I’ve decided Martuk needs to do more fisting.
It’s something I’ve been thinking about for weeks, nay months, actually, but after watching the sudden and quite unexpected success of the obscure author E.L. James (Google her) newest book in her very difficult to find Fifty Shades of Baby Got Back series (is that what it’s called? I think that’s what it’s called), I think it’s time to take a deep breath, find my quiet space, remember my Safe Word, relax everything and just let it happen. Just allow the Writer in me to open up to Martuk and the rest of his merry Martuk … the Holy crew fisting things.
For instance, E.L. James writes:
“He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand at my back holding me to him and the other fisting in my hair.
So, with that in mind, in the pivotal scene between Martuk and The Elder (before the sacrifice and the demons and the bloodshed) in the first book, what had read:
“He took a sip, allowing the liquid to linger in his mouth, on his tongue, obviously savoring the sensation.”
would now be
“He took a sip, allowing the liquid to fist his mouth, fist his tongue, obviously enjoying the sensation.”
See? Instant bestseller, right?
Or in 1st century Jerusalem, after he’s cursed with Life Everlasting, when Martuk sits with the Messiah:
He shoved the bread in His mouth, the glass of wine now in hand. Silently chewing, His eyes watched me as He washed it down with a healthy drink. Swallowing, He then sighed, focusing, inhaling deeply, exhaling, growing quiet as His eyes narrowed.”
would then become
“He fisted the bread in His mouth, the glass of wine now in hand. Silently chewing, His eyes fisted me as He fisted it down with a healthy drink. Swallowing, He then sighed, focusing, fisting deeply, exhaling, growing quiet as His eyes narrowed.”
Now THAT’S a memorable passage, right? RIGHT?
Wow. I think this might actually work!!!!!
You think the second book, Martuk … the Holy: Proseuche, could do with some good ol’ fashioned fisting?
Okay, let’s start with Martuk talking with The Sister, his friend, in her apartment in modern day Paris:
I sat back as well, my arms stretching up and along the back of the sofa. “And I will continue my tale, if this is what you’d like.”
With a gentle smile on her lips, she nodded, urging me to begin.
Wrapped in the comfort of her apartment, the dark of a Paris night outside, the cool air from the open windows kissing my flesh, my heart feeling safe, my soul feeling secure, I took a deep breath.
And cradled in her kindness, I dove back into the blood-soaked memories of this, my life.
I sat back as well, my arms fisting the back of the sofa. “And I will continue my tale, if this is what you’d like.”
With a gentle smile on her lips, she nodded, fisting me to begin.
Wrapped in the comfort of her apartment, the dark of a Paris night outside, the cool air from the open windows fisting my flesh, my heart feeling fisted, my soul feeling fisted, I took a deep fist.
And fisted in her kindess, I dove back into the blood-soaked memories of this, my life.
Hmmm, I might need to think about this one.
Okay, okay, I’m not throwing in the towel just yet. How about later, when Martuk discovers his friend Tiber in the hills surrounding 3rd century Antioch?
His skin rippled with the swarming of those that feast on the dead. Their small white bodies crawled out of his ears and wiggled from his nose and spilled from his lips to litter the smattering of hair on his slender chest.”
could easily be
His skin fisted with the swarming of those that fisted the dead. Their small bodies fisting his ears and fisting his nose and fisting his lips to litter the smattering of hair on his slender chest.”
Um … that’s probably another one I need to carefully consider.
You know what? Perhaps this E.L. James-style of, oh, what’s it called, writing? — yeah, I think so — might not be the right fit for Martuk.
Because no matter what I do or how hard I try, this fisting just isn’t working. I’ve done it this way and that. In modern Paris and ancient Uruk one thousand years before Christ. Even 1st century Jerusalem with the frickin’ Messiah! I even had Martuk’s friend fisting up in the hills of 3rd century Antioch and, still, nothing. It just feels somehow wrong. Off. Not right.
Yet it worked so well for E.L. James. Her fisting seemed so natural! A bit clumsy at times, yes. And painful to experience on the page, most definitely. Still, though, she really made that fisting work. Just jammed her fist into any sentence she could find, regardless how well it fit or even if it should fit. Forget being gentle. Forget being kind. Miss James took no prisoners! She shoved it into everything everywhere.
But when it comes to my fisting, I think it might be time to pack it up. Call it a day. Obviously, despite silly things like hopes and dreams, it’s not for everyone. Not even my immortal Martuk.
In fact, now that I think about it, maybe the last thing he needs to be doing is Fisting Immortality.