bed; don't distract him
from what we're saying to each other Right Now.
``And if you're preparing a story you're going to post on a
newsgroup or transmit by e-mail, put a blank line after each
paragraph, limit line length to about 65 or 70 characters and
spaces, and indent each paragraph five spaces instead of using
the `tab' key. And -- do **not* make the right margin straight
-- that is, do not `right justify' a text file; leave the right
margin ragged the way I'm doing here.'' Morganstern felt Jon
slide in another inch. He met that thrust with another wiggle
and squirm, felt Jon push even harder in response.
``Okay; what else?'' asked Jon.
``When you ask a question in dialog, put the question mark
or exclamation point at the end, **inside* the quote marks,
without putting a comma there.''
``Oh.'' Jon took a deep breath, went in even deeper. ``And
-- did you say you had more suggestions?'' he asked.
``Yup. When you have a bit of dialog that **doesn't* end
with a question mark or exclamation point, and **is* followed by
`he said' -- or `he asked' or `he replied' or a phrase like that
-- then use a comma -- **inside* the quotation marks -- like
this,'' said Morganstern. ``Use a period just before the closing
quote marks when you don't have a `he said' -- or `asked' or the
like following the quote marks -- like this.'' Morganstern
squirmed again. ``If you begin a sentence with `he said' or the
like, put a comma right after the last word before the quote
marks, and capitalize the first word after the quote marks.''
Jon cautiously began another thrust. ``Oh. I think I
understand.''
``Three more things: Don't feel that you have to reach for
substitutes for `said' in speech tags. Using `observed' or
`expounded' or `intoned' is far more distracting than the simple
`he said,' which is almost invisible to the reader. Any fancy
substitutes distract the reader from what's being said, from
what's inside the quotation marks. Of course, the verb in a
speech tag has to be one that makes sense: you can't `smirk' a
sentence; you can't hiss, `Take that!'
``With questions, use `he asked.' Use `whispered' or
`growled' or verbs like those **very* sparingly. Use them only
when you're giving the reader additional information that the
context doesn't already make clear.
``An example: ` ``Good morning,'' Kurt snarled.' In this
case, the way Kurt said that is entirely at odds with the words
Kurt used. So, you have to use `snarled' to make the reader aware
that you intend that contrast.
``And the other two things?'' Jon asked. He was breathing
harder now, and pulling back between strokes.
``One way to break up the monotony of `he said' `he said'
`he said' is to leave off the speech tag entirely -- but only
when it's perfectly obvious who's speaking. With just the two of
us, and you asking questions and me answering them, we can leave
out `Jon said' and `Morganstern said' and go for several
paragraphs without confusing the reader. With ordinary
conversation and only two speakers, you should identify who's
talking about every third paragraph. And always make it clear
which `he' you mean, **especially* if you have three male
speakers going at it.
``And if one of us talks for more than one paragraph at a
time -- as I'm doing right now -- leave off the end-of-paragraph
quote marks until the **last* paragraph of that speech,''
Morganstern said as he tightened his arms around Jon's chest,
locking their naked bodies together. ``But you still need opening
quotes at the **start* of every paragraph of a multi-paragraph
speech like this one.
``Another way to break up the monotony of `he said' is what
I'm doing right here.'' Morganstern felt Jon's muscles tighten,
felt him go in all the way with his next thrust. ``In the same
paragraph with a within-quotes speech, end the quoted part and
then put in something like my feeling you tighten up as you ram
yourself hilt-deep into me. This can advance the plot at the same
time that the writer establishes who is saying the words inside
the quote marks. But again: readers just don't notice the `he
said' as long as what he's saying is **interesting.''*
``Yeah? Hey! I noticed that when you interrupt the quoted
part that way, using a verb that is **not* a synonym or
substitute for `said,' you end what's inside the quotes with a
period, and start what follows the quote with a capital letter.''
Jon stopped his next stroke in mid-thrust. ``And with questions
and question marks, like this?'' He grinned down at Morganstern.
``Exactly.'' Morganstern felt Jon thrust harder with his
next stroke, felt a bit of rotary motion as well. ``Just like
that . . . and like this.'' Morganstern grinned back up at Jon.
``And I even noticed how you're using single quotes inside
the double-quote marks without you having to tell me. But -- how
come you're using the double open-quote marks -- `` -- and the
double close-quote marks -- '' -- instead of just hitting the
plain old " key?''
