Sadist or Masochist?

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

I expected the Brute to be there when I walked inside.

Instead, the Sorcerer waited.

His ancient face looked almost pleasant when he saw me.

“That was a clever piece of blackmail,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“You practically handed it to me. Thank you, by the way.”

“Perhaps I made it easy, but you were intelligent enough to take advantage of the opportunity. Most people don’t. You have a sharp instinct.”

He peered into my palm and whistled.

“I think you will do supremely well in the next phase of your life, Addie.”

“I don’t even know what these are worth,” I admitted.

“With the money you have in your hand right now, you could live in very elegant apartments with a servant or two in the Capital City for three months.”

I’m fairly certain my mouth dropped open as I stared at him, unable to speak.

The Sorcerer laughed.

“If you’re up for the post, you would make a marvelous assistant for me once this little arrangement comes to an end.”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered. “But I would be grateful if you taught me about money and apartments and the Capital City. I don’t know anything about life without servitude.”

He nodded.

“Of course, I will. It’s the least I can do after the unexpected pleasure you brought me.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Sorcerer raised his hairless brows and his smile widened, showing all of his long, yellowed teeth, making crevasses at the edges of his colorless eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to be a born voyeur,” he murmured.

“What’s a voyeur?”

“Somebody who likes to watch.”

I blushed so hard I thought my head would explode. I was horrified the Brute had seen me like that. The Sorcerer roared with laughter.

“Nothing escapes my notice, dear Addie. I thought you knew that about me by now.”

He chuckled some more while I forced myself to gain composure.

“Most only grow aroused watching others,” he mused. “You actually climaxed, and very intensely. But that is often how it goes with mating pain and pleasure.”

“It wasn’t like that!” I protested. “What you were doing to her sickened me.”

The Sorcerer raised his brows even higher, and shrugged.

“From what I observed, you must have liked it some. Perhaps you’re sadistic, and the excitement of watching the Patron’s Daughter take some hard licks was more than you could stand.”

“No, no, no! I don’t even know what that is! Beatings are horrible and I don’t understand how she could like that.”

The Sorcerer said nothing.

I was so unnerved by those colorless eyes looking through me I couldn’t stop myself from going on.

“I was feeling…what she was feeling, but only what felt good. When you were striking her, I felt all tied up inside. If I had tried to eat something I
doubt I would have even been able to swallow. If I had, it would have come back up. But then, something shifted. Something started to feel good, and it was so confusing! Feeling this build up of pleasure and pressure, until…until it couldn’t get any higher and then I felt shattered inside like I was dissolving into light. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

The Sorcerer peered closely at me.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Ironic, really, that you would psychically link to the Patron’s Daughter as if she were your twin. As much as you loathe her, that is truly remarkable.”

Another thought occurred to me.

“How did you know she would like that? How could you know?”

The Sorcerer smiled.

“It was a risk, yes, because I couldn’t know for certain. Yet I’ve always found that the more vicious the sadist, the more frustrated the masochist who hides behind the mask of cruelty. A true sadist works from a cool head, which the Patron’s Daughter lacks. The Noble Son’s rejection was the closest to severity she had ever known. Why else would she lament him so often? Because she savored the pain.”

Of course, at that time, I had no idea what a sadist or masochist was, but I suspected it had something to do with cruelty. I was also too overwhelmed to ask the Sorcerer to enlighten me, but either he read my mind or used his common sense.

“A sadist is one who enjoys inflicting pain, both physical and psychological. A masochist is one who enjoys taking the pain.”

“Are you accusing the Noble Son of being a…a sadist?”

“Of course not. He was a romantic and an idealist, with no interest in the mating dance of pleasure and pain. Confronted with a beautiful young lady who craved it, he was repulsed.”

I had never heard this kind of talk before, but I breathed in relief when he denied the Noble Son being cruel.

The Sorcerer chuckled at my obvious ignorance.

I had never heard this kind of talk before, but I breathed in relief when he denied the Noble Son being cruel. The Sorcerer chuckled at my obvious ignorance.

I nodded.

“You ought to make a fortune by the time we’re through.”

As usual, the Sorcerer was right.

I did.



The Gifts of Writing Haiku

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So, I’ve been writing for Medium, and writing a lot of haiku lately.

I’m not going to lie. The primary reason is they’re simple and I can write them quickly.

I’ve been traveling a lot lately. Some days I’m slammed and don’t have much time because I have to drive. I can crank out a haiku of multiple stanzas in less than 15 minutes, find a picture, and post it.

Thus my daily commitment of posting to Medium has been met.

Now that I’m trying to get some attention in publications, haiku serves an even more vital purpose in that I can get a piece out there immediately, while waiting to see if a much longer piece will be accepted. And it will be some days before I find out, and before that piece will be out there.

American Haiku will either ride or die within hours. I just found them. Wish I’d known about that publication earlier.

Anyway, I digress.

An unexpected benefit has arisen from writing haiku. I found out that it’s good therapy.

What surprised me the most was that writing haiku made it easy for me to let go.

The precise rules of the 5, 7, 5 syllable count forced me to streamline in a way that my verbose self doesn’t come to naturally.

It’s a relief to write with such precision. It’s actually kind of addictive.

I can write haiku even when I can’t concentrate fully because the process doesn’t require much time or effort.

Having gone through a breakup recently, I have a lot of pent up rage and thus, my attention span suffers.

