What the hell...?
How a superheroine ruined my life. Because no one asked.
I started writing Cruel Summer (then called just Sapphire) in the summer of 2001. I posted the final chapter July 29, 2003 at 4am. What happened in between is a simple case of putting one's foot in one's mouth and spending a fool's ransom in time and caffeinated beverages to reverse the procedure.
Originally a self-contained vignette, Sapphire Uncovered first hit the Net in early Fall 2001, to absolutely no attention whatsoever. But after years of searching for interesting erotic fiction that pushed my particular perverted buttons, I found (big surprise) that ending this heroine's career on her first night out was somehow unsatisfying to me as a reader. And since nobody else was writing about my little fantasy, it was up to me to File / New and add to the tale.
Sapphire Uncovered formed the genesis of an occasional series, then a six-part novella, then an action thriller movie in text, then a ridiculous looming monster that threatened to consume me. (In case you can't tell, this is my cop-out for a rough start and an evolving style.)
When I posted Sapphire Uncertain (chapter two), I was motivated by a desire to not offend my imaginary present and future readers by finishing what I'd started. It was a private promise that motivated me to keep writing, with the fervent hope that a better writer than I would be so inspired by my feeble scritchings that s/he would add something complex and unconventional to the superheroine peril genre. After all, even I can only read about Supergirl being hammered by kryptonite dildos and Wonder Woman getting bound by her own lasso so many times.
So, after posting the first ten chapters to Mr. X's website and getting a few unbelieveably complimentary emails, and thinking I had about six chapters to go, I dove in.
But whatever I did, I promised myself, I would not abandon it halfway through. Nothing is more frustrating to me than enjoying a multipart story that's clearly going somewhere only to find that the author petered out midway through the third act. What selfish jerks such authors were! I wasn't about to become one of *them*. (No, I was going to be an idiot instead. Sorry, Faith.)
So I got an account and space on ASSTR, posted what I had, and made the reassurring proclamation that I would not leave my readers hanging. The Sapphire story would have a proper and satisfying conclusion, I promised.
Thus the fires of foolish obsession were stoked.
Sixteen chapters quickly started to look like twenty-four, then thirty. I went nuts. Ideas poured forth, and a few of them didn't even suck. My Notes.rtf got completely unworkable as one explanation led to another character to another perilous encounter to yet another delicious plot twist...
Finally I put my foot down. No more additions, or I'd never finish. I set my sights on a dramatic conclusion and wrote toward it as directly as I could. But it kept growing anyway. I was beginning to think that just finishing out the threads I'd started might very well kill me as a writer. But for all the frustration, I was not only obligated to finish, I was compelled to get the story of Angela Barrett out of my head. If I didn't, I might start talking about her as if she were a real person. Friends and family think I'm strange enough as it is.
Reader feedback helped. Adoring pleas to continue and honest criticism alike were tasty icing on a cake of creative satisfaction.
Now, I don't know whether you'll find Cruel Summer cliche or compelling or confusing or cloying or collapsing under its own weight, and it's too late to fix it now. But I look forward to writing more. And better. So write me and tell me what you think. Use the address at the top of this page.