``You can do it either way. The `` and '' are easier for
your readers to convert into the typesetting double-quotes. And
if a reader is more comfortable with the " symbol, he can
easily convert from the `` and the '' to the " mark. Using
anything not on a standard keyboard in e-mailed or news-group
stories -- like using the **typesetting* double-quote codes --
is a real pain for readers whose equipment doesn't fit yours
just right.''
``Well,'' said Jon, ``I still think this a really **weird*
time to make with a grammar lesson -- but yeah, my equipment fits
into you real nice and tight.''
Morganstern felt a grin spread across his own face. ``Well,
the grammar lesson's keeping you cooled down, isn't it? Instead
of going off too soon, the way a lusty young colt like you
almost always does when he's mounted on a big, hunky muscle-stud
like me, you've been riding me for -- Hey! Slow down; you're
almost there!''
``Yeah -- I -- noticed. Talk -- to me -- about -- something
-- else -- quick,'' Jon panted as he slowed almost to a stop.
``Lemme see -- you got me going too -- there's, yeah,
emphasis: since plain-text e-mail doesn't have underlining or
italics, use ** to begin emphasized words and * to end that
emphasis. Do the same for your character's unspoken thoughts. The
reader can convert those asterisks to his own word-processor's
codes for underlining or italics. Watch out for the difference
between the dash -- which pushes phrases apart -- and the
well-placed hyphen, which pulls words together into compound
words like `plain-text' and `e-mail.'
``What about those -- what do you call 'em -- three dots?''
``They're called an ellipsis. You can use one instead of a
dash. Most readers will see the dash as showing an abrupt change
in what you're saying, or -- at the end of a word -- that you've
suddenly stopped. The ellipsis . . .'' His voice trailed off,
then re-started. ``The ellipsis originally meant that something
is missing. Some writers use it to imply that you **gradually*
stopped, either in the middle of a sentence . . . or at the end
of a complete one. . . .'' Others feel that the ellipsis is
badly over-used as an all-purpose kind of punctuation.''
Morganstern wet his lips. ``Note: complete sentences, period
**plus* three dots. Incomplete ones, just . . .
``New subject: some writers have a bad habit of reaching
for substitutes for words he's already used. A very smart
science-fiction writer once wrote, `English has no synonyms; it
has a great many words that mean **almost* the same thing.' And
as Mark Twain wrote, `The difference between the right word and
the almost right word is the difference between the lightning
and the lightning bug.' He also wrote, ``Use the **right* word,
not its second cousin. To paraphrase Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
`Good writing is putting down the right words in the right
order.' ''
``Some writers -- present company excepted, of course --
will assemble several ways to identify someone in a story, and
then use them in rotation. Such a writer would refer to you as
`Jon,' in your next appearance as `the lithe-bodied youth,' then
`the lusty writer,' next by your last name alone, then as `the
naked young man mounted on Morganstern's magnificently muscled
physique,' and then back to `Jon' when you show up in the story
again, leaving the reader unsure if you are one character, or
five, or some number in between.''
Jon snickered, then said, `` `Magnificently muscled'
indeed!''
``Well, I **am.* And I worked hard to get these muscles.''
``I know, I know. And since muscle-hunks like you happen to
turn me on --''
``I noticed **that* already.''
``-- but I don't know if I like conceited ones --''
``You wouldn't want me to **lie* about my magnificent
musculature, would you?''
``-- and I can't tell if you're kidding when you say things
like that, and if we start laughing while we're doing **this* --''
Jon thrust hard, squirmed, eased back. ``So -- let's get back to
the writing lesson, before I -- you know.''
``Right.'' Morganstern took a deep breath, feeling his broad
chest expand, remembering, for a few seconds, the smell of the
gym down by the beach. He remembered the ache in his muscles
after a hard workout, remembered the time he'd stayed behind
after the other bodybuilders left for the evening. He and gym's
night manager had stripped down all the way, stiffened up, and
then, on a bench in front of the gym's biggest mirror . . .
Morganstern shook away the memory and said, ``Just as bad,
or worse, is to begin a story with tiresomely detailed physical
descriptions, measurements, and biographies of all the principal
characters -- which is precisely what we did not do here.
