Size Riot – Wrap Up the Old, Rev Up the New


Image:  Echo and Narcissus by John William Waterhouse


Aborigen has put out a poll asking for first impressions on the 35 writers who have submitted three or more stories to Size Riot, a category which includes me.  He neglects to say whether he will share the results with anyone, but I expect it will be a useful exercise nonetheless.  If you have any thoughts to share, please give it a go.

CruelJan20 — What’s Your Taste?


January is always Cruel at Size Riot, but now they’re adding a sub-topic for some variety and challenge.  You have until December 14 to nominate a topic for CruelJan20, as many as you like.  After the nominations have been compiled, you will have until December 21 to vote for your favorite topic.

Consider carefully!  The fate of many innocent victims hangs in the balance.

Will Do

Will Do

My Cocktober19 entry.  Author Notes at bottom.

Lacey was almost home when she got the text from her boyfriend, Will.  Got a package from Grandma, he texted.  He meant Lacey had received a parcel from her grandmother; Will hardly got any mail.  Leave it in the kitchen for me, she replied.  Will do!  She hadn’t quite gotten tired of that response yet.

Continue reading “Will Do”

How We Porn

How We Porn

This thread on Aborigen‘s Twitter conflates a number of issues that have been concerning me off and on ever since I started writing size smut for publication.  I’m going to lay out my current thinking on these and related topics, and as always, I am speaking only for myself, and I invite comments, questions, rebuttals, and other opinions in the replies.

The most immediate concern is that of objectification, which is not of course restricted to size smut (although there is a size-related pitfall, more on this later).  The reason why objectification is, well, objectionable is that it treats the object of desire as just that, an object rather than a whole person with a history, desires, and agency of their own.  This does not mean—as I believed in my misspent youth—that attraction to someone’s appearance is inherently objectifying or degrading.

A related phenomenon is fetishization, an intense attraction to or obsession with a specific characteristic or activity that assumes a greater importance than respecting the person possessing that characteristic or engaging in that activity.  Indulging a fetish is to constantly risk losing sight of everything and everyone else.  Being on the receiving end of fetishistic attention is a hollow experience at best.

These are examples of harmful conduct between real people in real life.  Is art that invokes such conduct involving fictional people also harmful?  Does porn have a greater or lesser responsibility than art to minimize harm?

Continue reading “How We Porn”

Cocktober19 — Final Draft Submitted


Final draft submitted.  First draft came in at 2189, cut 190 words in dribs and drabs.  No point in publishing the first draft this time; the final is just more efficient.

I left this later than I would have liked, and I knew that my observances of Halloween were going to make this a bad week for writing.  It was a grim month in more ways than one, but I’m glad I stuck it out.  Who knows when Cocktober would rear his head again?

But I have to say, the pressures of both the deadline and the word limit made this fun.  “No one enjoys writing, but everyone enjoys having written,” my father used to tell me, usually when I was putting off homework.  While that sentiment has often informed my approach to writing, like physical exercise I have found that once I make the time I actually enjoy it quite a bit.

Editing, too, seems like a chore until you see how it improves your writing, right before your eyes.  It’s like altering clothes; it seems to fit alright at first, and then you see how some of what you wrote is getting in the way of what you want to say.

Over and above the satisfaction of making a dozen fellow size fantasists read my work, I remain grateful to Aborigen for this quarterly exercise.  It’s good for me.


So I finally cracked and wrote a political size-fantasy story. This one has death, destruction, hard vore, scat, and more catharsis than we’re ever likely to see from our actual political system. Felt good to write it, though.


It was a Sunday morning, just like Pearl Harbor.  I was having a smoke before the start of my shift at the Washington Monument.  I had that job since they finally reopened after the renovations.  Of course it’s closed again like all the rest.  I suppose I should be looking for another job, but I just don’t see the point.

I was on the observation floor when it first hit.  It wasn’t very long, less than two seconds.  A sharp jolt shook the Monument, and I felt it worst on top.  I didn’t have time to worry about the Monument falling down, and afterward I spent several minutes just holding a railing and convincing myself that it was over and that I would be okay.  I was mistaken on both points.

Continue reading “Columbia”