Monday, December 09, 2019

Feedback Request



The author of the book most recently featured here would like feedback on the following version of the query:


Dear Evil Editor,

I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to pitch my completed LGBT contemporary romance "The Glorious Prince".

Malek, Iraqi-American beefcake and flirtation failure extraordinaire, finds in his university gym locker yet another note from his secret admirer. This time there's a number. After watching his crush, Priscilla, make out with his best friend, Malek storms out of a party and drunk-texts the admirer to meet up.. Fred, struggling painter and smitten submissive, can barely keep himself from running [all but runs] to meet Malek, but arrives to find his fists clenched. Malek pushes Fred away—into the street and a pair of headlights.

In his hospital bed, Fred realizes his chance. Aided by some astonished lawyers, Fred forces Malek to choose between prison and a year of “reconciliation” visits. Prison would ruin his immigrant parents’ hopes in America, so guilt-ridden Malek chooses the visits. On the first visit, Malek is shocked when Fred bends spine, neck, and knees, confessing the urge to be his submissive. Fred knows that Malek will enjoy domination if given a little push, like having his shoes shined, feet massaged, or his shisha pipes prepared. To help Malek see how adored he is, Fred paints him as the epic ruler of fictional worlds, and these paintings come to life in a way his previous works never have.

Though confused and hesitant at first, Malek is flattered by the paintings and enjoys Fred’s service. As he explores his knack for domination, his confidence blossoms. But fearing stigma, Malek orders Fred to trash the paintings. Instead, Fred sells them to pay rent, still fighting with a homophobic father who says he’ll never make it in the art world. Not only do the paintings sell, there is demand for more and talks of a big gallery [showing]. While Malek must confront his new feelings toward Fred, Fred must decide between honoring the trust of his beloved prince, or the breakthrough of his career.

The novel has three POV's, has series potential, and is set in modern Washington, D.C.

I am a Lebanese gay man pursuing doctoral studies in Japan, by day. By night I dominate Japanese men. These and my fantasies about servicing straight men informed the POVs of Malek and Fred. I have been published by The Gay and Lesbian Review, Gayflashfiction.com, Every Day Fiction, haunted Waters Press (contest winner), Good Works Review, and others.

Thank you in advance for your time and kind consideration.


Notes

If you delete the red stuff you'll have a more concise and perhaps better query.

Your last comment in the previous iteration of the query seemed to say you would abandon the car/hospital/contract for my suggestion that Fred simply hire the impoverished Malek as a model. Apparently that didn't work for you?

Friday, December 06, 2019

New Beginning 1088


Okay, so I live in a very small space by Western (N. American) standards. In Asia I live in a l-a-r-g-e condo. Misnomer. It is really a one bedroom one floor one bedroom apartment. Assisted living style without the assist. About 30 sq. meters or 322 sq. feet. Here mom, dad, a kid or 3 or 4 workers live in this small space in the condo complex. Go figure.

And I am trying the Marie Kondo thing. (Condo/Kondo? Is there a connection or am I, once again, the wing nut seeing a connection where one doesn't exist?)

So I haul out all my closet contents, humped/schlumped all on the bed rather late at night. I guess I am not as efficient as the series is. The drag out pile, very heavy. I nestled in to sleep dismayed I couldn't deal with my things in half an hour per the you tube episodes.

The morning eye opening caffeine hit, a rare day off - now what? I know, I know, keep, toss, donate. Here no one wants preowned anything. All about face plus there is no where to donate. So toss is it I suppose.

I stare at my bed pile. Huge as it is I hope I can find joy in what I touch and keep those wardrobe pieces and pitch the unjoy pieces of my hoard.

I sip my cold coffee (it is too hot here in the tropics for a lukewarm morning java spike), with a touch of dismay. Cleaning out the closest means decisions and I hate making decisions. Never been good at them, decisions, and most I have made have been wrong. Great legacy for closet micro scaling down. Why did I think I could do this?

So taking a great coffee swig, which I chased with haste with an equally great hearty belt of very expensive Jack Dan's to face the bed I survey the humpy/schlumpy pile of clothes. After another swig of each I sit on the bed trying to feel/find the "joy" in each article of apparel. I feel nothing in any article of clothing no matter how often I touch trying to experience some mojo out of them.

What about this shirt, does this give me joy? It's got coffee stains. I suck at the coffee stains because caffeine. Doesn't really do it for me, I should have stuck with the cold stuff. Or the Gentleman Jack. Can't decide. Anyway not the coffee stained shirt that can go. Or not.

Pepe sidles up to me and whimpers so I pick him up and give him a hug. Not feeling it. Kondo is right and out the Condo window he goes, wrapped in a coffee stained shirt because no one needs crap like that in their lives. Man that was a good shirt though probably should have kept it. I need a hair cut I think. What to do? Short? Long? Both? Maybe both. I want to look my best when I talk to that Dotard. He called me Rocket Man again. I got to think -- does he bring me joy?



Opening: Wilkins MacQueen.....Continuation: ril