Instead, we followed the ancient precept: start in the middle of
things. Homer did, some three **thousand* years ago, with:
`Sing, Goddess, of the anger of Achilles, . . .' right smack in
the middle of the Trojan War. His words sing to us yet.
``Thus, we started **this* story, quite literally, during
your first thrust. Blocks of explanation, like these paragraphs,
are all very well to cool someone down. But fiction works better
if the writer slips in background details and descriptions of the
principal characters a few words at a time, early in the action,
and with the lectures, if any, broken up by action and dialog.
``This deep into a story really isn't the time to stop for a
static description of my curly brown hair; my electric-blue eyes;
even my youthful, snub-nosed face. The reader might have decided,
pages and pages ago, that I have aquiline features and dark eyes
and straight, black hair, because I didn't show the reader
otherwise in the first few paragraphs, either by having me
**remember* how I look or by letting the reader **see* those
details through my eyes. And since you don't have a convenient
mirror in this room for me -- and the reader -- to look at myself
in, then . . .
``You're right, of course: mentioning my `magnificently
muscled physique' **was* overdoing it, especially this far into
the story. I **can* mention how your lean, narrow hips feel,
gripped between my powerful thighs, because that's what's
happening to me **right now,* and --''
``Now you've done it!'' Jon thrust faster, harder, faster
still.
``Can't you . . . slow down?''
``Not now. Too hot. **Real* hot.''
``I . . . noticed,'' said Morganstern, trying to meet every
impaling thrust.
Jon suddenly gasped aloud, rammed himself all the way in,
went rigid, and then slowly, slowly relaxed and started breathing
again. ``I was going along okay, stretching it out just like you
told me to, until you reminded me just what we're doing. All of a
sudden, I couldn't stop.'' He panted for a moment, then said, ``I
bet you can't keep this lesson going with **you* on top.''
``I can so! Where's my shirt? I always carry a few extra in
my pocket, so I can put one on before we . . .''
``Don't worry -- I got a supply in my bureau. Let me see.''
Jon straightened his arms, looked down between their still-linked
bodies, and said, ``Yeah -- as long and thick as yours is, an
`extra large' oughta fit just right.''
``That was deftly done,'' said Morganstern, as they
uncoupled, Jon rolled off, and -- a moment later -- sat up.
``Huh?''
``Without stopping to explain or to cite my length and
width, you rather neatly established that we're using protection
and that I'm an `extra large.' You're letting the reader decide
just how long and thick and wide that might be.''
``Yeah?'' Jon, now on his feet, pulled open the bureau's
top drawer and passed a foil-wrapped packet to Morganstern, who
stood up, stretched, then opened the packet. ``I suppose we could
start measuring each other -- chest, arms, waist, hips -- drop to
the calves, work on up to thighs and -- you know. That could --
that **would* be more interesting than just saying how tall you
are and how big around the chest and, as you put it, how long and
how thick where it -- it counts.'' Jon grabbed a towel,
unsheathed himself, and wiped himself dry. ``Like -- Hey! Like
the beginning of this story, where you established -- without
stopping to say so, that you're bigger than me -- and a real
muscle-hunk at that -- and that I'm built okay too.''
``Another problem.'' Morganstern finished putting on the
`extra large' contents of the packet, then squirted on a dab of
lubricant. ``If you write that one of your story-studs has -- say
-- a ten-incher, some readers will think this is excitingly long,
but others will think your story is laughably overdone. `What is
all right for B, will quite scandalize C, for C is so very
particular.' ''
``Again -- huh?''
``A quote from Gilbert and Sullivan. From **The Yeomen of
the Guard,* I think.'' Morganstern gestured at the bed with a
sweep of his right hand. Jon stretched out on his back, and
tucked a pillow behind his head. Morganstern knelt between Jon's
thighs, leaned forward, found his target, thrust, and stopped
with an inch or so inside. ``One writer likes his characters
kind of chubby and well-furred; another likes lean, well-defined
studs in their late teens that he picks up at body-building
gums.'' He eased an inch deeper, felt Jon respond with a squeeze
and a squirm.
``Got any Rules for which kind of characters to pick?''
