I wrote the darkest stuff today.

Got about eight hundred and sixty words down on the train to work this morning. I've been working on "The Return of Dr. Necropolis," and I'm finally into Chapter 15, the bit that first gave me the idea for the story. It turns out that there was a lot of build-up to get where I wanted to go. 

I've mentioned this before, but it's been awhile.  "Necropolis" started as a sex story, a simple piece of smut that went way off the rails right at the beginning   I could have forced it back, I suppose, but I don't think smut is my natural genre. I keep pulling away right as we get into the good stuff, and anyway, where's the tension in what ought to be a life-affirming act?  I've struggled with it.  It's not my best thing. 

The resulting story, though, has been a kind of comic book crime story, a superhero lunatic-fest that has not always been pretty. I set out to write a kind of guy's version of Fifty Shades, but if that's what this is, it implies that the male mind can be an ugly place.  I've always admired John Ringo's "Paladin of Shadows" books for their unflinching commitment to Ringo's worst impulses, and if this isn't nearly that hardcore, it is nevertheless very intense in its own, hopefully more psychological way. 

Ultimately, you'll have to judge for yourself, I suppose.