So I finally submitted my feedback to all the stories featured in MyHeavenOct20, the final iteration of the Size Riot quarterly size fantasy flash fiction contest. Work and the election conspired to make my November extremely stressful, and I’m still under significant pressure so I definitely need the deadline extension. Nevertheless, I feel a great debt of gratitude to Aborigen and all the authors and readers who have made Size Riot such a profitable experience both as an writer and as a size perv. Providing my critical appreciation of all the other stories was an obligation I was happy to undertake.
Given the self-indulgent theme, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see so authors discard any concern for detailed exposition. Lots of snappy dialogue, lines that we probably have been reciting to ourselves for years. Intriguingly, it seemed to me that there was less focus on physical sexuality than on personalities, attitudes, and relationships. I think that actually made the smut hotter.
There are no categories or voting for this final round, but the category I always most wanted to win was “Would you suggest this story to someone outside the size fetish?” As I have argued before, I think the best smut relies least on assumptions that the reader shares one’s fetish. Accordingly, it has been my aspiration to express my size fantasies as accessibly as possible. That’s always the feedback I’m most interested in, if you have a mind to share your opinions.
Over the years I’ve become familiar with both the specific kinks as well as the writing styles of a handful of authors, and it was a wistful pleasure to recognize them in their stories this round as they let it all hang out. Others I didn’t recognize, but their stories were passionate and well-written enough that they spoke to me nonetheless. I most enjoyed those that clearly appreciated why their fantasies meant so much and expressed them with craft and joy.
It’s been said many times, but once more with feeling: THANK YOU, ABORIGEN. We are all better writers and readers because of Size Riot.
Benjithedreamer talks to Aborigen again, this time about the possibility of a large collaboration between size writers all working from the same narrative prompt but each offering different perspectives.
To continue my (our?) discussion of a Size Aesthetic, I want to talk about how authors imagine their readership and how readers encounter narratives. Specifically, how much do authors predetermine “the” perspective of a story and how much do readers accept, reject, or negotiate those determinations. I also want to discuss the asymmetric nature of dom/sub fantasies and how much consideration we give to authors/readers “on the other end of” such fantasies. Finally, I want to interrogate how the tropes and expectations of size fantasy culture play into (and against) these considerations.
It is impossible to overstate how much the size fantasy community (such that it is) owes Aborigen for challenging us these past four years to vary our interests and stretch our muscles, both as writers and as readers. I know that his efforts have not been thankless, but neither have they been griefless. You can’t pay anyone to do this kind of work, because it requires both a community-minded spirit as well as a pride in craftmanship.
Speaking for myself, this contest has been both an invaluable exercise in editing and plotting as well as a forced reminder of how much I enjoy creative writing. I have had to ask myself, over and over, why I want to write and who am I writing for. I have also had to examine my expectations for others’ writing and what kind of feedback they need. Size Riot has been my main source of inspiration for developing a size aesthetic.
The final contest theme is “My Blue Heaven,” asking each author for their ideal, perfect size fantasy (in 2k words or less). There won’t be any voting or ranking or winners, but feedback is solicited nonetheless. That was always the more important part.
Henri had never seen such a large ship. Three huge masts, plus the pointy thing at the front and the mast at the back for the flag, it dwarfed every other ship in the port of Saint-Pierre.
Of course, the number of times that Henri had been near the port could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. He had spent almost the entirety of his nineteen years on a manioc plantation on the lower slopes of Mont Pelée, the domain of his seigneur, Guillaume Fauchon.