``Nope. I don't have any Rules for the writing game -- just
lots of suggestions. You **can* write a story that's all dialog,
with no speech tags at all; you just have to realize that when
you do, that format will take some of the reader's attention away
from what's going on in the story. Some readers want characters
that are whipping or otherwise humiliating each other; some
readers prefer characters that are calmly doing dreadful things
to themselves. Still others are more into the Main Event -- what
we're doing now.'' Morganstern went a bit deeper, pulled back,
thrust again, watching Jon grit his teeth, feeling Jon tense his
muscles and then relax with a sigh. Another thrust. Jon's eyes
focused on Morganstern's and the two men grinned at each other.
Morganstern felt himself begin to tense up inside. He slowed
his stroke as he added, ``Some get turned on by characters who
use all the standard four-letter words, along with a few of the
well-chosen five-and six-letter ones. Others --''
``-- manage without any dirty words at all -- like we've
been doing here --''
``-- which works as a demonstration, but does call attention
to **how* the story's told, rather than what it's about. And then
there are people really into incest or under-age characters; but
most would rather stay away from those areas that, as the old
clich‚ has it, are illegal, immoral, or fattening.''
``More suggestions?'' asked Jon.
``An important one: although Kipling wrote: `There are nine
and sixty ways, of constructing tribal lays,' a most effective
way to construct a story is to pick exactly the right point of
view from which you can best tell that story, and then put your
reader firmly into that point-of-view character -- seeing what
the character sees, feeling what the character feels, thinking
and remembering and deciding as the character does those things.
In short, make the reader **be* that chosen character throughout
that story.
``The reader,'' said Morganstern, ``will have the experience
of being **in* the story if you -- the author -- avoid
interrupting the action to address the reader directly, avoid
making the reader jump into another character's head, and avoid
making him look down on the scene from a set of disembodied eyes
hovering over the action. Also, do not start the story with a
lecture, or biographies of the characters, or a descriptive
passage told from any point of view other than your chosen
character; don't delay getting the reader **into* the story's
point-of-view character and into the story itself.''
``Hey,'' Jon said, ``I thought you said that if a quoted
paragraph doesn't end with a close-quote mark, then the following
paragraph is automatically being said by the speaker of the
preceding one. So -- why did you identify yourself as the speaker
again?''
``It's more important not to confuse the reader than it is
to depend on the reader noticing that missing close-quote mark.
Now -- where was I?''
``About four inches in and counting.'' Jon squirmed up
against Jon's next impaling thrust.
``That too. Point of view -- a long story may be better told
with a few shifts from one character to another -- but only if
there is a clear break -- always marked with extra blank lines in
manuscript, screen, or printed page, and sometimes a line of
three asterisks as well. The first sentence following the break
must put the reader firmly into the next point-of-view
character's head. I saw one story recently in which the point of
view shifted from one of the story's two characters to the other
with **every* paragraph. That is hard to do well, but it's a very
interesting way to tell a story: the reader is alternating
between the two sides of the interaction between those two
characters. However, I still think the most effective way to tell
a story is almost always to tell it from one point of view, so
the reader can really get into that character's memory, and eyes,
and ears --''
``-- and other appendages.'' Jon grabbed Morganstern's hips,
pulled him deeper. ``Then if I wanted the reader to watch us from
above, watch your back muscles working, watch your hips pumping,
pulling back, thrusting again, then --''
``Well, you really can't do that and still hold *this* story
together. You **could* go back and rewrite the beginning so that
I look up at the mirror on the ceiling over the bed and watch you
pumping away on top of my muscular self, but that's about it.
Having me remember **now* what I saw **then* doesn't work at all
-- you don't **have* a mirror on the ceiling, because if you
**had,* I would have noticed it **then* -- and so would the
reader, who is supposed to be me throughout this adventure.
``A minor suggestion -- one easy to do, even when rewriting
a completed story -- is to avoid having characters with names
that sound or look too much alike: `Joe' and `Moe,' for example,
or even `Danny' and `Dennis.' With our names -- `Morganstern' has
three syllables, `Jon' has one. Our names don't start with the
same letter. And they don't rhyme . . . there's no chance for the
reader to get confused.'' Morganstern eased himself deeper.
``There -- all the way in. You still --''
``Billy!'' yelped Jon.
`` `Billy'? That would work -- two syllables, doesn't rhyme
with either --''
``I don't mean Billy, a two-syllable name; I mean Billy, my
kid brother, who just came in through the hall door I forgot to
lock.''