I’m livid with my ex, but that pales in comparison to the anger towards myself— for staying in a dead-end relationship for too long, for abandoning my values, and betraying the principles I hold dear by being in partnership with somebody who is the anti-thesis of everything I love.

So yeah, there’s lots of feelings, and haiku creates a discipline — whether I want it or not — to focus and whittle and get straight to the point.

From a selfish perspective, I also figured out that other writers will generously read haiku pieces because they know it won’t take more than seconds, yet they still get credit for reading and clapping for other writers.

I wonder if this is a great way to introduce my fiction, and my fictional characters. Maybe I will entice a new audience to my actual work of writing novels.

Here is the haiku I did of Ella Bandita. I must say it would make an excellent synopsis on the back. Would probably sell that novel more than the one that’s already there.

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Ella Bandita

Is one tough bitch. Mad, bad, and

Dangerous to know,

She will steal your heart

And leave you cold, bereft of hope,

Without will or scope.

She loves to conquer

The invincible, haughty,

Proud sons of Hubris.

These men who take all,

Who love nobody but their

Precious selves until

They succumb to the

Predator’s stare. Cold blue eyes

That glitter and gleam

Large thick teeth, wide mouth,

Knowing sneer draws conquests near.

No man can resist

The lethal allure

Of the ugly seductress,

Called the Thief of Hearts.

She’s fearless and bold.

She is neither bought nor sold.

Nothing fazes her.

Ella Bandita

Aims their arrogance on them.

Sons of Narcissus

Helpless against her,

This huntress hungers for hearts

They discarded and scorned.

So live from your heart,

Lest you lament the loss of

Your most precious part.

This haiku did really well on Medium. Got a lot of views, a lot of fans; and better yet, readers lingered over this piece. It’s an encouraging sign.

So even though I only earn cents, not dollars, for each haiku I write, I kind of dig it.

No, I more than dig it.

And I’m curious to see how this goes.

 

I LOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVE FAIRBANKS!!!!!! - On the Road #13

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Hey y'all,

I Love Fairbanks. I love it, love it, love it!!!!!

Let's color this email happy, baby!

(No color fonts in SquareSpace, unfortunately, hence the colors in the photo.)

Just when it seemed as if I was burrowed in the vat of discouragement, eating bitterness for breakfast, I came to Fairbanks. Never mind the drive up with the fall colors lighting up the tundra - that was beautiful! - but at Fairbanks, I arrived.

Granted my trip was not just sneers, you're-weird-looks, and other unpleasant run-ins - I have met so many wonderful, supportive, and amazing people at every stop...but in Fairbanks - at least from the college side of town to Ester, it wasn't just random individuals here and there, but packs of people in general. We all know that there's safety...and strength in numbers.

And coming here on the tail end of the Alaska Fair was just what my spirit needed to keep going.

I could feel from the first that Fairbanks would be different. At Gulliver's - awesome bookstore! - I ran into an acquaintance I met in Juneau - several of those up here - and was bellyaching about the trip and the difficulties of selling my own work, and myself, etc. when a friend of his sat down and after hearing what I was doing, offered to buy a book.

That night, I was at a dinner party in Ester when Jen, an artist I'd met in Girdwood, suggested that I go by this coffeehouse and if they didn't have anything scheduled, ask to do a storytelling there. Sure enough, one night was open, so I managed to set something up at the last minute. She also challenged me to "creatively visualize" a hundred people waiting in line to buy my book.

"If you do that every day for a month, I promise you, things will happen."

On the same day, I was at Gulliver's again, waiting for my turn for free computer usage when the manager came by and said they'd take five books to start out.

I also sold three more to acquaintances that I ran into and a stranger I'd just met.

The next night, I had a couple of groups, Jen's friends and people that I met at the hostel show up for the storytelling - one man bought five books, a Japanese lady bought two, and yet another bought one. Better yet, Ethan, a high school English teacher bought one and asked permission to photocopy it, so he could teach it.

"I love your book!" said Kliff, a drummer who is a friend of a friend. And apparently, he has raved about it to everybody he knows, because the Ethan the teacher was a friend of his.

At the Pub that night, I sold two more. I also met a radio dj who wants to interview me when I come back to town - because of course I will!!! - and one of the women who bought a book and was at Jen's dinner party - is a natural at marketing and is already cooking up ideas for a dinner party with a story segment in between courses. I had been wanting a venue to do "Ella Bandita" as a combo dinner theatre/tableside storytelling, and here Sarah was just handing it to me.

"Fairbanks is a place where a lot of people are trying to create something," said Jay, a musician who lived in Juneau briefly a few years ago. "So people really try to support each other here."

Jen said her art has just taken off since she moved here. Her friend Heather, who makes hats does quite well at the Farmer's Market.

I don't know what it is about this town, but after weeks of people's walls, boundaries, suspicion, and all other forms of attitude, the feeling of openness, generosity, and support was like the nectar of the gods. I sold twenty books in a few days without even trying and I have a posse in less than a week.

Hope everybody has patience with my bragging rights, but hell, this was long overdue.

Did I mention that I love Fairbanks?

Montgomery

This is from the DIY booktour/roadtrip I took in 2005-2006. This stop was one of my most joyful, and I still have cherished memories from that time. The DJ ended up being a total dud in the long run, fyi.

If you’d like to read the previous On the Road post that strongly contributed to the relief of this journal entry, click here.