Morganstern jerked his head around, looked back over his
shoulder, saw a sturdy young blond stride towards the bureau,
shedding clothes as he went. ``Not to worry,'' Billy said as he
finished stripping and reached into the bureau. ``Even though I
can't buy beer yet, I'm old enough to vote, so I'm not jail-bait,
in case you're worried about that when I make this a three-way.''
**So that's why Jon has that size on hand,* Morganstern told
himself as Billy stiffened up, pulled on an `extra large,' and
climbed onto the bed.
Jon said, ``Billy, this is Morganstern. Morganstern,
Billy.''
``And,'' Billy added as he knelt astride Morganstern's
thighs and slid himself into place, ``with you sandwiched between
me and Jon, this doesn't count as incest either.'' He slid half-
way into Morganstern, paused for Morganstern to catch his breath,
and completed his impaling thrust.
Morganstern felt a beardless chin snuggle against his neck,
caught a whiff of something spicy. ``Aftershave?'' he asked.
``Stuff I put on my hair,'' Billy said, tightening his grip
on Morganstern's chest.
Morganstern, spitted to the hilt and stretched tight, rammed
himself all the way into Jon, who gasped and then said, ``Billy?''
``Yeah?''
``He's using an `extra large' too.''
``He is?'' Billy pulled back a couple of inches, thrust
again.~
``Sure am,'' said Morganstern. ``Jon's a nice fit; good and
tight, and the way he's squirming now . . .''
``You'd squirm too,'' panted Jon, ``if this muscle-stud had
rammed himself into your tail end.''
Morganstern felt Billy pull back and then ram himself in all
the way, heard Billy eagerly say, ``Hey, guy, that sounds great!
After we finish this round, let's swap around; me on the bottom,
Jon on top, you in the middle again. I want to find out how tight
you'll fit into me.''
``Before we do that,'' Jon panted, ``there's that mirror I
bought yesterday. With three of us working together, we can mount
it on the ceiling, right over the bed. And Morganstern, if it'll
keep you from going off too soon, you can explain to Billy why we
can't just look down on the scene from near the ceiling.''
``You **can* tell a story that way,'' said Morganstern, now
comfortably sandwiched between Jon's and Billy's warm, naked
bodies. ``It's just -- usually -- more effective to pick one
point of view, and then let the reader **be* that character all
the way through a story to the end. I mean, why would **any*body
want to wiggle out from between you two hunky studs and go
flitting, batlike, up amongst the cobwebs? Instead, I've got
Billy's chest against my back, and Jon squirming under me, and
I'm feeling Billy inside me and me inside Jon, and all three of
us -- oops!''
Morganstern heard Jon ask, ``That turn you on too far?''
``Yeah.'' Morganstern felt himself fast coming to a boil as
he thrust harder, faster, harder still.
As Billy speeded his own stroke, he said into Morganstern's
ear, ``I'll try to catch up.''
Seconds later, Morganstern felt his muscles tense. Another
stroke, and he went rigid. Billy thrust a few times more, then
went rigid too while he and Morganstern pumped themselves dry.
Still later: long, delicious minutes later, Morganstern
slowly relaxed, still catching his breath. ``Convinced?''
``Convinced,'' said Jon, from under Morganstern.
``Beats cobwebs any day,'' said Billy, a sweat-damp weight
relaxing on Morganstern's back. ``You did seem to be laying it
on a bit thick -- `Morganstern heard this, . . . Morganstern
felt that,' . . . you know.''
`` `Merely corroborative detail, . . .' '' said Morganstern.
Billy's voice joined Morganstern's. Together, they said,
`` `. . . intended to give artistic verisimilitude . . .' ''
And Billy, alone, finished the quote: `` `. . . to an
otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.' Poo-Bah, **The
Mikado,* words by Sir William Schwenk Gilbert of Gilbert &
Sullivan.''
``If I laid it on thick enough for you to notice, then I
laid it on thick enough to distract the reader,'' Morganstern
said.
``Come on, guy; you had to lay it on to make your point.''
Billy sat up. ``I'll get the ladder; you two bring up the mirror.
By the time we get that thing up and mounted, we ought to be all
reloaded for another round. So: what tools do we need?''
=================================================================
The author permits any & all archiving, posting, reposting, and
reproduction in fixed form, free or for profit, of this story.
Copyright (C) 2000 by Felix Lance Falkon, falkon@netaxs.com. This
work is not suitable for minors.
=================================================================
------------END------------
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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